Greetings all,

Please enjoy this 24th installment of the Making of Grey. Things are now well underway, and I hope that you all have enjoyed it so far. I can't thank those of you who have offered feedback enough – there are some twists and turns that are coming that I hope to write to fruition, even if they are difficult to breathe into existence.

I have tried to include some hints of Togruti culture here – obviously this gives some creative freedom as we don't have people telling us their traditions, but I hope it adds a key element to the story telling. My mind is incredibly taxed with life, and this writing has been an escape. I can't thank you all enough for the opportunity and the interaction.

Happy Writing,

Eliana

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It had been a long day, Ahsoka admitted to herself from where she stood on the roof of the hospital… or what was left of it, at least. She didn't know when or how it and the buildings near it had been leveled, and she defiantly refused to let her assumption on why it had happened be whispered into reality. She didn't want to believe that she understood why it had been destroyed even with it abandoned… because the dark whispers of the Force around her hissed the truth: her people wouldn't be allowed to hide.

They were below her, moving in droves and numbers that she had hardly seen before across the expanse of the field and to the relative safety of the range of mountains behind her. The Togruta fled south through the old growth forest and into the range of the valley. Their only safety net, the only space that would be spared from the rage of the Palisades, were the rolling sides of the mountain cliffs on the southern and eastern borders of the culvert.

Anakin and herself had gotten the markers set hours ago, outlining the limits that her people could range to on the mountainsides, and Rex had taken control of getting those that could fight. They were busy setting up defenses, she could see from her vantage point, the sharpened log barricades being raised around the foot of the range and stone defenses on the top.

It was a good effort… but ultimately worthless other than a false sense of security for the pursued, she had to admit. Sticks and stones weren't going to make these things pause for half a second, and the droids that waited on the other side of the mountains wouldn't spare it a thought once their controllers set them on their tasks.

The enemies that waited on the other side of the mountain hadn't moved. There had been no movement at all from them since her people had started funneling in, yet she knew they were there. They had to be. Even in death, Tombur left them the knowledge they needed to fight on even ground. He hadn't been wrong up to now, and she would be hard-pressed to say that she didn't believe in his wisdom here.

With a soft sigh her breath misted in the air, and her attention turned down to where her friends, her master, and their volunteers encouraged the exodus on. This was a monumental task, one that, without her friend's tactic, wouldn't be moving as cleanly as it was.

"They will follow it," he had promised when she had quirked an eyebrow ridge at him at his explanation, "they will follow you. You are their guide."

What they were following was the sound that lightly rumbled the rubble and gravel under her shoes as it hummed from the rigged speaker, its waves rolling over the distance of the valley. Smaller emitters, all attached to speeders and ships and spare parts her people brought with them echoed it in a line behind her and along the wooden barrier their defense team was making.

The ships would be within the line of contention. She couldn't bring herself to care about that. Her only concern was for the success of the sound.

It was an odd collection of noises: a beating trill, long pitch notes, a shaking beat all rolling together in a repeat rhythm that pulsated every ten seconds or so before simply trembling with low waves again. She was sure that she had heard these sounds before, but never combined like this.

The only thing that mattered was that it was working. Eddy had taught her, Anakin, and their clones a simple statement to repeat to those that sought sanctuary:

"Die shalune vera nalein saleit."

"The sound is the path to safety."

It was only a half-lie. The sound guided them out of contention and out of range of the Palisades… but they all only had a half rotation to get all the innocents, still flooding in from the trees, out of play and still somehow protect them from the enemies that waited behind them. Her people were exhausted, they were scared.

They were prey.

She retrieved one of the lightly blinking tags from the bag at her feet, watching it pulse softly, predictably, in a steady rhythm in her palm.

Djibourdi hadn't been lying when he told her that what he was asking her for was a lot; now she understood, but only in part. He had explained what she would have to find a way to do, what the things he left her had to be used for… but not why.

He had also left her with two bits of information that had already been used: Aarent, her long-lost lifesaver had found them right after they had wandered into the valley, just as he said she would. She had found her place minding Kachina, and Ahsoka could see her not far away on one of the ledges with the youngling. When the Palisades would fall, half of that ridge would be blocked – but the woman had chosen the safe corner to be their resting place.

The other piece:

"The queen will be among them. I know it's a lot to ask but… can you make sure that she gets that holodisk when it's safe? Don't wait for me, I can't promise that I won't be tied in contention. It's important… and for her eyes only."

The queen was indeed among them, now standing in the middle of the western wall of cliffs and urging her people to the safety of the ledges and rockfaces. Ahsoka wasn't going to bother approaching her until this whole mess was over.

Purpose over feelings.

That was all that stopped her from watching the message herself.

Purpose… over feelings, she repeated in her mind, the hand that held the blinking device falling lightly to her side. She allowed herself to draw a breath, and then slowly turned to look at the formation in the sky.

It was almost perfect. Four of Shili's moons were in a nearly-symmetric diamond, each reflecting the light of the distant sun in a separate spectrum. Steely grey, sky blue, forest green, and seething red made up their colors – the other two moons, both shining a snowy white, blanked out the coloration of their siblings. They both hovered in the middle of the diamond formation, their light only interrupted by the intermittent clouds that rolled in over the mountains.

The illumination brought such breathtaking beauty to the world in front of her eyes, but it also highlighted the carnage and chaos that sharply echoed around her and far above her head. Never, in the time after this moment, would Ahsoka ever forget this image. Tonight, however, her body bathed in the soft white light from above her, she let herself drift away from the moment.

She felt herself run through the sky this night, jumping from star to star to find her friend. She wondered if he felt what she did, the potent mixture of trepidation and worry that weighed her down.

"Purpose," she spoke to no one, not willing to pull her eyes from the moons yet, "Before feelings."

It would take her a couple of tries, but eventually she managed to tear herself away from the view and made her way onto her hoverbike and back into the fray, bathed in the white light of momentary mercy.

That same milky light cascaded over the pair that sat miles away on the same small outcropping that they had been on that morning. Sam was busying himself with cleaning his weapons where he rested to the left of his friend, the sharp song of the whetting stone against the steel surprisingly drowned out in his mind by the gentle melody that came from the mouth of his companion.

The entire camp was in movement: those that chose to stand had four standard hours left to prepare themselves, and the familiar shock of confusion and chaos had been the odd antidote to the heavy air around the space. It looked like a sea of bodies and weapons below them, though Djibourdi's eyes weren't looking there.

His eyes didn't have concern for the army under the cliff, or his armor and weapons that sat waiting a few steps away, or even for the annoying IV line that Bones had refused to remove just yet that itched in his arm as he moved.

They were instead studying his own face that was reflected in the steel of one of his vibroblades in lieu of a mirror, his hands stunningly steady as they dabbed the small reed back into the crystal blue paint in front of him before it was raised back to his forehead.

This tradition was one that Sam remembered that his general and his commander would share before a fight. Tombur would often lead them both through meditation before he fixed his hair and his padawan used his paints to transform his looks… and without stating the obvious, Sam had made sure that at least part of that tradition would carry tonight.

Before the padawan had even pulled himself from his exhausted sleep the clone had pulled everything he would need from his quarters to this spot, if only to spare the Togruta having to walk into a space that would only bring pain. He had been unsure that such a bold move would be welcome, but Djibourdi was secretly grateful for his forethought. There was at least one constant.

The song that he was quietly singing had words that Sam recognized: he had learned as much Togruti and Echani as he could, if only to serve to instruct his brothers to outwit their enemies.

This song was a ballad to something that he couldn't understand, something that he was unsure of, carrying notes of calm and respect. He had turned his attention away for only a moment or two, and when it drifted back to him he was surprised to hear that the soft voice had transitioned back to Basic… and his friend's face had turned, mid-reed-stroke, to look at the two moons that floated ever closer to the center of the formation in the sky.

"You're bound in grace, light will guide your path… until we meet again," he whispered to them as the slight breeze passed over them both.

Sam had to wonder exactly who it was that his friend sang to, the living or the dead. Either way, he knew well that if he let him sit in this pain alone, his general was likely to come back from the dead and dropkick him off this cliff – he would rather not leave that to chance.

"I know that it is not befit of the Jedi," he murmured softly as to not break their calm atmosphere, drawing the two golden eyes to him, "But… I am sure that our brothers would understand if you needed some time alone to grieve."

He didn't know what to say when a smile, hollow and humorless, crossed his friend's face.

"If we're being honest to ourselves, Sam, we both know that I will more than likely not be a Jedi once this is all over," Djibourdi told him as his attention turned back to his paints.

"You truly believe that the Jedi Council will call you to a court martial over this?"

"I do not 'believe', I know. Either way that this plays out, I will be guilty of treason – and if any one of you gain so much as a splinter, they can choose to say I also violated Republic Military Property Codes. That is reason enough."

The clone took more time than he wanted to form together what he wanted to say. The words were on the edge of his tongue, but they seemed to die off as soon as they would try to manifest from his lips. After several false starts, he managed:

"But… sir, why would the JEDI try one of their own when…"

The rest of the words dissipated when Djibourdi paused, yet again mid-reed-stroke, to turn sharp eyes to pin him down. That look was one that Sam recognized as disbelief… mixed with righteous fury that he had seen only a few times before. Those that were on the receiving end of that gaze never had things end their way.

"Why do you say it that way?" the padawan asked, his accent heavy against the pain of his body and mind.

"I'm sorry?"

"The way that you say 'Jedi'… what is it about that word that makes you say it as though it holds so much power?" the reed was laid down in between the shallow bowls of paint, "You say it as if me, by carrying around lightsabers and utilizing the Force on the most basic of levels, somehow makes me so much more worthy of justice and life than you and your brothers."

The Togruta tilted his head with a curious blink, the sharp edge of his gaze dulling just slightly.

"Why?"

Sam choked on his words in disbelief, his fingers flexing on the weapon he was cleaning in his hand.

"Because you're not a clone," he stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. When Djibourdi didn't comment further, he struggled to explain, "You said it yourself: they would hold you for destruction of property. Because that's what we are: we are property, weapons. We are expendable."

A brief flash of teeth made him swallow hard. He knew well that Djibourdi would never cause him harm and that more than likely what he was reacting to wasn't him; instead, it was what he highlighted with his words. Regardless, that look stopped his heart cold. The Togruta spoke lowly.

"Not to me."

They held their gazes for a few seconds before the padawan turned back to his reflection and retrieved his reed, beginning the intricate black marks across his eyes and nose as he continued to speak.

"And I hate to tell you this, Sam," he spoke to the man, "But if you truly believe that the clones are the only living weapons that the Council and the Republic have chosen to use, then I am quite surprised that you, of all people, would be so blinded to the truth. I always pegged you for an intellectual."

The clone was dumbfounded.

"But sir, you can't be seriously saying that the Jedi Council would try you for treason for this just because they didn't order it. You're saving innocents, right? That's what the Jedi stand for, and as it is this was the general's decision, not yours."

Djibourdi chuckled as he gathered more black paint.

"Well, that's half-true… and I doubt that Tom is going to be of much help to me in a trial now. As it stands," the words paused briefly as he studied the intricate lines of markings he was etching on his skin, "you are thinking of this too much like a soldier, my friend. You must think of this like a politician. That is who controls the Republic."

The slightest cough rumbled in his chest and forced him to pause, his eyes closing in response to the pain. He had refused more medication. He needed to be able to run and think – Bones had been forcing enough steroids and precautionary medications into his system that he felt massively better after sleep, but he had to wonder just how long the Force would spare him. The damage was done, and the searing pain in his left arm and the ache in his chest reminded him of that.

When the feeling passed, he went back to his work.

"They would not put me on trial because it is the right thing to do, Sam. They would put me on trial to protect their reputation."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Because you are thinking of this like a soldier. And keep with the conversation Sam, drop the 'sir' please – it won't be applying after this anyway. Think about it this way," one red finger expertly smeared some of the charcoal lines on his skin, "Our ranks are held in secret for good reason: the galaxy is not ready to face this reality of war. They aren't ready to see the carnage that truly exists… and whether it be right, wrong, or indifferent our legions – those that choose to run – are about to be front and center in front of everyone. When word gets out, when Kenobi breaks the barricade, the Jedi Council is going to have to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions that they aren't ready for. My people do not utilize technology as other kinds do, but if you think this will stay secret from the rest of the Republic…well…"

His eyes rolled to give his companion a wry look.

"Then I wish I held your idealist attitude."

"But… treason, sir?"

"Yes. I'm about to march Republic soldiers and use Republic equipment in an operation on a Republic planet without the presence of the Separatists or permission from anyone, specifically the Council or the Chancellor. That's the literal definition of the word."

"So, let's say that they do decide to try you. Surely General Skywalker –"

"Skywalker will be needing to defend Ahsoka against the same," the padawan told him, turning back to his reflection, "though she will not be facing the same charges. He will defend her against anything until the end. I will become a moot point and a worthy speed bump to slow down the Chancellor's rage, nothing more. I can't say that I blame him. Even if things end up on the side that we don't prefer, Tombur and I will probably be disbarred in death to protect the image of what the Council stands for. Their influence is rooted in their image, and that image means more to them than their brethren."

There was a quiet lull then. Sam cautiously treaded after that.

"But you choose to run anyway."

It had been intended to be a question but emerged as an observation. He got a soft nod in response.

"Tombur… Tom would never forgive me if I chose to run away, especially understanding what's at stake. It isn't a sacrifice if it's the right thing to do. I told your brothers –"

"OUR brothers."

He got a quiet chuckle.

"-our brothers the truth because… well, if I'm not going to be viewed as a commander anymore, I don't think you all should be viewed as nameless soldiers anymore either. If they run, they run as free men. I haven't been truly in control of my life up to this point and I've decided that, if I'm doing this, it's being done all the way. I will give this everything I have so that everything I do gives honor to Tombur and Warren – recklessly abandon any regret and not hold back on what it is that I believe to be just."

The smallest of smiles passed over his face, a look of absolute golden light brightening his pain-tightened skin.

"I want to live like that. Whether it's for five minutes or five hours… I will be free. So will our brothers. All of you deserve nothing less."

"And that," a voice sounded to their right, drawing both of their attention to the Kore and the other Reapers who were climbing the hill to join them, "is why we will run with you, Red."

The Togruta gave them all a welcoming bow of his head, taking in the collection of things that they held in their arms as they came to sit on the ground between and next to himself and Sam.

"If that is your choice."

He set his reed down, pointing to what Kore held.

"What have you brought?"

"We have come to ask for a favor," Cable answered him instead, almost timidly. He watched his commander tilt his head in curiosity.

"Oh? Tell me."

"We would like to run with something to honor your people… honor you. We were hoping that you could write or paint something for us so we can offer it to our brothers who want to do the same."

It had been a very long time since Djibourdi didn't know what to say in a conversation – an incredibly long time since he had been so shocked by someone's statement that he had to scramble through his own frayed mind to find the words he wanted to say. It took him a moment, giving him time to glance between all of them before he answered the request.

"You do not owe me such things. I'm not worthy of that kind of honor."

Sam's voice came from his left.

"We are free men, aren't we?"

Djibourdi gave him a shallow nod.

"Then we are free to make that choice. We run with you, Red."

Oh Force, he wanted to show the emotion that those words stirred in him. He wanted to tell them about the energy they had just shaken free from his resolve, what honor he felt from their words, what companionship they gave him that freed him from the grips of his own grief. But he couldn't. Instead, he bowed his head with a tiny smile and a huff of breath, and when his eyes raised back to Cable they were bright with life.

"So be it then."

He turned himself slightly on the stone he sat on and gestured for the clones to move closer. They complied, passing him the containers of paint and the brushes they had brought before Kore offered his arm first.

"What would you like it to say?"

The bathing light of the moons guided the brush against offered skin, and not long after the fourteen would head back down to their remaining brothers with their templates standing brightly on their arms. Djibourdi could not drop the smile they brought to him, even as it turned sad and mournful, and his softly singing voice flowed over the controlled chaos of the mass below.

He would set himself onto the task of unwinding the long strip of gauze that guarded his shredded left arm, and Bones would finally free him of the itching IV line after feeding two more doses of…whatever it was into the line. With only a few minutes to spare before he would begin his walk to the valley, the white light of the moons would shine down on him where he stood, one hand on an old tree. His body was weighed down with armor and weapons, his arm and his chest HURT, but, over all of it one thing shouted louder.

Shili was in pain. Since the night before he could feel her… she was in devastation, infected with an illness that was destroying her from within. Like any other living creature, she would release a fever to fight that infection – and he wasn't ready for this. He was afraid.

He slowly wandered himself to the top of the path that he would take. Whatever calm and confidence that had found him earlier was loosely falling away from his grip, replaced with fear, and pain, and anxiety, and…

That last emotion… that's the one that hurt the most.

Djibourdi was thankful that he was currently standing alone because he was suddenly fascinated with his shuffling booted feet and the light clanking of his weapons. His back two ma'lekku and montrals were carefully guarded, his armor protecting the rest of his body. His arms, normally loose and free, tonight bore the weight of something he had never been burdened with before. His skin under them was painted the same as what his Reapers had asked him for, but those marks were hidden from view by the caged weapons that ran from his shoulders to his hands.

They weren't his. They were never his, he had never chosen to wear them. They were his master's and his grandmaster's, and the evidence that they were not made for him was obvious as the pieces of steel plucked and pulled at his skin and stitches. Armor and weapon, all as one. These were the culmination of Warren's intelligence and Tombur's innovation locked into equipment, and only once had he seen them used.

He didn't want them, but he had to use them. He didn't want this. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't strong enough. He was so very afraid… and alone.

His eyes found his lekku where they lay against his shoulder and chest, the eight separate bands that he had carved and molded bearing the names of those he sought to honor reflecting in the moonlight. Those names alone slammed him back to reality and stark understanding of what was to come.

The burning had to come first… and it had only just started.

Djibourdi's breath shook with his inhale, and he could feel the tears bite his eyes again. Control had escaped him, and in a motion of desperation he looked back to the moons that circled above his head.

They were gentle in their energy, a balm to soothe the burn that was raging in his soul. He could almost see Tombur in one of the moons that looked down to him, could almost see him choke on his own words at what he watched, could almost see Warren lay a calming hand on his shoulder before looking back down to their padawan with warmth. Djibourdi had to wonder, through the sharp stab of grief, if they missed him as much as he missed them.

He could never see these things before, could never see the faces and hear the whispers of those departed - and he didn't want to be able to now. The Force that governed his home ordered it to be so, and so it must be.

The breeze whispered through the branches of the trees again, carrying small whisps of leaves and petals across Djibourdi's paint-marked face.

"Remember who you are."

Those words, those words whispered by two voices so dear to him, made him catch himself in his descent into the dark. He stopped the backward slide into the pits that had started with a steadying hum, balancing the scales as the Living Force pulsed in approval.

Tombur and Warren could not do this with him, they were no longer able to walk in this world with him. They were locked in their own… but the men who all came together along the cliff edge and across the hills, the ones who lined the pathway through the camp, the ones who all met his eyes when he turned around to look at him could.

They were ready, steadfast to walk with him through the coming hell. If their paths would make them walk through hell, they would march as if they owned it – and for the first time in their lives, it was a choice that they made for themselves.

The humbled smile that turned the red lips upward was solidified when his praetorians and fellow commander joined him where he stood. They would run with him, and he was forever grateful.

"Brothers!" he called to them, his voice echoing across the sea of men.

Their call back to him was a roar of his given name and raised right arms, nearly all of them bearing the same writing that he had given his friends hours before. When they fell silent, he spoke to them.

"Thank you. All of you... this is probably the most attentive I have seen you all."

A bubble of laughter rippled over them, only quieting when Djibourdi spoke again.

"Brothers," he looked across them, suddenly serious, "What we do in life, echoes in eternity."

His bow to them was returned, and under the guiding light of the six moons, the march started on its way. They would follow the path that the Togruta had paved in fear, rewriting its purpose to protection, masked by the mist that pulled itself over the mountains. They walked together toward the light of the guardians in the sky, their path outlined by the glowing ca'ula flowers that showed them the way straight to hell.

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And so it goes, my friends. On to hell.

Happy Writing,

Eliana