I obviously do not own Star Wars or the MCU, however much I'd like to. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.
...
This is mostly based on Star Wars Legends, with certain elements of the new canon sprinkled in wherever they fit. The main character is my personal take on the Hero of Tython, the player-controlled protagonist of the Jedi Knight storyline in Star Wars: The Old Republic, making them a Legends exclusive character. The HoT is essentially a blank slate for the player to fill in as they see fit and therefore has no canonical species, gender, name, backstory, etc., so they will read rather like an OC, with traits being revealed as the story progresses. Furthermore, their power level fluctuates wildly depending on your play style and the demands of the game. In one scenario the Hero of Tython appears to be a top tier character comparable to the likes of Yoda and Luke Skywalker. In another, the Hero and other SWTOR protagonists look like utter chumps, even though such portrayals run contrary to everything else known about them and their peers. Personally, I prefer the "high ball" interpretation, so that's what I'm going with here.
Given the massive disparity and inconsistencies in power among Force users as portrayed across Star Wars media, the exact limits of Force users are largely up for author interpretation. Main characters like Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, and Kyp Durron can manipulate artificial black holes, become invisible, control the weather, and react in the space of a nanosecond, yet they still feel genuinely threatened by Boba Fett, who has no real counters for that kind of power. For the purposes of this particular story, the Hero of Tython is a powerhouse who, at full strength, is outmatched only by reality warpers like Scarlet Witch at her full potential or similar. However, he also has weaknesses and limitations, and without the Force is as squishy as Hawkeye and Black Widow. All of Aemon's abilities, philosophies, and perceptions are rooted in media canonical to both Star Wars continuities, but flavored with my personal interpretations.
I will be adjusting a few minor details, such as the height and age of certain characters, but otherwise this will be as faithful to both verses as possible. Certain details like personal relationships, the identity of the greater scope villain, continuity between the two separate universes, and the like have mostly been decided, and I won't be taking requests or making polls. However, suggestions may be taken into consideration.
With that out of the way, here's the actual story. Hope you enjoy.
In an isolated star system in the Outer Rim of a war-torn galaxy, a nondescript starship of the sort popular with smugglers decanted from hyperspace and rocketed its way to the only planetary body in the system capable of supporting life, a reddish orange ball partially veiled in thin white clouds and lacking large surface oceans. The starship descended for the surface at a speed that would terrify an air traffic controller on a populated world, only to come to a surprisingly soft landing on a steep-sided ridge. The boarding ramp extended, and a single being whose features were concealed by his black cloak and cowl emerged.
The first thing that hit Aemon al'Cazar as he stepped out of the shadow of the starship was the dry heat. It was uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't as bad as Tatooine, where the twin suns could bake an unprepared being alive and desiccate their remains, assuming that the Sand People, the criminals, or the monstrous predators didn't get to them first. Despite the unpleasant heat, the landscape of this world was actually quite beautiful. Gigantic towers of tree-like plate coral rose from the ground at relatively regular intervals, their flat branches large enough to serve as landing platforms for small warships. It was clear to Aemon that this planet, whatever it was, had once been covered in shallow, productive seas that had dried up long ago, and yet when he reached out with the Force to search for lifeforms, he was surprised to find that the giant corals were still very much alive. Not true corals, then, though how they had come to be Aemon couldn't surmise. He wasn't a xenobiologist.
Still stretching out with his feelings, Aemon walked at a steady pace to the edge of the ridge, following the directions it whispered to him, trusting it. Come, a voice, barely distinguishable from the background noise of non-sentient life, deep and gravely with age, rang out through the Force, like a chime from a holocall.
Aemon kept walking. When he reached the edge of the cliff, he did not stop nor hesitate, but jumped, unconcerned by the drop of over fifty meters, and called on the Force to amplify his constitution even as he used mundane gymnastics to direct his fall towards a flat stretch of ground. A split second before impact, he created a brief burst of power that cushioned his feet so that he landed as lightly as his feet would have at a jog.
Without pausing, Aemon continued through the alien landscape, following the direction of the Force and the faint traces of the call. Despite the hostile climate, the planet was teeming with life, all of it hardened for the challenges presented by the unique decertified ocean floor biome. An internalized exertion of the Force insulated his body against the dry heat and the blistering sunlight, leaving him as comfortable as he would have been in the cool cabin of his ship. While he surrendered control of his movements and hearing to the Force, he maintained conscious control of his eyes, scanning the horizon and admiring the giant dry corals.
A warning from the Force and a barely audible clicking sound drew Aemon's attention back to his immediate surroundings. He was passing through a wide ravine pockmarked with circular cave openings when he sensed the hostile presences approaching from underground. They were too single-minded and focused for sentient intellects, propelled by aggressive instincts and the simple cunning of a predatory animal. Aemon tried to send feelings of uncertainty and wariness into the approaching lifeforms through the Force, but their minds felt somehow insulated against the intrusion, as if the creatures had some special relationship with the Force that made them more difficult to communicate with. He had a sneaking suspicion that the vast majority of trained Force users would fail to sense the life auras of the creatures to begin with, and he resigned himself to the inevitable confrontation.
Aemon had just reached this conclusion when he heard the quiet tap tap of narrow legs skittering over the coarse ground, like a giant insect. Or an arachnid.
The Force provided another warning, and Aemon heeded it, a lightsaber leaping from his belt and into his hands, its blue blade erupting from the hilt and flashing through the air in a Shien slash to slice off two segmented legs and swinging back once more to burn through a thick grey shell and the soft organs it contained. The giant, spider-like creature toppled unceremoniously to the ground, its collection of shiny, pitch black eyes glazed over in death. More of the creatures emerged from the caves around Aemon, at least a dozen great, six legged arachnids with tall, bulbous shells the color of duracrete and black, beak-like mandibles around their mouths.
Aemon had fought worse.
The lightsaber blade whipped through the dry air faster than a striking Sarapin vaapad, threading through a mix of Shien and Shii-cho sweeping slashes as it carved its way through the shells, legs, and grotesque faces of the predators without meeting the slightest resistance. Most were felled by the long gashes it opened in their shells, and one had the entire top half of its shell severed completely, while another two were blasted into the ravine walls and crushed by a Force wave. Finally, Aemon executed a fluid rotational movement that spun the lightsaber in a vertical sawing motion so that his grip on the silver and black metal hilt was reversed, and he stabbed the last of the creatures as it attempted to rush him from behind.
Pulling the blade free from the body a split second before it slumped to the ground, Aemon gripped the hilt in both hands and pointed it upward diagonally as he crouched in a ready stance, but he sensed no other hostile lifeforms nearby. The Force had quieted. Deactivating the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt alongside its twin, Aemon resumed his sedate walk, carefully stepping around the bodies of the creatures he'd been forced to butcher. Once he'd passed the last of them, he reached for his utility belt once more and pulled off a cylinder of insulated duraplast. Uncapping it, he raised the tip to his lips and took a short gulp of cool water before resealing it and returning it to his belt.
Aemon walked for another hour at the same steady pace with which he'd begun, paused to take another drink, then began his descent into a valley surrounded by slightly shorter iterations of the giant coral structures. The sun was halfway to the horizon by the time he reached the valley floor, and he sensed a telltale ripple in the Force that signaled the presence of more of the giant arachnid predators. He had seen many white and orange shelled mollusks with stalked eyes scuttling about as he walked, and he guessed that they were the primary prey of the spiders.
The Force drew Aemon towards what looked to be a younger formation of plate corals sprouting from the ground like the backplates of a giant, primitive creature out of a holofilm. The caves nearby positively rang to his senses with the presence of the spider creatures, but there was more to this place than met the eye. Most Jedi and Sith masters wouldn't have noticed anything untoward, but Aemon had studied multiple obscure interpretations of the Force from various sects. One of these unorthodox disciplines was the White Current as practiced by the Fallanassi, a pacifist society of Force users who dwelled on Lucazec. While the White Current provided nothing in the way of power over the physical world, it did allow adepts to achieve powers of illusion, stealth, and telepathy far superior to anything developed elsewhere in the galaxy. Among the applications of the White Current Aemon had mastered was the ability to sense lifeforms concealed by Force stealth techniques by sensing the ripples their presence caused in the Current, and the part of his consciousness that was attuned to such ripples was tingling, urging him to pay closer attention.
Aemon began a Fallanassi breathing exercise, two short inhales followed by a longer exhale, that submerged his Force awareness into the White Current. The Current was, to his thinking, a part of the Force, in much the same way that a current was a part of an ocean, and merging with it came with a sense of comfort and quiet strength that always brought him some measure of peace without being addictive. The ripples he found were so subtle that most Fallanassi would have had trouble detecting them, and a Force user untrained in their arts would never have noticed the presence in the first place. But Aemon wasn't an ordinary Jedi, nor was he an ordinary adept of the White Current, and he knew that something vast was here in this valley, hidden by the Force as a single pebble might be on the bed of a rushing river.
"I know you're there, whoever, whatever you are," Aemon called, keeping his voice neutral. "You might as well make this easier for both of us and show yourself."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ground rumbled, and something large, old, and extraordinarily strong in the Force made its presence known. The being that rose up from the floor of the desert valley resembled nothing so much as a living monolith at least five meters tall, with squat, thick legs half the length of its massive arms, which ended in humanoid hands. It had a long, vaguely equine face with a pair of blank white eyes, a wide, flat nose, and a long, bushy beard of auburn hair that covered half its chest. Its entire body save its hands, face, and legs was encased in armor that resembled the giant coral fans sprouting from the valley. Even without the Force illusion, it could have easily passed for the offspring of one of the giant corals had it remained hunched over on its stomach.
"You are perceptive indeed, to have detected my presence without my allowing you to do so," the being said in Basic, its voice as deep, gravely, and ancient as one of the canyons of Tython.
"But you expected that," Aemon said without making it sound like a question, reaching up with both hands to lower the cowl of his cloak and reveal his face. "You are the one who called me here, are you not?"
"So I am, and you have come. Good, good." The being's pupils were obstructed by cataracts, but Aemon could feel its gaze on him nonetheless. This didn't surprise him in the least, given how common the ability to perceive one's surroundings with the Force even without physical eyes was among Force users across the galaxy. "The conflicts that have ravaged the galaxy these few decades are creating ripples I cannot ignore, even here. They have kept me from returning to my slumber."
"I've encountered many Force users in my life," Aemon said, sitting cross legged on the warm ground, parting his cloak to rest his hands on the tops of his knees, "but I've never encountered anything or anyone quite like you."
"The Jedi and Sith wield the Ashla and Bogan, the light and the dark," the being said dismissively. "I'm the one in the middle. The Bendu."
"You are truly neutral," Aemon murmured. "You have compassion, but you'll never go out of your way to help other beings. You take no side, not really."
"And you have me at a disadvantage," Bendu said. "I recognized your presence as soon as you arrived here on my world, for I have watched you from afar for some time, but your name still eludes me."
"I am Aemon al'Cazar, former Battlemaster of the Jedi Order, one time commander of the Eternal Alliance." He paused, then asked "If conflict disrupts your peace, then why would you call me here? Surely you can discern from my Force presence and my titles that I'm anything but neutral."
"No, but you have seen many shades and tints of the spectrum, have you not?" Bendu pointed out. "It has given you a true understanding and appreciation of the meaning and the necessity of balance. Do you think it chance that the Force chose you for the quest on which you find yourself?"
Aemon felt his eyes widen in shock. He'd left everything and everyone he'd ever known behind to follow the urgent calling of the Force, taking only what he needed most as he hunted down… something. "You know about that?" he asked, failing to keep the astonishment off his face or out of his voice, his Jedi training notwithstanding.
"But of course," Bendu said, leaning forward slightly as if to study Aemon with his disconcertingly blank eyes. "The Force has chosen you as one of its champions in the coming conflict, but you fail to understand the nature of that conflict, or the duty you are to perform."
"And you do?"
"I was old before the Dark Jedi Exiles arrived on Korriban, Aemon al'Cazar. I have seen and learned much in my years."
Aemon cocked his head ever so slightly to one side. "Why did you summon me, then? To give me advice?"
"I summoned you here to give you a warning," Bendu corrected. "The chaos of the wars that have ravaged the galaxy these past few decades have awakened a being far more belligerent than I, a being whose power and madness is beyond anything you can imagine."
"I've fought powerful madmen before," Aemon pointed out.
"You defeated the Devouring Shadow, yes, but this is something else, someone else. A being far older and more powerful than even your old nemesis."
Aemon's mouth fell open, and his blood ran cold. What in the stars could possibly be worse than Vitiate?
Bendu blew out his breath through his enormous nostrils hard enough that it became visible as clouds of mist, and a scoffing noise rumbled from his thick throat. With a wince of embarrassment, Aemon realized he'd spoken aloud.
"You will find, Aemon al'Cazar, that there is always more to reality than what the parochial mind perceives." Bendu said with the barest hint of reproof. "You, of all beings, should understand as much."
It was true. "Very well," Aemon said. "I would hear your wisdom."
Bendu nodded his huge head. "The creature you hunt sought and gained power that exceeded her grasp, and her success came at a terrible price," he said in a solemn voice. "She is everywhere and nowhere. She is power beyond imagining and madness long past the point of no return. She seeks what she cannot have and devours everything in her path. She is ancient and dangerous, and she is never what she seems."
Aemon processed that in grim silence, then asked "Can she die?"
"All things die, Aemon al'Cazar. Even stars burn out."
Changing course, Aemon asked "Can she bleed?"
Bendu's response was preceded by a resonant laugh that shook the valley floor. "Does a machine bleed when you slice it open with your lightsaber? Does a krykna spider ignite and explode when you break its shell?"
Well, that's helpful, Aemon thought dryly. "The way you make it sound, this isn't something I can face alone."
"That's because it isn't," Bendu agreed, still amused. "But you won't be alone."
"The Force all but screamed at me to leave all my friends and allies behind," Aemon protested halfheartedly.
"That chapter of your life is coming to a close, Aemon al'Cazar," Bendu said. "And a new one is beginning. Much will change as a result of this hunt and the confrontation that lies at its end, including you."
"I'm not the same being I was yesterday, or this morning, nor will I be the same being tomorrow," Aemon pointed out. "Time inevitably changes all things. That's the nature of the universe."
Bendu leaned forward in a crouch until his gigantic face was scarcely a meter from Aemon's own. His breath was hot and moist, but strangely odorless. This close, Aemon could count the mix of sharp, wide teeth in his mouth as he spoke. "My friend, when I say change, I mean death."
Aemon found himself less unnerved by that assertion than he probably should have been. "So, I will die," he said, making it sound like both a statement and a question and without a trace of fear or misgiving.
"Will you?" Bendu said, his entire bearing changing. "I did not know that." He leaned back, looking inexplicably satisfied. "Farewell, then, Aemon al'Cazar, former Jedi Battlemaster." Bendu was turning away now, resuming his crouched position and sinking back into the currents of the Force. "I thank you for listening to the ramblings of an old fossil. Good hunting."
And just like that, Bendu was gone. Aemon stared at the spot where the ancient being had been sitting and briefly considered following him through the White Current to demand a more thorough explanation, but ultimately thought better of it. Getting to his feet, he took another swig from his water canister before re-donning the cowl of his cloak and beginning to make his way out of the valley. This time, when the krykna spiders prepared to attack him, he was able to persuade them to desist through an exertion of the Force, bypassing their earlier resistance, and they troubled him no more as he returned to his ship.
When he returned and reentered the ship, he raised the boarding ramp, shed his cloak and tossed it carelessly over an acceleration chair in the cockpit, and pulled a strong drink from one of the built in smuggling compartments. He sat down in the cockpit to nurse the drink, a bottle of Sullustan wine almost as old as he was, and poured himself a generous measure. As he swirled the glass about, his gaze wandered to the inactive navicomputer display, the dark surface of which reflected everything around it.
A human male, twenty seven standard years old, stared back at him. The darkness of the reflective surface made his unnaturally vivid indigo eyes look purple, so that they stood out more dramatically than ever against his absurdly pale skin. As far as he knew, his coloring wasn't naturally found in any human populations. His strange eyes, which resembled dark sapphires, came from a Mirialan ancestor on his father's side, while his complexion, so pale he could be mistaken for albino, was believed to be a side effect of his mother's Umbaran ancestry. His slightly curly hair was a more innocuous shade of brown, like hot chocolate, but his features were sharp and heavy to the point of harshness, creating a misleading impression that he was always scowling.
Combined with his penchant for all black clothing, he cut an imposing figure, but just now there was no one for him to unintentionally intimidate. He couldn't relax, though. He was hunting a monster he didn't even know the name of who was, apparently, an even greater threat to the galaxy than Vitiate himself, and he was going to die. Or maybe he wouldn't die. Bendu had been infuriatingly cryptic.
Perhaps it didn't matter, since it was becoming increasingly unlikely that he'd ever see his friends and loved ones again. Aemon sipped the Sullustan wine. Well, if he was going to die, he should at least try to enjoy the time he had left.
Aemon ignited his lightsaber and held it in a Makashi salute, his gaze fixed on the pale-skinned, raspy voiced, yellow eyed Sith Lord, ignoring for the moment the hologram that was flickering behind him.
"I suggest you make this easier for all of us and surrender, Tarnis," he said, knowing how the Sith would answer.
…
"You'll pay for this, Jedi scum!" the Imperial captain spat with such venom his own subordinate flinched.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," Aemon replied blithely.
…
"Don't let him control you, Kira!" Aemon pleaded. "Fight him!"
Her eyes flared with sinister red light, the blood vessels around them blackening as she screamed, and then she froze, like a statue floating above the deck plates. Her eyelids flickered and closed. For a moment, Aemon wondered if she had died. Then her eyes snapped open, and they were blue.
"I will not kill for you!" she roared.
…
"No Imps are setting foot in this colony," Aemon growled as he gripped his lightsabers. "None."
…
"Who are you?"
"Someone who cares very much about you, even though it'll likely get me killed."
Aemon stared at the masked Sith, contemplating whether he'd lost his mind. "You'll forgive me for having a hard time believing that a Sith Lord I've never met cares about me, as you say. Answer my question."
…
"I have a bad feeling about this," Aemon murmured.
"You're the best knight the Order has seen in generations," Grandmaster Satele murmured back. "If anyone can do it, you can."
…
"You are mine. Servants, slaves, weapons. And you will obey."
…
"Remember who you are, Aemon."
It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. Aemon felt the Light return to him, felt its warmth and gentle, quiet strength pour through him, a transfusion of unsullied rightness that shattered the manacles that chained his soul to the Emperor.
And horror filled him. "What have I done?"
…
"I thought I'd lost you."
Aemon hesitated, then returned the hug with equal force, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. "For a while, I think you did."
When they broke apart, Aemon felt the other man punch him in the arm, hard. "Never do that to me again."
…
Tol Braga looked pitiful in his defeat, and the sight filled Aemon with renewed sadness and anger. The Emperor would face justice for this. Aemon would make sure of it. "He destroyed my will with a thought," the Kel Dor said mournfully, his once strong voice reduced to barely more than a whisper. "And I am strong in the Force—but it wasn't enough."
Aemon released his anger into the Force. It would serve no one here. "He did it to me too, and I came back from it," he said gently. "You can do that too, Master Braga. You've led others out of the shadows. If anyone can come back, you can."
…
"My life spans millennia. Legions have risen to test me," the Emperor said, seemingly unconcerned by the lightsaber hovering mere centimeters from his face.
"This isn't a test. This is your end, my lord," Aemon growled.
…
"The Sith aren't the only people out there who want the Republic to burn, you know."
Aemon sighed. "Thank you for that insight, ghost breath."
…
"What is that ?!" Aemon demanded. No one answered him.
…
"I don't fear you," Aemon said simply. There was no bravado behind the words, nor were they a bluff or a jest. It was a simple statement of fact, as mundane and unchangeable as the black hole at the center of the galaxy.
That seemed to surprise the Dread Master. "Then you are a fool. You will be afraid when we're through with you. Very afraid."
Aemon allowed one side of his mouth to stretch upward in a lazy half smile that didn't reach his eyes. "No, I'm not, and no, I won't."
…
"You know," Aemon remarked with false cheer, "I don't think letting Revan roam free after he spent three centuries being tortured by the Emperor and the Dread Masters was such a good idea. Having your mind constantly assaulted by the most depraved Sith Lords the galaxy has ever seen isn't good for your mental health."
…
Grandmaster Satele's next words nearly made Aemon's heart stop. "You embody every ideal in the Jedi Code. The Council is unanimous in its decision to name you Battlemaster of the Order."
It took all of his Jedi self-control not to gape at her. "I… I'm honored, and I'll do my best to fulfill my responsibility," he managed, barely keeping a stammer out of his voice. Battlemaster of the Jedi? Him?
"I know you will." Had she gone mad?!
…
"Stop trying to sugar coat this!" Aemon snapped, so vehemently that even Lord Scourge flinched. "No amount of cushioning will soften a blow that's already landed. We lost."
…
"I will share all of this with you, if you will only kneel."
Aemon stared into Valkorion's golden eyes. He had been carefully keeping his face and Force presence blank and emotionless during the Emperor's monologue. Now he allowed anger to contort his features as he responded. It was an easy choice. "Share?! You don't share anything. You enslave. You devour! I will never be a part of that!"
"So be it," the Emperor drawled.
…
"Are you alright? I heard you screaming and thrashing in your sleep. The old fossil giving you nightmares?"
In fact, Aemon had been having a nightmare, but it wasn't caused by the old fossil. Feeling a sudden surge of contrarian mischief, he said, "Actually I was having this amazing dream. There were these relics, and they each produced a different flavor of ice cream."
His inquisitor scowled. "That's my line, laser brain."
…
"Ow."
"You always were good at downplaying severe injuries," Lana remarked.
Despite the pain, Aemon smiled at her. "It's easy when I have you to do the worrying for me."
…
"So. You're still alive."
Aemon sniffed. "You'll find I'm not that easy to kill, even when I'm recovering from carbon sickness."
…
"Uh, commander, is it true that the Voidhound seduced you into his bed after Makeb?" Theron asked as he finished his own glass.
Aemon took another sip of Twi'lek liquor before responding. "Yeah, it's true," he admitted with a loopy, drunken grin that would have utterly ruined his fearsome reputation among the Sith if it ended up on the holonet. "It was fun."
"And here I thought you Jedi didn't know how to have fun."
"You can't hang out with Doc for as long as I have without learning to have fun."
…
It gave Aemon a great deal of vicious satisfaction to say what he said next. "Kneel before the dragon of Zakuul." Vaylin cackled maniacally.
…
"I love you."
The forest was silent save for the creaking of the trees as the wind blew through their branches. The night air was cool and dry. Aemon did not recognize any of the plant species he saw, or the few animals he had encountered since he'd arrived here, but he supposed that was to be expected after jumping through a portal suspended in a pitch black void. What bothered him was that he couldn't remember how he'd found the portal, or indeed anything about what had led him to its threshold to begin with. He did not even know why he was dressed in his signature black combat fatigues, complete with the matching armor plates, and a matching black cloak, the cowl raised over his head.
Every time he tried to recall how he'd ended up here, his head exploded with pain, as if an army of Sith had appeared inside his skull and commenced stabbing every centimeter of his brain that they could reach with their lightsabers. Even more puzzling was the exhaustion that was making his limbs feel as heavy as a Mandalorian Basilisk war droid, a profound fatigue of a sort that he hadn't felt since his battle with Emperor Vitiate on Dromund Kaas, despite the fact that he hadn't sustained any physical injuries save for a few large, aching bruises. He needed to meditate, but meditation would have to wait until he figured out where the kriff he was and why the Force felt so karking turbulent.
It was maddening!
Aemon paused and took a deep breath, centering himself as best he could in the chaotic flow of the Force. Perhaps, he thought as he adjusted the cowl of his cloak, he would have to meditate in order to determine the source of the turbulence in the Force. The thought of sitting down and immersing himself in the cosmic energy field while alone and stranded in the wilderness on an alien world he knew next to nothing about was… far from appealing. Still, considering the fact that he'd effectively spent his entire childhood and adolescence preparing for war and his entire adult life fighting said war, he felt justified in being cautious. Unfortunately, caution seemed to be of little use here.
Aemon kept walking for, by his own estimate, half a standard hour until he found a small clearing that provided a narrow view of a shallow, heavily wooded valley. A flat slab of rock protruded half a meter from the ground, like a natural meditation seat, and Aemon lowered himself onto it hesitantly, bunching his cloak under him like a cushion. Crossing his legs and resting his hands on the tops of his knees, he fixed his gaze on the single visible moon, a simple silver disc that shone like a space illuminator lamp against a backdrop of pitch black sky dotted with stars. Taking a series of deep, rhythmic breaths, he allowed his thoughts to drift as he sank into the currents of the Force. The chaos rippling through it made the experience far from soothing, but he wasn't doing this to relax. He needed information, and information he would find.
He was on a planet that was the only inhabited stellar body in its solar system, and there were so few life forms in orbit that it was unlikely to have developed stable relations with the greater galactic community. There was a profound sense of isolation and loss, but there was also a feeling of connectivity that suggested that this world wasn't as far flung as it appeared. Aemon sensed a distant but powerful scrutiny coming from somewhere beyond the system, not unlike the feeling of being tracked by orbital surveillance satellites, and an involuntary surge of self-consciousness nearly made him withdraw into himself. Instead, he released the feeling into the Force and concentrated on the source of the turbulence he'd been sensing.
Sentient beings, regardless of species, tended to gather and form groups that worked towards common survival goals, and all such groups, with the exception of certain hive species, were often wracked by internal disputes and disagreements that caused varying amounts of strife. As well, different groups of beings competed with one another for resources, power, and prestige. Aemon understood this and accepted it as a natural result of sentient levels of intelligence, but he was used to observing or sensing such things on the galactic or intrasystem level. Indeed, the ongoing conflict between the Republic and the Sith Empire was a combination of hundreds of thousands of agendas, plots, vendettas, and disputes that interacted like the cogs of a machine that was constantly tearing itself apart and being reassembled.
What he sensed here reminded him of how it had felt whenever he endeavored to observe the Force on a galactic scale, but condensed to a much smaller field. Aemon had sensed internal strife on a planetary scale before, but it was always between two or three factions, sometimes four. Here, he sensed a multitude of factions vying for power, so many conflicting interests, jealousies, and desires, clashing plots and opposing ideals. It took Aemon a long moment of contemplation and communion with the Force to discern what that meant; somehow, he had ended up on a planet that was still divided into dozens, if not hundreds of individual countries and had little in the way of a unified planetary government, resulting in numerous political powers constantly competing with one another. One of those conflicts was very close at hand, pouring waves of pain, sorrow, rage, and confusion, emotions characteristic of places engulfed in or in the process of recovering from total war, into the Force like a festering wound. It was no wonder the Force was so chaotic here.
Yet, there was more to it than that. The entire planet just beyond its exosphere was enveloped in a barrier of energy, like nothing Aemon had ever felt before. It wasn't precisely Force energy, and yet the fact that he could sense it at all confirmed that it was part of or related to the Force. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but the barrier radiated safety and reassurance, so he allowed his awareness to slide past it. Re-examining the sense of scrutiny that had unsettled him earlier, Aemon found very little in the way of detail save for the distinct impression that the watcher, whoever or whatever it was, was incredibly distant even by galactic standards, yet at the same time within relatively easy reach. The paradox nearly drove Aemon out of his trance, but his consciousness was spread too thinly into the Force, and his physical self did not so much as flinch.
Aemon's Force awareness was drawn back down to the surface of the planet by a distinctive sense of unease and foreboding. It was radiating from somewhere distant, several hundred kilometers at least, and yet it simultaneously felt close at hand. The planet itself felt rather like a sleeping giant, its inhabitants fearful of the greater galaxy and viewing themselves as weak, when in fact they held much more power than they believed, but that power, though vigilant, was still immature and unrealized. Worse, the Force was thrumming with a distinct sense of grim anticipation, as if the entire planet was sensing danger, the source of which was distant but approaching steadily.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Aemon came back to himself, his gaze settling on the night shrouded valley laid out before him. Although it was still dark, Aemon could sense that several hours had passed, an impression confirmed by the position of the planet's moon and the fact that his legs had fallen asleep. Getting stiffly to a standing position, he called on the Force to rejuvenate his body and flexed his forearms, stretching and contorting his stiff fingers. Though the meditation had refreshed him, he was still relatively weak, a state exacerbated by the fact that he hadn't eaten for at least a standard day. He needed to find shelter fast.
Aemon reached out with the Force and fixed his awareness on the warzone, but that seemed wrong, somehow. The Force was urging him to go somewhere else. He frowned. Aemon had always been good at listening to the Force, but this level of open communion he was experiencing with it, where its insights were this clear, especially in the face of the turbulence of this planet, was beyond anything he'd experienced since his fateful meeting with a Sith Lord who professed to care about him. To Aemon's thinking, it meant that his life was approaching a vital crossroads, a shatterpoint that would change him forever. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.
Aemon resumed walking through the forest, following the urges of the Force until the moon had disappeared behind the mountains to the west and the sky in the east began to brighten. By then he'd reached a large lake surrounded on all sides by lush forest and rugged, snowcapped peaks. At this altitude, the air was cold and dry, but still thick enough for trees to grow. Aemon had been to many planets and seen many environments, but in almost all cases they had been ravaged by war and choked with smoke or scarred by heavy bombardment. This place, though, looked as unsullied as Muunilinst or Caamas or the recently rediscovered Naboo. The Force was strong here, enough that Aemon suspected it was a minor nexus, and he had no trouble imagining it as a sanctuary for those few who were fortunate enough to find it, despite the shroud of night. As he began to parallel the lakeshore, weaving between the trees and tall scrub, he caught sight of a small structure on one end of the lake, nestled in a large clearing alongside a tiny creek that fed the lake.
Aemon reached out with the Force, but sensed no life forms in the structure, which appeared to be a dwelling of some sort, and when he broadened his awareness to encompass the rest of the valley, he sensed no sentient minds for several dozen kilometers, even when he checked through the White Current. The nearest concentration of sentient life was in the warzone he'd detected, which was several mountains away from this place. Certain now that he was alone, Aemon made his way towards the clearing, lifting the hem of his cloak to keep it from snagging on the branches of ragged shrubs. As he approached the building, he called on the Force to enhance his eyesight and studied it intently. It was a wood walled cabin with a steep, gabled roof to prevent snow buildup and an enclosed porch, with symbols Aemon didn't recognize carved into the walls. The place oozed isolation and lost history, but also comfort and safety.
Aemon hesitated as he placed a booted foot on the porch and applied pressure, testing its ability to hold his weight and that of the beskar alloy that comprised his armor and boots. To his surprise, the wood didn't budge a millimeter. Clearly, it had been built by expert woodworkers. Stepping forward, he lowered the cowl of his cloak, allowing a breeze to ruffle his hair as he entered the cabin. The doorway was narrow and barely tall enough to accommodate his height, suggesting that it had been made for a much smaller being, and the interior floorboards were covered in a thick layer of dust, as were the primitive metal stove, lantern, and icebox he found upon closer inspection. It didn't take a genius to know that no one had been here for years, but Aemon, tired as he was, couldn't begin to fathom why.
He spent a moment thinking, then threw his cloak back behind his shoulders to free his arms and opened himself to the Force. With sweeping gestures of his fingers, he telekinetically lifted all of the dust from the surfaces in the cabin's main room and sent it pouring out through a rear window in a flowing cloud. He did the same in the rear portion of the building, which contained a small secondary room and the access to a built-in privy, both of which were empty save for a few copper buckets, pots, and a simple system of pipes. Aemon wasn't fazed by the prospect of sleeping on the floor with nothing but the clothes on his back for comfort, having spent many nights in similar circumstances on the front lines of two pan-galactic wars, so he moved the pots and buckets to the main room and stripped down to his undershirt, leggings, and boots. He arranged the smaller armor plates (wrist gauntlets, shoulder pauldrons, and a codpiece) underneath his breastplate, then went outside, took a minute to empty his bladder into the roots of a tree, and began to circle the cabin.
Falling into a breathing exercise, Aemon immersed himself in the White Current once again and wove a simple illusion around the cabin. It wasn't nearly as elaborate as what he could create when at full strength, but he didn't need complexity here. The illusion was merely meant to encourage any potential observers, sentient or otherwise, into believing that the cabin was empty and uninteresting, no more worthy of investigation than the plant life around it. When he finished, Aemon went back inside.
Removing his boots and setting them down beside the rest of his armor inside the shallow alcove that appeared to serve as a closet, Aemon laid his cloak out on the floor like a blanket and bundled up the soft outer layers of his outfit into a makeshift pillow. Both the main outfit and the cloak were made from armorweave, so they would protect him from splinters despite their thinness and soft texture. Aemon made himself as comfortable as possible in the improvised bedding, then closed his eyes and finally acceded to the demands of his exhausted body.
When he fell asleep, his dreams were silent and confused. He saw the faces of loved ones, Kira Carsen, T7-01, Theron Shan, Lana Beniko, Rifton, and old friends, Archiban Kimble, Fideltin Rusk, Lord Scourge, Aryn Leneer, Darth Marr, Satele Shan, and others, watching him with varying degrees of sadness and pride. It was a look he'd seen on the face of Master Zallow in the hours that preceded the Sacking of Coruscant, and again on Master Orgus when his ghost appeared on Rishi. The sight of them filled Aemon with a profound sense of loss, as if something precious had been ripped from him and could never be returned.
Without warning, a great wave of black water rose out of nowhere and swallowed the figures of his old friends, crashing into Aemon and plunging him into a maelstrom of bubbles and darkness. The dream changed.
Aemon was standing in an opulent chamber built of smooth, cream colored stone with gold knotwork set into the walls and floors. Floor to ceiling curtains made from some shiny, silky material hung from decorative columns, and small, comforting fires burned bronze braziers. A large, shiny black table rimmed in stonework dominated the sunken main floor space, while a columned portico on one side opened onto a balcony that overlooked a city of glittering gold, silver, and stone towers as beautiful as anything he'd seen on Coruscant, nestled between tree-covered mountains and a gently rolling sea.
The sky looked like something out of an artist's vision. Against a canvas of pale blue smeared with pure white clouds, countless stars were visible. Some were little more than pinpricks of white, barely visible in the glare of daylight, but others were large enough that they resembled miniature suns, and the space between them was stained by the faint splash of colorful nebulae. But there was more to this dream than its fantastical setting. The slightly hazy filter that distinguished Aemon's dreams from reality was gone. He could see and hear as well as if he could with his real, physical eyes and ears. He saw the column of smoke rising from somewhere out in the grand city. He heard distant screams, the clashing of metallic weaponry striking one another, the intermittent snap-whine of blaster fire. He could smell the smoke from the decorative braziers, a comforting scent that evoked peaceful nights spent in quiet forests or with family and old friends reunited, a smell that was at odds with the sounds of battle, which were steadily growing louder.
This is no dream, Aemon realized. It's a vision. And it was one of the most vivid visions he'd ever experienced. The question was whether this was the future, the past, or the present. Given its sheer clarity, he suspected it was one of the latter two. Future events were simply too nebulous and subject to change to be foreseen with such clarity by even the best of the galaxy's clairvoyant's, with the possible exception of the Voss Mystics.
The chamber's sole occupant was a tall, seemingly human female of middle age with a cascade of dark blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, and a regal, motherly bearing. She wore an elegant blue gown decorated with pieces of what looked like bronze armor, and she held a short, wickedly sharp sword in a reverse grip in her right hand. Her face was set in an expression of grim anticipation, the sort of look Aemon had seen countless times on the faces of friends and allies and even in the mirror, as she extended her free hand towards a gathering of pillows set against a wall of golden knotwork decorations. She waved her hand the way Jedi often did to distract targets of their mind tricks, and a second woman appeared there in a flash of green light. She was shorter than the first, with long brown hair and brown eyes, and her skin looked dangerously pale, as if she didn't spend enough time in the sun. She wore a simple yet elegant brown dress, similarly cut to the one the conjurer wore, but with no armor and little in the way of jewelry.
She breathed like a living person, her muscles moved and interacted the way they were supposed to, and her eyes shone with what looked like genuine fear. She looked completely real, but there was a subtle haziness to her features, so subtle in fact that Aemon almost thought he'd imagined it, but when he focused his awareness on her, she seemed to fade ever so slightly, like a hologram, and he realized that that was exactly what she was. Somehow, the regal woman had conjured a hologram with a wave of her hand. Some sort of Force illusion, perhaps?
The hologram woman moved to sit on a bench facing the one who conjured her, who watched the large double doors set into the far wall warily. A moment later, the doors swung inward, pushed open by a tall being, clearly inhuman and vaguely masculine, dressed in silver armor plates and black fabrics. It had deathly pale skin, a prominent nose, pure white hair pulled into a thick braid, thin eyebrows, large, triangular ears ending in sharp points, and pale, bluish eyes with black sclera set into enormous, nearly trapezoidal sockets. A curved sword resting in a black sheath and several small, vaguely spherical objects that resembled thermal detonators hung from its belt.
Aemon could not probe the creature through the Force through the vision, yet even so he thought he could detect something of its aura, as if it were tangible in the physical world. It seemed to radiate darkness and malice, like a black star, a reverse black hole, as it advanced on the two women. The illusory one rose from her seat and moved to place herself between two decorative columns, looking fearful and realistic enough that Aemon could easily see her fooling even Theron, a spy good enough to successfully lie to a Jedi.
"Stand down, creature," the regal conjurer said in perfect Basic, her soft voice sounding as friendly as a hunting nexu, "and you may yet survive this." Her bearing reminded Aemon of the Barsen'Thor; silk hiding durasteel.
The dark creature continued its approach without slowing, circling the table as it responded. Aemon could not understand the language it spoke, but its voice would have sent a chill through his body if he were there physically. It was deep, resonant, and so rough that it almost gave the illusion of multiple voices speaking in unison. It sounded like knives scraping stone, as if it hadn't been used in centuries, or millennia. It sounded like Vitiate.
"Who are you?" the conjurer demanded, approaching the dark intruder with slow, feline grace, reinforcing the nexu impression.
Aemon didn't understand a word of the creature's response, but from the way the conjurer glanced at the illusion she'd created, he could make an educated guess about what was happening here. The illusory woman moved as if to flee, and the intruder began to follow, completely ignoring his inquisitor. That proved to be a mistake.
The conjurer brought her short sword up in a vertical slash, its blade outlined in a curious haze of white radiance. The strike would have taken off the alien's right arm had it not flinched back at the last possible millisecond, and it still carved a shallow groove into its lower lip and upper cheek bone, sending it stumbling back towards the balcony. Aemon recognized the clumsy retreat as an attempt to feign weakness, and apparently the regal woman did as well, for she only took a single step forward instead of going for the kill.
An instant later, the creature had drawn its sword and thrust it at her midsection, aiming for her kidney. Almost casually she twisted aside so that the blade missed by centimeters, and in the same movement she brought her own weapon around in a tight, sweeping slash that slapped her enemy's weapon from its hands in a flash of white light, sending the black blade skittering away with a clatter.
She's good, Aemon thought approvingly.
Now the woman was completely on the offensive. She advanced on the alien, stepping into a series of tight, lightning-fast full body spins and lateral slashes with her oddly flashing blade, driving her enemy back away from the illusory woman cowering behind a column and toward the balcony. The dark creature ducked, bobbed, and weaved away from her strikes, but it didn't take a Jedi master to know he was completely outclassed.
A shadow in Aemon's peripheral vision drew his attention away from the fight. If his physical eyes were present, they would have widened.
The shadow belonged to something that could only be called a monster; a vaguely humanoid figure more than two meters tall, covered from head to toe in spiky black armor that made it look more like a granite outcropping than a living creature. Its footsteps were heavy, and its presence seemed to tug on Aemon's soul, making him feel as if he were an asteroid caught in the gravity of a gas giant planet. A ferocious heat rested in its claws, yet it did not radiate its power as an aura, the way a Force user did. Instead, it seemed to be pulling on the world around it, like a walking planet, a living, breathing black hole with a furnace at its heart. It was impossible to see its expression through the brutish black mask that covered its face, but its eyes shone through a pair of narrow slits that, combined with the curved tusks and horns framing the helmet, resembled the eye sockets of some ferocious beast. Aemon saw agony and murder in those eyes, and they were focused on the regal conjurer as she bore down on the only opponent she could see.
Aemon had no mouth to scream a warning. He was an observer here, a formless extension of his Force presence that perceived the events the way it did only because those were the senses his mind was hardwired to perceive the world through. But his intent, his determination that this woman could not die, was tangible in the Force, the same way his words were detectable when they emerged from his physical mouth. His shout of emotion echoed through the Force like the hunting cry of a krayt dragon, directed solely at the woman, and though her ears heard nothing, her mind heard something. And that was enough.
She had backed the first intruder against a column, preparing to pin him there with her sword, and the armored beast was reaching for her with an enormous, clawed paw when she abruptly spun out of reach. Only, Aemon didn't see it. He knew, somehow, that she wasn't there anymore, but her image still was still on the attack, pinning her enemy down. It remained there until the claws of the monster in spiked armor closed around the back of her neck, and she vanished in a wisp of green light.
The alien intruders faltered in confusion, then turned in unison to look at the other woman hiding behind the column. After a moment, she smirked and disappeared, dissolving into that same green light. The regal woman reappeared several meters away, forming the third corner of a triangle with her attackers, watching them with narrowed eyes.
The shorter of the two intruders shouted at her in outrage, and her smirk grew. The dark giant began to stalk toward her, its claws glowing with heat, the sound of its heavy footfalls echoing through the chamber. She raised her sword in preparation for another bout, the blade shining white.
She needn't have bothered.
A shout of rage emerged from the direction of the open double doors, followed by a crackling fork of blue-white electricity that struck the smaller intruder directly in the head as it turned in the direction of the shout. The right side of its pale face instantly blackened and shriveled, and it flew backward to slam into the stairs leading to the balcony with a crash.
The second, monstrous intruder leaped to its comrade's side, lifting it upright and bounding for the balcony rail. A second, even brighter fork of lightning pursued them, filling the chamber with blinding light, passing straight through Aemon's Force presence, and everything went black.
Aemon opened his eyes and sat up with a gasp. Breathing hard and drenched in sweat, he put a hand over his heart and found it pounding madly, as if he'd been fighting for his life. He glanced around and saw nothing but the dilapidated interior of an old, abandoned cabin. He forced himself to take a series of slow, deep, rhythmic breaths until his pulse had slowed.
What in the black empty void was that about?
Nearly two hours of meditation, first sitting and then moving through lightsaber katas, and he had no answers. The Force did not normally provide such powerful insights or clear communication. It tended to send its warnings in vague forms: flashes of events, impressions of insight, or metaphors. This was something different, something that he might have to investigate at some point. It seemed to take him much longer to fall asleep when he finally lay down again.
As Aemon al'Cazar drifted back into an uneasy sleep, a trio of ghostly figures observed from outside the cabin. Two were male and resembled one another, one was female, and all three were human.
"This is a dangerous game you are playing," said the single female among the group of spirits in a stern voice. She was speaking to a seemingly middle aged spirit, rather short for a human male. "He is not someone to be taken lightly, even by the likes of you and I in our current states."
The spirit she was addressing shrugged. "It was the only move we had. He'll understand, eventually," he said.
The third spirit shook his head. "We shouldn't have had to make that play to begin with," he began. "If I hadn't-"
"You need to stop blaming yourself," the second spirit admonished gently. "You didn't know what you were unleashing by refusing the throne, and you couldn't have known. It was too much to ask of any one being, even you. And besides, it wasn't just your own feelings you were sparing, or have you forgotten how many people loved you then? If it was me in your shoes, I would probably have made the same decision."
"It was still selfish," the third ghost replied in a voice weighed down by remorse. His youthful face distorted with self-hatred. "You were always a better man than I. You didn't have a selfish bone in your body."
"The only one blaming you for this is yourself," the female spirit said firmly. "There's no use wallowing in guilt. What is it the natives of this planet say? We've made our bed, now we must lie in it?"
The third spirit's expression softened. "We're ghosts. Why would we need beds?" he asked cheekily, flashing the roguish grin that had made him so uncomfortably photogenic in life before sobering. "He wasn't supposed to lose his memories. When he gets them back…"
"Considering the enemy we've set him up to face, we should consider ourselves lucky that lost memories are the only injury he suffered from that encounter," the second ghost remarked. "Although I have to admit, I'm surprised that battle even took place. He should have been out of reach then."
"He is strong of body and of spirit," the woman said with absolute conviction. "He will recover, and he will succeed."
"Yes, but not alone," the third ghost said. "He has no idea what he's lost by coming here. He needs support that we can't give him."
The others nodded in agreement. "He'll find it," the second spirit insisted. "And maybe, when this is all over, he'll finally enjoy peace."
"I hope you're right," the woman said, watching Aemon with sad, proud eyes.
I encourage you, the reader, to speculate on the identity of the three Force Ghosts and the villain they've set Aemon up to fight. Aside from details relevant to this conflict, there will be very little direct overlap between the MCU and the Star Wars galaxy. Aemon is not going to be able to summon allies from his home galaxy or anything like that, and no living members of the Skywalker family are going to show up.
Warning: There will be some graphic violence and discussions of mature topics. Aemon is an ex-Jedi dedicated to serving people in need, a war veteran, and an influential member of a society much more advanced than anything on Earth. As a result, there are certain characters and organizations he won't get along with, and he will have some opinions about Earth and its cultures that might be controversial. Furthermore, he will not care about offending people when voicing his opinions about hot button issues. Certain key elements of Civil War and Agents of SHIELD in particular will be affected by this. If you can't handle that, then this story is not for you. Aside from that, romance will be a very prominent part of the plot. There won't be anything too explicit, as I'm not comfortable writing smut, let alone incorporating it into a larger story, but it will get suggestive and very sappy.
