Cora almost didn't go back to the buried temple. She'd agreed to Jor's proposition and then she'd left, dragging an unconscious Ozcar behind her, promising she'd be back when she could.

It's been 3 days and over the course of that period of time, briefly, she wonders if maybe the temple was buried for a reason. And unknowingly, she's unleashed some great evil upon the galaxy.

Cora's committing treason, she tells herself. By even knowing of Jor Daki's existence, she's committing treason.

The memory of the moment that the news had broke that Finn, the Resistance's newest shiny piece of propaganda, had once been FN-2187, a member of Batch 10, rattles around in her head. The ensuing chaos, the crackdowns on disobedience, the reprogramming. Not something she necessarily wanted to live through again.

The thought wouldn't leave her alone. And what's more, after that, Cora herself had been deemed a potential threat. Because for a month afterwards, Tovo hadn't let her out of his sight. One of the worst months in recent memory.

But the trooper goes. If not for herself, than for her squad. She goes as soon as the lights shut off. And as soon as she hears the sound of Deek snoring, Cora places her one pillow on the bed and places the thin sheet over it.

It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it'll work in the dark.

The incident that short-circuited the mechanism on her door isn't getting fixed until tomorrow. So tonight she simply slips out of her bunk and tiptoes along the metal floor until she steps out of the dorm, into the corridor. Cora winces at the florescent lights and white walls.

That is one thing Cora cannot defend, the First Order is arrogant to a fault. So much so that they saw no issue in not fixing the doors immediately. Maybe on other more unstable worlds, it's different. But on Nagato, a planet who's only valuable to the Order through its resources, high command was always lenient. Even after FN-2187 defected.

Which Cora is grateful for. Considering that if they weren't, Zeta Squadron would've been on the Eclipse as the engines exploded.

The trooper hears voices at the end of the hallway and plasters herself against the wall, trying to make herself as invisible as possible. With wide eyes, she hears the voices grow closer, their footsteps louder. The two officers cross her field of vision when they pass her, clad in standard gray uniforms, so absorbed in their conversation that they don't even notice her as they pass. Cora lets out a breath and continues on, turning down the opposite direction in a silent run.

When she finally reaches the hanger, it's empty. Well, as far as she can tell. While there are other squadrons on their patrols right now, most of the high command sets this as their sleep hours. There is only a skeleton crew currently operating the ship. Meaning the ship is thankfully, rather quiet.

It's only when Cora walks over to the jetpacks and reaches for one, that she's interrupted.

"Hey!" It's the muffled staticky voice of another trooper. It takes her a couple moments to place the voice of the person behind the helmet through the static.

CF-4639.

Cora hates this guy.

She doesn't know his chosen name, if he even has one. Usually information like that is only shared between the troopers you're closest to. Even then, if you're told someone's chosen name, you never share it. One, it's just not polite and two, it's an unspoken assumption that high command would not be happy about it.

Cora stiffens slightly and then almost immediately forces herself to relax. Out of everything, she will not allow this to give her away. And even though her face is hidden under her helmet, Cora reactively smiles at the trooper, although it feels more like a grimace. He's got a red pauldron on his left shoulder, the same one Zera wears. The mark of a squad leader.

Cora says, "Yeah?"

The trooper walks up to her, spares a glance at the jetpack in her hands, "Designation number?"

Just like him to not remember her. Ugh.

"NV-153."

She thinks she might've answered a little too quickly, the trooper leans in slightly, "Where do you think you're going, NV-153?"

It only takes Cora a second to come up with an excuse that sounds convincing, "Kirkan Squad is having trouble with a Jagodo at the plant. They called for backup."

The trooper ponders this for a moment and Cora resists the urge to squirm under his gaze. In the back of her mind, she's already forming a plan B. Albeit, one she hopes she doesn't have to use.

The trooper's voice snaps her out of her thoughts, "… Let me ask command and confirm." He's already reaching for the button to activate his radio. And from under her helmet, Cora scowls at her rotten luck.

She takes a step towards the trooper and lifts her helmet away from her face, far enough, so she can look at the trooper with bare eyes. Cora's not entirely sure if it would work if she had only the helmet's visor to look through, and already the trooper's helmet is pushing it. For this, she can't take any chances.

The trooper takes a step back, "What the-"

But Cora's already as close as she can be. Cora reaches for the Force, and it takes a moment for it to heed her call. In her rush, she mimics something she saw the Jedi do when he mind-tricked Ozcar. She waves a hand in front of his face and pours as much intent into her words as she can. Cora imagines the trooper's mind, empty of this memory, of her presence in the hangar. When she finally speaks, the Force flows from her mouth in the form of words.

"You will let me pass."

The trooper doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity, and quickly, Cora starts coming up with Plan C.

Which is essentially to whack him over the head.

But thankfully after another few seconds, the trooper ends up repeating her command and Cora lets herself relax a little, commanding, "I was never here."

Again, the trooper echoes her words, much quicker this time.

"And…" Cora realized something, "…you will delete the ship's security footage from tonight."

"I will delete the ship's security footage from tonight." With that, Cora watches as the trooper allows his blaster to fall to his side, and he slowly walks away from her and off in the direction of the control room.

And when the hangar doors slide shut behind him, Cora finally breathes a sigh of relief. She can't believe that worked. Again.

And so efficiently, some traitorous part of her remarks.

Cora shakes her head and places her helmet back on. Walking over to the very edge of the hanger entrance.

The great expanse of sky spreads out before her. Kana, Nagato's 4th sun, peeked out from just behind the clouds, and it takes a moment for Cora's helmet to readjust to the light. But when it does, and Cora is able to look directly into the sun's vast depths does she finally lets herself breathe. She straps her jetpack easily to her back, running through the flight checks without even thinking.

And then Cora falls.

The trooper is smiling beneath her helmet, heart pounding in her chest. The world around her spins and goes silent. Even the winds bows out for what seems like minutes as the trooper hurtles down to the ground. Cora almost closes her eyes, so in awe of the sudden silence that it overwhelms her. Aboard the eclipse, silence like this is impossible. And Cora revels in it. Feels at peace for once in what feels like days.

And then she hits the thruster.

The world erupts into chaos again as Cora rights herself and the rockets roar in her ears. The trooper makes her way down to the city below.

Cora sets herself down in a little alleyway on the outskirts of the city. From what she remembers of the location, it'll be a bit of a trek to the temple, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. Out of the small pack enclosed within the skeleton of the jetpack, Cora pulls out a jacket, snatched from apart of the uniform given to all troopers for missions in colder climates. Warm gray, hopefully ambiguous, with an over-sized hood that would definitely cover her entire face. Made of some rough recycled material that has pilled from years of use.

Slowly, she takes off her helmet.

Then, the chest and back plate

Peels off the armor on her arms and legs.

Until she's left wearing what's essentially a black turtleneck and pants. Civvies. Cora looks down at herself. It's been a very long time since she's been this exposed outside of the First Order. Been a very long time since she was just… Cora, and not NV-153. The trooper frowns a little at the realization, before unclasping the straps that keep the JetPack securely fastened to her back and hiding it and her armor on a high-up window ledge just above her, in the building to her right. On her tip-toes, she can just barely see the white edge of the JetPack and when she lets her heels touch the ground, it completely disappears from view. Cora hopes that's enough.

She shrugs the jacket on and throws the hood over her head. Drenching her face in shadow.

The city is rather quiet, which is at once a huge relief, but also just slightly worrying. Usually the streets of Nagato are always bustling with relative activity, as one side of the planet goes to sleep, the other awakens. And so on, and so on. Especially at the lower levels, where the population density is at its highest.

But no matter, now she wanders. Meanders her way through tight corridors and around small plazas as she tries to remember where the entrance to the temple was.

It had been so dark that night and she couldn't for the life of her remember if her and Ozcar had taken a left or a right at the diner.

It wasn't long before Cora's making several wrong turns in an attempt to course-correct. But slowly, she's actually starting to enter more active sections of the city. Children pass her, laughing, waving their small toys around as they play. Their parents not far behind, smiling.

At the sight, Cora bristles and pulls the hood further over her head.

She hears noise down the street to her left. Something that feels like curiosity starts to run through her. And before she knows what's happening, she's walking and standing at the precipice of a grand market. Stationed in the middle of the city. One of the bigger plazas completely transformed into some sort of bazaar. There are small tents sent up with merchants, selling everything from clothes to spices. Cora's never seen something so colorful in her life. And she imagines that this must happen regularly, because the space seems perfectly carved out for the event.

Live music playing in one corner, with couples and children dancing around them, graceful and at ease. A crowd gathers, clapping their hands to the rhythm. Above her, hanging from the tents is lanterns, glinting orbs of light that sparkle and float in the breeze. Which is a welcome addition considering otherwise, this area would get hardly any direct sunlight. Being all the way in what's probably the very center of the city and in the Shallows, no less.

Wait.

An inkling of something intangible crosses her mind's eye. Like there's a rope wrapped around her waist, pulling. A beacon, almost.

Cora carefully walks a couple paces forward and turns her head to the left, staring. Pushing through crowds of people that give her rude looks as she passes.

Near the end of a row of booths, stands a man, dressed in a familiar long tan cloak that sweeps the floor.

It takes a second, but Cora recognizes him.

Cora's eyes darken, her nostrils flare and she barrels over to him.

Jor Daki, Jedi Master of the High Republic asks, "Are these Meilooruns locally grown?"

Before the woman merchant can answer, Cora cuts her off. She runs over to Jor so fast she nearly pushes him to the ground. Instead, the trooper only succeeds in pushing the Jedi further down the line of booths until they're far enough away from any passerby that she feels alright raising her voice.

"What do you think you're doing here?" She seethes, gripping the fabric of his cloak rather viciously.

Jor's eyebrows raise and under his beard, the corners of his lips turn down in a dramatic frown. Which makes the emerging wrinkles in his face far more pronounced. "Buying groceries, young padawan. What else would I be doing?"

Cora opens her mouth to deal out a biting retort, realizing all of a sudden that she… doesn't actually know what else he'd be doing. She lets go of his cloak and sighs, grumbling under her breath, "I just thought that you would've stayed in the temple. You're going to attract unwanted attention."

Jor huffs a laugh, "That dusty old place? Cora, that temple was old in my time. The ceiling could've fallen on my head at any moment and then you'd," Jor takes his left pointer finger and jabs Cora squarely in the chest with it, "be out a teacher."

Cora takes a step back from him, slightly aggravated at how smug he's being. But on the off hand, she supposes that he's right. Still. She lets the moment hang in the air and then crosses her arms, grumbling again, "Whatever. Either way—don't call me that."

Jor 's head tilts to the side slightly, "Call you what?"

Cora's mouth stumbles over the unfamiliar word, "Padawan. Don't call me that."

He shrugs and replies, "But that's what you are. I am your Jedi Master, you are my Padawan. That's how it's been done for centuries—"

Cora hisses, "—Yeah, sure. But that was then. This is now. The Jedi are dead, old man. Your religion forgot about you. And believe me when I say that I want no part in it. Alright? This is just… something I have to do." One hand wraps nervously around her other arm, pulling it tight against the side of her body. More people walk past, eyeing the pair of them. Cora shies away, suddenly craving the anonymity of the white armor and helmet.

She's so exposed.

After a moment, Jor retorts, "For your fellow child soldiers?"

It's abundantly clear from the look on Cora's stoic, vaguely aggressive face that she's not going to dignify that with an answer.

Jor looks away for a moment, sucks at his teeth, thinking.

Finally, he claps his hands together loudly before asking, pointedly at Cora, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

Music blares in her ears.

It's not bad, by any means, just loud. Overwhelming. Especially when Jor and her are sitting so close to the band, hunched over a little banged-up plasticene table just on the outskirts of the crowd of people dancing. There are more tables laid out around them, arranged outwards in a circle surrounding the jubilant dancers. Feasting to their heart's content on dishes found within the extensive and surprisingly cheap street food stalls located throughout the market.

Cora stares down hesitantly at her plate, running her fork through the goopy mess. A small pool of some sort of mash and meat. She doesn't remember exactly what the seller had called it. Too focused on not drawing attention to notice. It smells relatively good, but the looks of the dish are altogether not the best. Cora doesn't usually consider herself to be a picky eater—considering that usually she doesn't get a choice in what she eats—but she is one now.

Either way, in her mind, it's better to stare and pick at her food than look up at Jor. Who she can tell, is staring at her right now. Waiting for her to say something, Cora guesses. Like two annoying little lasers melting right into her kriffing brain. And for the 7th time today, she wonders:

What am I doing here?

She sighs.

"I was being serious about what I said to you before. About not wanting anything to do with the Jedi," Cora offers, glancing up at him.

Jor's ears prick up and Cora continues, "Once we're done, you can just… go and we never see each other ever again."

His eyes wander off for a moment, before he speaks, "Are you going to eat that?" His eyes flick down to Cora's heaping plate of food.

Cora furrows her eyebrows, thinks about it for a second, and at that exact moment, her stomach rumbles. Still, she pushes it away, "Have at it."

Jor grabs the plate from across the table and digs in.

He's over halfway done with the plate when he stops and points his fork at Cora, "Sorry if I seem starved. Being stranded in an alternate dimension for a few centuries will do that to you."

She leans back in her chair, taken aback for a second at the half-joke, "That's where you were this whole time? An alternate dimension?" There's a bit of disbelief in her voice when Cora says that last sentence.

Jor squeezes his eyes shut and ticks his head left a little, humming disapprovingly, "Sort of? Alternate dimension is just the easiest way I can describe it." In between scarfing down bites of food, he continues, "Some sort of kooky… way-station that exists outside of Time… or the Force made physical… take your pick. All I can tell you for sure… is it's definitely above your current knowledge level."

Cora huffs a laugh, crosses her hands over her chest, "My level? Okay, what is at my level then?

It takes a full minute for Jor to respond, practically inhaling the rest of his food. Once he's done, he plunks the fork into the plate and takes a deep breath in, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his cloak.

Jor looks around, concentrating at the stalls and the crowd, his brows scrunched inwards. A small line marks the well-earned wrinkle in the space between his eyes.

He nods and leans in close to Cora, which she copies. Jor's voice is quiet and contemplative over the music, "Lesson #3, Repeat after me:

There is no emotion, there is peace."

Cora frowns, but does as he asks, "There is no emotion, there is peace."

Jor nods and continues, "There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

Jor says, "There is no chaos, there is harmony." And Cora repeats.

"There is no death, there is the Force." And she repeats again.

Jor lets the music fill the silence between them for a second and then explains, "That is something we teach to beginners when they first come to train. It is the very basis of how the Jed—" Jor stops himself, clears his throat and restarts, "How others have come to understand, harness, and eventually…" He glances at Cora mirthlessly for one second, "…control the Force."

Cora processes all this, repeating the mantra quietly under her breath, committing it to memory.

Jor speaks, "Whenever you need to be focused, whenever you feel yourself losing control over your emotions, repeat it and it will help. You can also utilize it when meditating."

Cora frowns at the word, looking a tad distraught at the idea, "I have to meditate?"

"It's the most important thing you have to do. You must learn to be alone with your thoughts and with the Force, and allow it to flow through you, to let yourself connect with it fully."

Her right hand, rested on the table, slowly clenching into a tight fist. She retorts, "But I don't want or need to-to… connect with it. I just want—"

Jor rolls his eyes and interrupts Cora, "to control it. Yes, we know," His eyes dart across the table, searching for the right words, "…control is such a harsh word. Yes, it is technically the main point of the techniques we're meant to teach newcomers to the ways of the Force, because most of these newcomers are literal children. Their emotions are well-known to be far too big for them. But hidden within that primary objective, through these techniques, it is also essential for them to begin to learn other facets if they wish to indeed 'control' the Force. To learn to accept their connection, to commune with it. Understand it."

He looks to Cora, waiting for her to say something in rebellion. When she doesn't, he pushes on, "You cannot have one without the other, Cora."

At that, she shifts and leans back in her seat, throwing out, "…Fine." Her fist uncurls and comes to wrap around her forearm.

Jor smiles and smacks his hands down lightly on the table, "Okay! So now, we're going to meditate."

The music starts to grow louder at that, children screaming in delight and people laughing. Their surroundings are like an always-changing kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and smells. Cora looks around, hunches in on herself when a creeping thought begins to plague her mind. "Wouldn't this be the worst place to do something like that?"

Jor shrugs, "Definitely, but hey, if you can do it here… you can do it anywhere."

He leans forward again, bracing himself on the table, "Close your eyes."

Cora complies slowly, the back of her eyelids are bright red from all the light, the music almost seems to somehow become even more ear-splitting at the loss of visual information. She can feel the bass of it in her bones.

He continues, speaking in a hushed manner, "Now… listen to my voice and only my voice. Focus on my words and only my words. Nothing else. Repeat them even. Then, after every sentence, take a deep breath. Okay? The biggest slowest breath you can manage."

Cora responds, "…Okay."

Jor must take that as a sign to start because he begins, slowly, pausing for each word. He says the first verse of the mantra he'd just shown her. She repeats, and breathes in. In. In. Letting the air fill her lungs and expand her chest. Then, out. Slowly. Carefully. Or tries to at least. Unsurprisingly, with the whole world moving and screaming and turning around her, Cora can barely concentrate on her own thoughts.

They do this four more times, with the other verses. Some verses, the chaos quiets for just a second and she's able to actually focus. Others, her mind drags her into listening to a conversation happening just a couple feet away.

And once they finish the mantra, the Jedi starts again, from the beginning. And Cora listens. Really concentrates on the words, tries to understand them.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

And slowly, the music that surrounds her becomes background static. Replaced by a distant soothing hum that finds a place in Cora's heart. Cora's heartbeat manages to slow down just a little. Her shoulders droop and her hands, resting on the table, finally relax.

Jor's voice is like the rest of him. A light. A beacon. It's tone calm, but powerful nonetheless. In the relative silence, because really how silent can it be when her and Jor are surrounded by so much energy, so much life, she tries to reach out to that place deep inside her where the Force lays dormant. Like a sleeping beast, trapped in hibernation.

It seems like a part of it wakes up, sends out a tendril at Cora's probing. But before she can really do anything about it—

—A boisterous laugh shatters her concentration.

She jolts upright in her chair. Everything filters back in quickly and abruptly, envelopes Cora completely. She's thrown for a loop at the shock of it. Cora swallows down her anxiety and swivels her head in the direction of the sound. Nostrils flared and teeth bared beneath unparted lips.

Cora quickly realizes that the reason her mind had shaken her out of the trance was because she recognizes that laugh. Her eyes search the bustling crowd before she spots him, sitting among other people, at another dining table not even 10 feet away from her. Farther down the edge of the circle.

The fact that she didn't see him sooner makes Cora groan with disappointment.

Cruise Verona claps his hands to the rhythm of the beat, singing some sort of made-up tune to the lyricless song. His sleek black hair bounces in time with the wild movements of his head. There's a brilliant smile resting on his face, and his brown eyes gleam with joy. He is in clear view of Cora, but his friends, perhaps other resistance members, sit with their backs to Jor and her.

Completely unawares that the stormtrooper that has tried to kill them all multiple times sits just a little ways away from them.

With the Jedi she accidentally released from some sort of alternate Force dimension.

Who's teaching her how to control her own Force abilities.

Stars. What a world.

The sight of blatant traitors to the First Order being so happy sends anger flooding into her veins. Especially Verona, that bastard. Just seeing him grin makes Cora's vision go red, and grinning so genuinely at that, nothing like the smug cocky smiles he throws her when they fight. Well, he doesn't get to be happy. Not after all the suffering he's caused. Her heartbeat picks up again, like the last few minutes hadn't even happened. She grips the top of her chair in a vise, feeling the cheap old plasticene warp and bend under her fingers.

The Force within her curls into something nasty and acidic, burning away the calmness she'd felt just moments ago. She can hear someone behind her talking, trying to get her attention. Cora disregards them.

She stands upright, about to walk over and make their lives a living hell when almost immediately, someone grabs her wrist. Pulling her back and keeping her rooted to the spot. Her head snaps to stare at the culprit.

Jor stares back, barely held-back confusion and worry plastered across his face. He's gripping her wrist rather tightly, refusing to let go even as Cora pulls. Quickly, she states, through bared teeth, "Let. Go."

"No. Remember what I told you." Jor shakes his head.

Cora tries to pull her arm away again, to no avail. "You are not my captain, Jor."

"You're the one drawing attention now, Cora! Think! How is this is going to look to everyone here?"

Her eyes wander off to the side and she doesn't respond.

Jor pokes his pointer finger down onto the table. "This is exactly what I was talking about. Remember the words. Sit down and breathe."

Cruise laughs again and Cora feels herself fighting to go, to knock Cruise down in one fell swoop. The Force urges her on, yearns for blood. In her untrained ears, it almost sounds like voices. Jor tightens his grip again, almost painfully on Cora's part.

He says his next words, slow and methodically, "If you do this, kill that man, whoever he is… you risk falling down a very dangerous path, one that I cannot pull you back from. You will never learn to control your emotions or the Force, it will control you. Until the end of time."

That gets through. Jor's words make a hole in Cora's defenses and second by second, that hole becomes bigger, until finally the storm breaks. The roar of the Force dies down and goes silent again, and Cora forces herself to sit back down. He lets go of her wrist.

And Jor lets out the massive breath he's been holding, running a hand clean down his face, "By the light, thank you."

Cora's still staring at Cruise, he's laughing at something someone had said and then all of a sudden, a woman comes right up to him. His age. Which in turn Cora suspected was also around her own age. Smiling, bouncing, naive. Dressed in florals and all manner of flowy inefficient clothing.

Pretty.

The woman leans down and whispers in his ear, and whatever she says, Cruise agrees to. Because he smiles brightly at her and stands up. The other guys cheer him on as the woman holds out her hand for him to take and drags him out into the crowd of dancers. Before they begin, Cruise carefully, without ever taking his eyes off the woman, leans down and kisses her delicate hand gently. The woman's other hand comes up as she tries to stifle a giggle. Cora rolls her eyes.

It's nauseatingly sweet. So potent with sappiness that it leaves a bad taste in Cora's mouth. And maybe a lingering feeling of something else in her chest that Cora can't really decipher. Tight and bitter. She pays it no mind.

And right as the two are about to start dancing, Cora turns away. Stares down at the floor. Kicks a rock away from the table with her shoe. Scowls.

She still wants to stand up and go beat the shit out of him.

Mumbling, she replies to Jor, "Don't thank me just yet."