Summary: Sequel to Younglings Are The Future. "Because, in this era, being a normal Jedi means fighting on the front lines. And that would mean revealing the combat-hungry monster that his master had made of him, and Rakesh has sworn never to release it." After his lightsaber pike is stolen when he's on duty, Rakesh must track down and confront the culprit. One-shot.

A/N: Rakesh Brem is the name I have given the Grand Inquisitor, the main character of this series. Further notes on him and the appearing Guard and/or Inquisitorius members will be listed at the end of the fic on AO3.

Here's a layout I created for the way I perceive the Guard Halls: blog/view/oh-three/690464525287358464?source=share

And here's a further look into the personalities of the Guard crew based on incorrect quotes: blog/view/oh-three/691176073585721344?source=share

I've Seen Your Heart (And It Looks Like Mine)

"Soooo, Rak, where's your lightsaber?" Tindri singsongs as they enter Unit Arrel's living space at the end of their shift, Brakan and Linaleh having already gone inside ahead of them.

Rakesh Brem scowls. While a Guard's observational skills are essential while on-shift, they are nothing but annoying otherwise. And whilst Brakan Mavor is too meek to mention something amiss among one of their own, Tindri is far from it. "I'll head back out to look for it after we've eaten. I believe a padawan may have swiped it off of me."

"I can't believe you didn't notice," she teases.

"Neither can I," Rakesh grumbles, wishing with all of his being that she would take the hint to just drop it. "Do not tell Jurr."

Tindri turns around as she walks, dipping into a playful bow of mockery. "Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Guardsman."

"I would hope so," he warns. Because whilst Tindri is the unofficial unit secret-keeper, he knows that this one in particular is one that she would willingly pull out and hold against him in the future. He's seen her do it before.

Aside from Brakan and Linaleh, no one else is waiting for them in the common area- which is rather unfortunate, Rakesh decides, given that it means that they will have to wait for the others to return. He doesn't have the patience to wait today, hasn't had any patience after he'd realized his lightsaber pike had gone missing. A Temple Guard really can't go even a moment without keeping full focus of their surroundings, lest a mischievous child do or take something they mustn't.

As had happened to him today.

One moment he'd had it, but the next…it had vanished.

He hadn't even felt the weight of it pulling against his belt with the removal. Rakesh had been too caught up in pulling a loose youngling away from the remnants of a window that had spontaneously shattered beneath the sun's setting rays. Perhaps the thief had shattered it as a ruse?

He doesn't know for sure what had happened. But he is certain to find out after he heads to the security station later. Few Jedi are allowed access, but his station as a Temple Guard allows him it even while he's off-duty. He will get to the bottom of what had happened, and then he'll seek out the culprit- after all, who could have done it but another Jedi?

It may take him all night, but Rakesh will have his answers.

Rakesh has always known that the Jedi Temple contained thousands of holocams, but the thought really hadn't prepared him for sifting through them all. What began as a task he'd thought would only take a couple of hours has turned into five, and he's gone from standing to kneeling before the display, unwilling to put up with the ache in his legs on top of it all.

He can tell that even the on-duty Guard has grown tired of his presence, the sounds from the security archives interfering with those of the ambient environment. Rakesh really can't tell their age with the mask in place, but a younger Guardian would be far less irritated than the one off to his left. But with the sun having set some hours ago, the Temple is far quieter than it had been before. The Guard should be grateful to have something other than a silent room to observe.

"What are you looking for?" They finally ask, when Rakesh has removed his hood to rub at his temples through the cloth portion of his own mask.

He lets a flare of his own frustration lash out at theirs as he scowls. "My lightsaber."

"Does Drallig know you've lost it?"

"He won't if I find it first," he snaps. The other Guard is silent, and he closes strained eyes with a weary sigh. "My apologies. Despite being able to see in the dark, my species has sensitive eyes. The holograms are hard on them. I have no desire to provoke you."

It's true; as good as Pau'an eyesight is, there's something about holograms in particular that gets to them, puts so much strain on them that eventually an individual's head is enveloped in a migraine.

Rakesh first discovered this when he was a youngling himself, hours of holofilms and lesson recordings making him so ill that sometimes he'd had to be removed from the class for the rest of that day. And, well, he's always been rather prone to acting out to such things in irritation- something that clearly hasn't faded with age, though he has half a mind to blame the other Guardsman for his ire tonight.

Even holocrons themselves bother him at times. He hasn't researched it thoroughly, but he's almost certain that it's actually the artificial blue light that bothers him. Kyber crystals, on the other hand, are natural, hence why the blade of a normal Jedi's lightsaber never has.

It's silent for a long moment, the other Guard thinking over his words, and Rakesh turns back to his searching. Despite that, it's more the proximity of the voice than the fact that it's there at all that startles him:

"Here," the Guard says, holding out an open hand.

Rakesh stares.

A sigh. "I'll switch with you. I will find your lost blade while you stand guard in my place."

Whatever he'd expected the other to offer, it hadn't been that. He and this other Guard are likely strangers to one another out of their masks- and, yet, despite their previous exasperation, they are offering to do this part of the task for him. Something that, if his head weren't pounding, would infuriate Rakesh further.

But he's so drained by now that there are more pros to it than there are cons, assuming this Guard can keep their mouth shut about the matter once it's all been said and done.

"Very well," he concedes, taking the outstretched hand and letting himself be pulled up onto stiff legs.

They place their pike into his hands, but not without a warning. "If you lose mine, I promise the Battlemaster will hear of it."

Rakesh scoffs. "I assure you, I'm not that careless."

All he receives in response is a doubtful hum, and Rakesh wonders if his impatience made him come off as one of the younger, more arrogant Guardsmen who had joined them. Perhaps, some other day, he will make a point to identify this Guard and make his own identity known to them. Whether to prove his responsibility to them or to thank them, though, he hasn't yet decided.

And so, he says nothing as he takes up their post, clipping the pike to his belt where his own should have been, as he directs his gaze away from the holocrons and the security footage. At least he can project some of his frustration, with the crossed-arm stance.

He breathes out through his nose and reaches out for the familiar incantation of the Jedi Code.

.

There is no emotion; there is peace.

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

There is no passion; there is serenity.

There is no chaos; there is harmony.

There is no death; there is the Force.

.

Those words wash over him, bringing their ethereal calm, and the frustration of the day leaves him. The Sentinel's tireless energy takes over, and focus comes easy.

He hones his senses in on his surroundings, taking them in with naught but a sound himself. The other Guard, kneeling beside the holocams, flicking through them with the patience of the Grandmaster himself. Their partner, on watch outside, as still as a statue even as the occasional nocturnal Jedi passes by. This area of the Temple is silent, as serene as the sight of the four moons might be. The security station that he stands within holds more action than even the crèche.

Time seems to fly by now that Rakesh has taken up the Sentinel's tranquility again. What had once been only a couple of hours after dark turns into midnight, and he can feel his weariness reaching even through his watchful persona. But he had made a vow, a vow to do whatever he could to locate his missing lightsaber, and sleep won't help him to do that quickly. So remain in-character he does, silent, waiting for good news, trying to keep the blend of ambient sounds separate. He can't afford to let his guard down, not even for a moment, while he stands in place of another.

.

There is no emotion; there is peace.

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

There is no passion; there is serenity.

There is no chaos; there is harmony.

There is no death; there is the Force.

.

He doesn't know how long it's been since he's entered the security station by the time the other Guard finally shuts off the hologram display and rises to their full height. The movement startles him out of the Sentinel's trance, and he blinks heavy eyelids at the figure turning towards him.

Well? He prods at them.

"A Mirialan boy has taken your lightsaber to the Room of a Thousand Fountains," they curtly inform him.

A mischievous padawan indeed, then. Just as he had suspected. Rakesh can't recall encountering a male Mirialan today- females of their species are much more common in the Jedi Order- and wonders if perhaps he had been correct in suspecting the shattered window to be a ruse. And if that's the case, then he must take care in approaching this padawan. Who knows how he may react to confrontation, if he was willing to go to such lengths to take something that hadn't belonged to him.

But, the Room of a Thousand Fountains? Who in their right mind would unsheathe a lightsaber there?

Oh, he is in for an interesting interaction indeed.

Rakesh thanks the other Guard for their generosity, making sure to return their still-very-present weapon to them, before exiting the security station at long last and making way for the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He moves with haste, though not enough to garner concern from those he passes, as he crosses the Temple, intent on catching up with the padawan before he decides to take his forbidden endeavors elsewhere.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains is considered to be a meditative retreat by many Jedi within the Order. Especially to most within the Temple Guard, with their being confined to the Temple at all times. It is rare that a Guard should leave the premises, and there are only a handful of instances in which one has ever left Coruscant entirely. Even the Jedi that can leave find their way to the Fountains soon enough.

Rakesh, however, had been trained not to indulge in such pleasantries. Something that he has carried with him even into these dark times.

That isn't to say he hasn't been to see the room- he's been there countless times, performing his duty as a Guard, and a few even in his younger years, but he has never gone there for the intent to find peace, or to enjoy it. Even now, he's only headed that direction because of the boy who'd decided it was a good idea to steal his weapon. It's not something he's ever given much thought to; enjoyment. It's not something he was ever allowed. It has been a long time since Rakesh has ever truly enjoyed something.

Nonetheless, despite having only been to the room some dozen times within his current lifespan, he has long-since memorized the route. He needn't put any thought into trying to remember it, for his feet carry him there with the ease of one who may approach the Fountains several times a week.

He nods to the Sentinel on duty at the end of the corridor as he turns into it, and he sees them return the gesture in his peripheral. There's a certain comradery to those within the Guard, a respect that lets them acknowledge each other when they will no one else, even if they do not know who it is who passes by them. The Guard are kin, in a sense, though Rakesh feels no real connection to those outside of his own unit.

And them he only tolerates because he has to, because he lives with them.

He doesn't think he'd ever acknowledge half of them- with exception to Vori, of course- if they were normal Jedi themselves.

Rakesh never wants to be a normal Jedi. Because, in this era, being a normal Jedi means fighting on the front lines. And that would mean revealing the combat-hungry monster that his master had made of him, and Rakesh has sworn never to release it. He would never be able to come back from the front, even if he did survive the war. He would be…something else.

He would be a danger to everyone around him.

The door to the Room of a Thousand Fountains looms before him, and a gentle nudge from the Force pushes it open.

He never has been within it at night before, he realizes, when he finds the room darker than he had expected. The ceiling has always reflected the sunny sky of a distant planet- but, now, as he's discovered, it displays a field of distant star systems. The path before him, as far as he can see, is in a narrow clearing, but a canopy of trees extends out on either side of him. If there are any moons above him, he cannot see them.

A distant laugh draws his attention back to his task and away from the nature. Rakesh closes his eyes and reaches out with the Force, feeling for the presences of whomever else is in the terrarium.

On the far end of the room, a long distance away, is a group of what he believes to be younger padawans, perhaps older initiates. That's the only gathering in the whole space, and therefore must be where the laughter had come from. But the Guard he had spoken to hadn't mentioned anyone else alongside the thief. And he doubts that anyone with such intentions would be so young, besides.

He turns his attention to the separate signatures spread across the haven. There are one or two pairings scattered about, undoubtedly the occasional master and their apprentice, but the rest are all single signatures. One of them must be the padawan.

Rakesh digs deeper. Where are you, boy?

There.

On the far left of the terrarium, on his own, is a padawan in his late teenage years. And with him, Rakesh can hear the faint hum of his kyber crystals singing in the Force, calling out to him for their retrieval. But the boy is unsettled, Rakesh senses. Feeling a rather concerning whirlwind of emotions that will make this confrontation tedious.

He really shouldn't have put so much hope into it being so easy.

Opening his eyes, Rakesh can see that the path he stands on forks off into two directions up ahead. It would be easier to follow it rather than to fight through the undergrowth, he decides, and starts along the trail that curves to the left.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains is modeled off of some distant jungle. It's warm and humid, green and rich with smells foreign to Coruscant's endless cityscape. It's been a long time since Rakesh has been to a jungle world. He decides that he doesn't miss it. Not with the insects that buzz about, not with the sweat forming between strips of raised skin. He'll have to take a shower before he retires for the night- it's one thing after another, really. He won't get any sleep before his next shift at this rate. He'll never hear the end of it if he falls asleep during one of tomorrow's meals.

But he must retrieve his lightsaber, even at the cost of endless teasing. It's a trivial price, one that he's willing to pay, however reluctantly so.

The flora on either side of the path begins to narrow, and Rakesh grimaces as the large leaves brush against his uniform. He hopes that he can get out with it relatively unscathed by nature, but, well, he's already seen that hoping hasn't gotten him far tonight. Everything surrounding his lightsaber being stolen has proven to be rather complicated, and it would be far too easy if that changed now.

He can hear the trickling of a stream not far ahead, the sound growing louder with each step. He will have to cross it to reach the boy, but from what he can sense, it is narrow, perhaps enough so that he can step over it. It is of no concern to him. Nor are the nocturnal birds that chirp above, communicating with one another between trees.

Perhaps if he had a different master, Rakesh would understand what it is that draws the other Jedi to this place. But to him, it's just damp, noisy, and the opposite of the pristine environment he's come to prefer.

Brakan enjoys it here. Perhaps Rakesh will ask him of the appeal.

Or perhaps not, because that would earn him several other questions he would rather not answer. None of them know who his master was. How he treated him. How much he loathes him. There are some things that are easier to keep private, even from Vori.

The wall of foliage breaks for a few feet before it continues, and a glance down reveals the stream he had heard. It's a little wider than he had thought, but a couple of perfectly-placed rocks jut out, acting as footholds to make crossing easier. He doesn't need them, not really, but it's easier to use them than it is to get his boots wet. Rakesh would rather not have to clean the mud from them before leaving.

It takes but a moment to cross, and then his feet are on the other side, and he pushes back into the greenery once more. The cloth of his uniform is slightly damp, and dew has begun to form on his armor. Why the Temple's founders had decided to make this room so large is beyond him- he hadn't planned to go on a hike to get his weapon back.

He wonders if the Guard in the security station is watching him.

Rakesh doesn't want to be here.

The sound of his footsteps echo softly in the stillness of the jungle as he continues onward, sounding louder than the birds and the occasional rustling of leaves. He thinks he can hear the hum of a lightsaber, in the distance. The Force tells him that there's not much further left for him to go.

He steps carefully over the gnarled, partially-surfaced roots of one particularly large tree, then ducks under some low-hanging branches from the next. It almost seems that the further into the room, the less maintained it is. Or perhaps he's just been lucky thus far. Rakesh never has been this deep within the terrarium, has never had any reason to be. Not until the Mirialan padawan had decided to take from him. What master would let their padawan become this unruly anyway? Even Anakin Skywalker knows better than to mess with the Temple Guard, and he's perhaps the most wayward Jedi in the whole Order.

He reaches out with the Force again, feeling for the Mirialan's presence. It's much nearer than before, and the turmoil in his presence feels stronger. Rakesh could lean into that and follow those emotions to the boy on their own, if he chose to.

It would be easier to approach the padawan from another angle, to catch him off-guard, rather than to confront him directly. The boy must be expecting someone to come after him in response to his actions, and it would be best not to come from where he would be expected to. He doesn't think there is an entrance to the Fountains on this side of the room.

And so, Rakesh diverges from the direct path, moving in a circular motion to approach the padawan from the other side. It will take longer, but from what he can sense, the boy does not seem intent on moving for quite some time. His self-assigned route takes him away from the natural path he had been following, and deeper into the foliage. Perhaps cleaning his armor will be worth it if catching the boy off-guard means that he will be more likely to return to the Halls with his lightsaber.

He scales a rock formation with little difficulty, his mask muffling his grunts, coming up to stand on higher ground. Through the trees, there's a clearing on his right. Within it sits a large pool of water, the end of where one of the brooks must lead. Various fish swim within it, visible only to his keen eyesight, beneath the bugs that hover over the floating patches of moss on the surface. A long-beaked bird is perched on one of the jutting rocks within it, waiting for something to swim near enough to be caught.

But Rakesh's attention is drawn to something else, something that disrupts the tranquility of the scene. On the far side of the pool, in a hollow beneath a curved cliff face, is the padawan he has been seeking out.

He has the green skin and dark facial tattoos that mark him as a Mirialan, just as the other Guard had claimed the boy to be, his hair a short mop of black curls apart from the traditional braid hanging on his right. Only female Mirialans keep their hair covered. And, in his hands-

A familiar yellow blade cuts through the visage of soil and greenery.

Finally.

Rakesh slides out of obvious view before the boy can spot him; he's not yet at the right angle to garner the surprise that he wishes to. He pulls off to his left, further into the trees, as he hikes around the back- he had seen a pathway from near the top of the cliff that had led down to the boy's position. He will approach him from there.

He takes care to hide his presence in the Force, and pulls a shadow of the Sentinel back upon him, adopting its ability to remain undetected to keep his steps light. He is fast. He is silent. He is indistinguishable to anyone not directly looking at him.

The padawan doesn't know he is there until he deliberately lets the dirt crunch beneath his boot with his final step from the greenery.

The boy spins around so fast that he might've cut off Rakesh's head had he been any closer to him. His eyes, reflecting the beam of the lightsaber, are wide at the startle. But he's in such a foul mood that they narrow, and his lips fall into a scowl in hardly a moment. He's younger than Rakesh had expected him to be, younger than his presence feels. Hardly a couple of years older than Ahsoka herself. Nonetheless, that grants him no mercy.

Rakesh holds out an expectant hand. "Return the saber."

"How did you find me?" The padawan all but demands of him, all spite and no regality. Rakesh has never met this boy before, but there's something familiar about his anger.

"The kyber crystals were calling to me," he says simply. Even amongst the Guard, they had chosen crystals that had sung to them when they'd received their pikes. But, of course, his own have been yellow for a long time. His original one, once blue, had changed to it as his master had changed his identity. "Your conflict is loud in the Force."

"That's none of your business."

He tilts his head. Turmoil of any sort can be a danger to the Order, to the Temple. "Isn't it?"

His question is not rewarded with an answer, and the boy turns back to the water, as if brushing off his presence. He doesn't offer the lightsaber back, and Rakesh lets his empty hand fall back to his side. He'd known what he was getting himself into when he had first sensed the boy's turmoil, and now he will need to offer a different approach to the situation.

But the padawan, still aware of him despite his silence, remains as immobile as a rock even as he deactivates the weapon and studies the hilt. "Go away," he says quietly, though no less unwelcoming than before.

"I cannot do that. My weapon is essential to performing my duty." And, then, through the Force, he adds: I have spent all night searching for you.

"Is it that important?" He almost seems curious now.

"It is."

Rakesh can sense how the boy's conflict shifts away from whatever his other problems may be to focus on pondering this one. His edges feel gentler, younger than they had before, the fingers of one hand tracing the lines of the pike in thought. He is silent for a few good moments before he hardens and finally turns back around.

"Fight me for it," he declares. "If you win, you can have it back. If I win, I get to keep it."

Whatever has possessed the boy's mind to make him believe that he can defeat a fully trained Temple Guard is beyond him, but he's not going to deny him this request. Rakesh knows what the outcome will be.

He has been trained in seven forms of combat, and he doesn't imagine that this padawan has even fully mastered one yet.

"Very well."

The boy twists the pike apart in the middle and tosses one of the halves into Rakesh's waiting palm. It feels wrong, the lightness of it, holding only half of it in his hand. But it will have to do if he is to indeed indulge him in this fight. A single blade, of course, is better than none. He takes a step back and ignites the blade as he flicks his arm down to his side. Makashi will serve him well tonight.

He lets the padawan make the first move, a swing just above his left shoulder. In one fluid movement, he brings his blade up to parry it. It seems that the boy has chosen Ataru as his form- many padawans do.

This fight will not last long.

Their duel disrupts the peace of the area, the clash of lightsabers carrying through the air and startling the wildlife into fleeing. Rakesh can only hope that they don't attract any of the lingering Jedi who've decided to spend their time here. Perhaps it's a good thing that the boy's moves are so predictable.

Yellow light casts itself out upon the water, upon the foliage behind them. It makes the area appear almost magical beneath the dim lighting of the false night sky. They almost could be on another planet. Not that Rakesh would ever wish to be.

He deflects another glancing strike from the padawan's blade, focusing hard to ignore the dancing shadows around them, and then another aimed for his legs. The whole affair is rather boring, really. Not for the Mirialan, of course, who grows more frustrated with every failed attempt to disarm him. But Rakesh finds the whole thing to be far too easy. All those hours, and they've come down to a duel against a boy who clearly has many years of training ahead of him still. It's laughable. He looks graceful next to the boy's sloppiness.

But he had looked that way himself once, when he was a padawan, blinded by the anger his master had bestowed upon him. By the dread of each coming day. By the fear of merely hearing his master's voice-

Rakesh wonders, suddenly, if he might have more in common with the young Mirialan than he had thought.

He transfers his next parry into an attack of his own, pressing his weight into his blade, pushing the boy back. Something shifts in his face as he realizes that Rakesh had been holding back. His skin is sickly beneath the yellow light. He looks…afraid. Like he truly hadn't thought his idea through.

He really hadn't, had he?

It's over quickly after that. Rakesh relinquishes his weight and returns it with a swipe that sends the boy's torso reeling to the side. He has to release one hand's grip upon the blade to regain his balance.

The next swing connects hard enough to tear the weapon from his hold and make him collapse back into the water at the shoreline.

Rakesh uses the Force to slow the hilt's descent, to draw it toward him in its fall. The crystal's song falls quiet when its shell finally settles in his palm. The tension coiled in his body is released with the slumping of his shoulders as he twists the pike back into one. He returns it to his belt with much satisfaction.

A few feet away, the padawan coughs as he drags himself out of the water. Rakesh steps forward and extends an arm down to him.

"I don't need your help," he spits.

Oh, yes, they are very similar. It's like looking down upon himself in a different body. His arm falls back to his side with little resentment. A conversation will do nicely, he decides. And some conversations require a more...personal touch. This is one of them. The mask will not help either of them here. Rakesh brushes back his hood and takes it off.

The padawan stares at him.

Rakesh sighs, and gestures to him as he turns away. "Come with me."

As he makes his way up the path that leads to the top of the cliff, Rakesh knows that the boy will follow. Curiosity is an impossible urge to ignore, a stronger desire to give in to than even anger, sometimes, especially among the youth. The oath of a Temple Guard is not one made lightly, and breaking it as he has is sure to draw the padawan after him. He will have questions, and Rakesh answering them will lower the boy's guard and make him more willing to talk to him about…other things.

The dirt crunches beneath his boots with each step, for he's no reason to conceal himself now. He can feel the boy's presence in tow, reluctant, and hears him start up the path as well.

The path winds its way up the hill through foliage and around the trunks of trees, consistent in only its slope. Already, he can hear the return of wildlife in the aftermath of danger, frogs croaking and crickets chirping in the darkness beneath the cover of the canopy. Rakesh might not be as in-tune with nature as many of the other Jedi, but he does prefer its sounds to that of the silence in this moment. With his mask having been removed, he can even feel a draft that's not dissimilar to an evening breeze. It feels good against his hot, ashen skin in the wake of the duel.

A distant part of him wonders how the padawan is faring, unable to see as well as he can in the darkness.

The trees thin out near the top, giving way to view of the tops of others between them. It's almost like standing on a tall mountain peak, above the clouds, unable to see anything below them. The creators of the Room of a Thousand Fountains had known what they were doing when they had designed its terrain. That thought is almost unnerving as the previous had been nostalgic. None of this is real, not really. Perhaps that's why he had never understood the appeal of the room, knowing that deep down it was all a lie. He never has been particularly fond of lies.

Rakesh steps out onto the flat surface of the cliff's topside, out into clear view of the treetops. The padawan is behind him somewhere, he senses, with about a quarter of the trail ahead of him still.

The draft is stronger up here, more akin to a gentle wind. It ruffles the edges of his robes the way it rustles the leaves on the trees. Even if he despises it for being a whisper of what wind really is, it does feel nice on his skin. He'll allow it that gratitude, he decides, as he continues toward a gnarled, sideways-grown tree near the cliff's edge.

He finds the tree's trunk to be high enough for him to be able to sit upon it without lowering himself more than a few inches. Rakesh does so gratefully, the muscles in his legs creaking in relief after hours upon hours of being forced to hold him upright. He sets his mask on his lap, leaving one hand upon it, and lets the other settle on the trunk, feeling the rough texture of the bark. It's been a long time since he's touched a tree, really. And while this room isn't a real jungle, the contents within it are natural enough, air drafts aside.

For just a moment, Rakesh allows himself to close his eyes, to enjoy this imitation of nature. Perhaps, if he were just a bit more ignorant…

"Are you allowed to take off your mask?" The boy asks as he approaches him.

"No," Rakesh says slowly, relishing that his voice is again his own after so many hours beneath the mask. "I'm not. It looks like you and I are both breaking rules today."

He says nothing more- it is not his place to so quickly begin a conversation that relies greatly on the padawan's cooperation. Opening his eyes, he scans them across the room, silently letting the young Jedi settle himself on the opposite end of the trunk. There are other breaks in the trees here and there, where he can sense more life accumulated- fish, in streams and pools, no doubt. Rakesh has only seen three or four jungles in all of his years, and this one looks just like them all. They all look the same, really, as do most deserts and oceans. At least, to him; he's sure there are quite a few individuals who would argue with him if he were to voice such an opinion aloud. His master had stripped him of the ability to appreciate whatever differences similar environments may have.

His master had stripped him of a lot of things. Joining the Guard had not been Rakesh's own idea, after all. Cin Drallig had taken one look at him, at his presence in the Force, and had decided that he needed nourishment. He still doesn't understand what it is he has supposedly been here for, but he is largely at peace in his position among the Guard. It had reunited him with Vori, after all, and has prevented him from joining the war at the same level that thousands of other Jedi have been forced to. For that, he's grateful.

When it becomes clear, after many minutes, that the boy beside him will not speak first, Rakesh finds his voice again. "What was the purpose of taking my lightsaber?"

The padawan shifts uncomfortably, and out of the corner of his eye, Rakesh can see that his gaze has turned to the thin stretch of soil between his feet and the cliff's edge. He sounds defeated when he finally chooses his words. "My master took mine." And once those four pass his lips, the rest come unhesitantly:

"I…I failed one of his tests and he took it from me. He said I would have to prove to him that I deserve to keep it. He said that I have to prove to him that I belong here. As if I chose to be here." There's something bitter there now, something that resonates deep within Rakesh; he knows the feeling all too well. "Nobody asked me if I wanted to join the Jedi Order. I was too young to know I was different from everybody else."

"...Do you want to leave the Order?" He asks, carefully.

"No!" The boy says quickly, taken aback. "I just…I wish I'd been given a choice. I wish I got to choose who my master is. Mine is…I don't know why they let him have a padawan."

"Have you considered going to the Council of Reassignment?"

"Why? There are enough masterless padawans as it is, thanks to this war. I'd end up in the AgriCorps before I got reassigned." He points out. More glumly, he adds, "Besides, I don't think he'd let me leave."

Some part of Rakesh had known that the conversation would come down to something like this, to something that mirrored his own past. He must have sensed it, this similarity between him and the padawan. The turmoil surrounding the boy's presence had been familiar, even if the presence itself hadn't been. This boy is suffering what he had at his age. He's suffering from a master that had taken on an apprentice simply to move up within the Order. From a master that is more selfish than selfless, who could never give the time of day to show compassion to another being. From a master who never should have earned such a position.

Rakesh doesn't know what force of nature lets him speak, but when he does, it's quiet, resigned, mournful of what he could have had. "My own master was like that. He was harsh and unforgiving, vicious in sparring practice. The day I decided I wanted another, he trapped me in our quarters at blade-point and wouldn't let me leave."

"Do you think…Is it possible we might have the same master?" The boy asks, turning to look at him for the first time since he had removed his mask.

"Oh, I doubt that." He shakes his head with a bitter smile. "My old master has been on the front lines since the day the war began. He would consider having another padawan a burden."

"Is that why you joined the Temple Guard? To get away from him?"

Rakesh considers the question for a moment, casting his gaze back out over the swaying treetops.

"I don't know," he murmurs, after a moment.

He had joined the Temple Guard for a multitude of different reasons. Rakesh has always been a rather troubled Jedi, even before Cin gave him the opportunity. Between Master Jocasta's rejection of his access to the Archives and the Council's defense of her decision, he had come to despise them. To be jealous of those not denied access from the knowledge within. Cin Drallig had seen that frustration and offered him another chance to prove his worth. Getting away from his own master had just been an added bonus. Rakesh hasn't spoken to him since he was knighted, anyhow- and that had been nearly ten years ago.

He had risen to the rank of Jedi Master without taking on a padawan of his own, and had still been denied access to the Archives. It had been quite insulting, really.

"You are powerful, Rakesh Brem, more so than some of the most talented members in the Guard. We could use your expertise," Cin had told him. "And, as one of us, it is likely that Chief Librarian Nu will not recognize you when you enter the Archives. You may be able to get access to what the Council has denied you."

But, someone, not even the mask can hide his identity from the elderly woman. She has scented him out each and every time he's so much as tried anything. Rakesh isn't sure what exactly had kept him from leaving the Guard before the war began. Perhaps it has been the fear of stumbling upon his former master. This padawan may know him just a tad better than he knows himself.

"This won't look good on my record, will it," the boy muses, his words more of a statement than a question. It's almost as if he had known Rakesh had been thinking of him.

He hums in agreement. "Well, it doesn't look good on my record, either." There's a stab of confusion from beside him in the Force, as if the padawan hadn't thought of how his thievery would impact whom he had stolen from. "A Temple Guard losing their weapon?" He elaborates. "I can almost see the look on Drallig's face."

"I didn't think about it like that." He frowns.

"Perhaps you should." Rakesh offers, trying not to be too unkind to him. "Your actions do affect others, Padawan. I cannot defend the Temple without my weapon."

The boy nods slowly, an air of thoughtfulness about him. And, then, finally, a sense of remorse seeps into his expression. "I'm sorry, Master," he says. More timidly, he asks, "Are you going to report me?"

Rakesh lets himself consider it. He should report the young Jedi for his actions. Thievery is not something taken lightly among the Jedi, especially when it comes to objects of such value- and against a Temple Guard such as himself, the consequences would be steep. But after this conversation, after what he has learned of the boy, it would only do further harm. He cannot do that to the padawan, not after his own past.

"Only if you do it again," he decides. "I'd like to think that you've learned your lesson tonight."

The boy's chin rises in conviction- and that's an amusing sight, considering his sodden form. "I have."

There's a certain resolve, a steadiness to his dark eyes that hadn't been there before. For now, at least, he has become balanced in the Force. He is calm. He understands his mistakes and wishes to do better. Rakesh has done his duty here, at least for now.

"Time will tell," he hums steadily, rising to his feet. It's late. He should probably try to get an hour or two of sleep in before morning. "Remember, I will be watching." Through the Force, through this understanding that they have formed tonight, he adds: If I see your Master do you wrong, I will report him.

Rakesh descends the trail with finality, his lightsaber back at his side and his mind at ease for the first time in hours, satisfaction tingling at the edge of his thoughts. It is easier to breathe, now, easier to think. It has been many days since his mind has been so clear.

His mask doesn't feel quite as heavy in his hand.

Dirt and gravel crunch beneath his boots as he makes his way down the cliffside path, winding through the trees just as he had on the way up the trail. The brushing of the leaves against his uniform doesn't bother him quite as much as it had before. This boy had made him think about things from a different perspective, just as he had made him do. It wasn't just his anger that had driven him into the clutches of the Guard, but his fear, just as it has those fleeing from the front lines. Drallig must have seen this, when he had taken him in. He's more alike the others than he had previously realized. Anger is just the only way he knows to show it.

But even whilst he knows that, Rakesh knows he's traveled too far down that route to change his behavior. There's a certain solace to anger, to lashing out. It's long become his second nature. But the boy he had met tonight can still change. He's young enough yet.

At the bottom of the cliff, he lets himself kneel at the pool's edge. He lets himself look at his reflection. For the first time in many years, he thinks he might recognize it. He thinks he might see the boy he had been before he had fallen into his master's clutches. For the first time in many years, Rakesh sees himself.

His master hadn't destroyed all of him. Only most.

That's what Cin Drallig had seen that he had felt worth saving. The reason he had adopted Rakesh into the Temple Guard five years ago. It's what Rakesh had seen in the padawan he had just finished speaking to.

Perhaps there is hope for both of them. Perhaps neither will become the monster that his master is.

The war will determine their fates.

Rakesh rises back to his feet and steps from beneath the cliff, his boots carrying him around the pool's edge. Close enough that he's still in full view of the clearing, but far enough that the water will not lap upon them. Maybe, once the war has ended, he will return to his status as a Jedi Master and finally let himself appreciate the ecosystems of the planets he may visit.

"Guard!" A cry comes from behind him, from the top of the cliff.

He turns, casting his eyes upward to regard the padawan sitting upon the sideways tree. There is something grateful to his expression, and Rakesh can see it even from the distance he's put between them.

The boy smiles. "Thank you."

He finds it to be easier to return to gesture than he had thought, his lips curling upward without protest. Rakesh, having used up all of his words for the day, nods respectfully in response to the Mirialan's gratitude. The Force points him to the weight of the mask in his hand, and he knows that it is time to don it again. His oath must be up-kept, after all.

It doesn't feel so wrong to hide his face this time.

Rakesh can feel eyes on him the next morning, even before his unit leaves the Guard Halls. And not from them. Someone is watching him.

The feeling persists as they join several other units en route to the refectory, a prodding from the Force that seems to be trying to tell him something. Even before he removes his mask to pick out the day's opening meal. The back of his neck prickles with curiosity as he eats, his eyes scanning the other tables as Unit Arrel chats amicably amongst themselves. Despite only getting a couple hours of sleep, he had slept well enough, a rare contentedness keeping dark thoughts and dreams away. It's not paranoia- someone is watching him.

Vori and Tindri have taken to teasing him for the bags under his eyes and keep trying to draw his attention back, confusing his distraction for drowsiness. While he may appear to be tired, he is far more alert than anyone else in the room, it would seem. A thought both frustrating and amusing in of itself.

It's when they've finally gotten distracted themselves that his gaze catches that of a blonde human male amongst another unit. Blue eyes widen in momentary surprise at being caught, easing up with the smile that forms upon his lips with Rakesh's contradictory frown.

The man, Feemor, has been rather infamous amongst the Guard since before Rakesh had even joined them- the reason being, of course, that his master had been Qui-Gon Jinn, the first Jedi to be slain at the beginning of this madness. But, why…

Oh.

Feemor had been the Guard in the security station last night, the one that had helped him locate his lightsaber. He had been watching the cameras whilst Rakesh had sought out the thief. He must be taking his so-called evening meal before he retires to his unit's quarters.

Rakesh looks away. Thank you.

He receives an amused stab of warmth in return.

A hand lands on his shoulder, then, and shakes it with far more force than necessary, jerking his attention to where Tindri is seated on his left. He flashes his teeth in response.

"I think it might be best if you stay out of training this afternoon, Rakesh, if your awareness is truly struggling so much this early," Jurr says from across the table. "Some extra rest may do you some good."

With the image of Feemor's smile in mind, Rakesh can't help but to agree with him. A few hours' more sleep won't do him any harm, surely.

He has much to think about.

Information about some of the characters can be found on the version crossposted to AO3.