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Chapter 16 - Edit
The distant figure of Haru gradually vanished from their view, melting into the expansive canvas of the sky above. It was as if he'd become a mere wisp, an ethereal specter, as they ascended toward the heavens. Ben, along with Katara, Sokka, Momo, Appa, and the Avatar himself, Aang, pressed onward, driven by the unyielding pursuit of finding Aang a master in the art of waterbending.
Leaning against Appa's saddle, Ben allowed the cool currents of air to wash over him, a fleeting respite for weary eyes. A week had elapsed since they'd razed the labor camp and liberated its imprisoned souls. A week since the heart-wrenching loss of Haru's father, a week during which Ben had initiated Haru into the Jedi ranks.
Ben had taken it upon himself to be Haru's mentor. He'd delved into the annals of Jedi lore, sharing the profound histories and traditions of the order. He'd imparted the secrets of lightsaber combat, guided him in harnessing the Force, and even led him through a series of meditative exercises aimed at calming the tempest within. Haru proved to be an astute pupil, gifted with a natural affinity for the Force and a remarkable aptitude with the lightsaber.
Yet, lurking beneath that veneer of progress, Ben couldn't help but detect the shadows of inner turmoil within Haru. The lad bore the weight of his father's death as a personal cross, believing that his own inadequacy had doomed his parent. The anger and guilt, like smoldering embers, refused to be extinguished.
Ben grappled with the quandary of how to guide Haru through this tumultuous journey. He'd initially been hesitant about allowing the young apprentice to join Team Avatar but eventually relented, acknowledging the potential peril in caging Haru's restless spirit.
Haru's farewell words still echoed in Ben's mind. "I am needed elsewhere," he'd said, a forced smile concealing the pain beneath. "Master, I believe we must walk separate paths... at least for now. I must learn about who I am within the Force. To become stronger..."
The parting words had the air of nobility about them, yet Ben could see through the veneer. Beneath the surface, Haru was far from fine. "Damn it," Ben muttered under his breath. He knew Haru needed help to move beyond his inner torment.
In the end, Haru had chosen to travel with the liberated workers, aligning himself with the burgeoning revolution and the Earth Kingdom. He'd vowed to continue his training and seek out others with a connection to the Force, steering them toward Benjamin's guidance. "This world needs more Jedi," Haru had proclaimed before departing, a truth Ben couldn't deny.
The legend of the Jedi and the ancient truths of the Force would inevitably resurface. There was no escaping it, and with the looming war between the Fire Nation and the other nations, the battle between the Sith and the Jedi drew ever nearer. Ben set his resolve to focus on his training, scouting for individuals like Haru, and honing them into allies. This mission was a key factor driving their next destination.
"Guys," Ben began, his voice laden with apology, "I'm sorry once again. This notion of a 'laborer'... it might just be hearsay." He tried to voice his concerns, but his companions brushed them aside.
Katara waved off his misgivings, engrossed in her waterbending studies from the precious scroll they'd secured. Sokka chimed in with reassurance. "No need to worry, Ben. Seriously, we have time to train Aang and investigate this rumor."
Aang, still holding Appa's reins, pivoted around to inquire, "What rumor was that again?"
Once they'd returned to the mainland, Ben engaged the laborers in earnest discussions about the Force. He fired off a barrage of questions, conducting impromptu tests to detect any latent Force sensitivity among them. His efforts, however, yielded little fruit until a solitary laborer came forth with a curious tale.
"An armored warrior," the laborer began, "bearing a green blade of fire." Ben relayed this intriguing snippet of information to Aang, turning to Sokka for further discussion. "The town this laborer pointed us to is under Fire Nation occupation, the entire valley too."
Katara, her waterbending flask resealed and attached to her belt, voiced her concerns. "That presents a problem... How do we know this isn't a Dark Jedi?"
Ben shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't think so, Katara. The worker mentioned the existence of a resistance group, and it's a green lightsaber. Those are typically wielded by Jedi Consulars."
Sokka nodded, finally catching onto Ben's line of thinking. "So, you believe this Jedi might be aligned with the resistance, fighting against the Fire Nation?"
Ben nodded once more, shifting his weight as he leaned on Appa's saddle. He began to massage his temples, sensing the weariness creeping in, threatening to pull him into slumber.
But Aang, his gaze fixed ahead where the sun was descending into the horizon, had a question to ask. Ben reluctantly pushed aside his fatigue, brushing away the strands of hair obscuring his eyes.
He sighed, conceding, "Yeah, sure... What's on your mind?"
Aang's eyes narrowed as he tucked his knees to his chest, as though drawing comfort from their warmth. His voice, gentle and inquisitive, pierced the gathering dusk. "How did it feel... when you killed Kiara?"
Ben's eyes widened in astonishment. Aang's voice wasn't tinged with condemnation or venomous accusation. Instead, it carried the curiosity of a young man, the Chosen One, seeking to understand the emotions of someone he looked up to. Aang wanted to know what it was like to take a life.
Katara and Sokka trained their eyes on Ben, their faces etched with concern. It had been a week since the fateful duel with Kiara and the dark Jedi. A battle that had been brief but lethal, one in which Ben's lightsaber skills and command of the Force had matched those of the Sith warriors.
Ben had tried to subdue them, to beat them into submission, but it had taken too long. The delay had resulted in the tragic death of Haru's father. Ben had resorted to a burst of lightning that cooked the dark Jedi, and Kiara had met her end with her own limb severed, an act of grim retribution.
Ben hadn't shared Kiara's final words with Team Avatar, burdening himself with the weight of the dark side and his own sins. He deemed it his duty as a Jedi Knight to carry that weight alone, sparing his comrades from being dragged into his personal torment.
"It...I've killed people before, Aang," Ben admitted, his words released into the still air. "You learn to cope with it and understand why it happened." The trio listened intently, the words hanging in the air, Ben's gaze far away as he confessed, "The first man I killed was when I was twelve or thirteen. I don't remember much from that time. I didn't pity him; he was an invader, and it was a matter of survival, his life or mine."
The grim specter of war settled upon the trio, especially Sokka. Ben was, at his core, a warrior, much like Sokka's father. Could he truly have been so naive as to believe that a warrior could avoid taking lives? His desire to contribute to the group's efforts burned within him, and he knew that he could make a difference. All he needed was to become stronger.
Ben's voice carried on, breaking the heavy silence. "Getting used to killing is a sorrowful thing. But I had no choice; I couldn't afford hesitation or prolongation. Kiara, she had to be stopped."
All four of them shared a silent understanding. Katara recognized Kiara as a relentless predator, driven by a vicious desire for violence. She would never have ceased her pursuit, and her intentions extended far beyond capturing them, unlike Zuko. Kiara reveled in the pain and suffering she inflicted, even maiming Benjamin in her ruthless pursuit.
Sokka harbored a similar sentiment. Ben had acted to safeguard them all. He couldn't engage in perpetual combat with the same adversary, especially not Kiara, who had grown more cunning and brought a dangerous partner. If it hadn't been for Haru's father's intervention, they might not even be conversing with Ben now.
Aang grasped the gravity of the situation too. While the monks of the Air Temple had instilled in him the sanctity of all life and the horror of taking it, he understood that Benjamin had been left with no alternative. He began to question whether the teachings he'd received might have been flawed in some way.
Aang broke the silence, his smile offering gratitude. "I think... I understand. You did it to protect us. Thank you."
Aang sensed something enigmatic within Ben, something concealed from all three of them. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, but he decided to place his trust in the Jedi who had aided them.
Ben, voice barely above a whisper, spoke of a song his mother had taught him, a Jedi song from his childhood. "We take what we are given. We do what we must."
The Avatar trio exchanged glances, Sokka's head tilted, and Momo darting around his lap. Sokka raised his hands, exclaiming, "That's it!"
"What?" Katara chimed in, her agreement with her brother.
Ben sighed, his groan signaling their brief return to normalcy as they bickered playfully during the remainder of their journey. Hours later, Appa landed, and they set up camp in the vast wilderness. They cooked, shared jokes, and enjoyed their meal. Katara tended to their laundry, and Ben's Jedi robes hung on the drying rack, a silent reminder to himself to invest in a long-sleeved shirt. The cold air was welcome against his face but less so in every nook and cranny of his body. The exhaustion of their journey began to weigh on them, and soon, Team Avatar retired for the night, their dreams haunted by the looming weight of tomorrow.
As the world slumbered, an enigmatic occurrence unfolded. Within Ben's concealed pouch, the Holocron, a dark artifact brimming with sinister secrets, began to stir. Its crimson facets pulsed with an even deeper shade of red, and an eerie, brackish smoke oozed from the confines of its sack.
This spectral emanation drifted on the breeze, a palpable presence that slinked its way into Ben's nostrils. He shifted restlessly as it invaded his dreams, unleashing waves of terror that seeped into the very fabric of his being.
A nightmare unfurled.
Eyes snapped open, wide as saucers, as searing flashes of light splintered across his vision. He found himself atop a metallic surface, a rooftop composed of steel, beneath a canopy of city lights. The fiery hues of the Fire Nation glowed in the distance.
With a hesitant step forward, the roof's steel expanse groaned under his weight. Power, infused with dark side energy, enveloped him. "This place..." he murmured, words a whisper against the icy air, before another vision seized him.
Images flashed like frenzied ghosts. He clutched his head as agony coursed through him, his knees colliding with the unyielding steel. The night sky, a tapestry of stars, seemed to gaze into his very soul.
Katara, engulfed by falling debris, her body crushed by the relentless avalanche. The muffled cries, the sound of bones breaking, the agonized gasps as the Force abandoned her, as life fled her.
Ben screamed, his anguish echoing through the ethereal void, his fist striking the metal with enough force to draw blood. Crimson mingled with tears, his eyes aflame as images of Sokka played before him.
The young warrior, under a barrage of Force lightning, his body cooked and obliterated before it hit the ground. His final gaze locked with Ben's, a mirror of fear and sorrow. Ben knew he had failed Sokka.
His breath grew ragged, and bile surged forth, staining the steel before him. His fingers crackled with erratic purple lightning as his eyes blazed the sinister orange of a true Sith. His tears washed away the blood, and the onslaught continued.
Next was Aang, eyes awash in the Avatar's transcendent state, white as pure power surged from within. But it was futile. Hordes of Sith descended upon him, Aang's bending proving insufficient. Blades pierced him, and his eyes closed for the last time, hope extinguished, victory conceded to the Sith and the Fire Nation.
Ben's form pulsated with erratic purple light, his eyes seething orange, lost within his own rage. "Why not?" he thought, surrendering to his anger. "In my anger, I find strength. I used my hate to vanquish the Mandalorian, and they were obliterated." Waves of malevolence coursed through him, sparks flickering as the dream or Force-fueled vision pressed on, unabated. It was far from over.
His gaze fixed upon the steel roof, the fabric of his robes rustling in the ceaseless winds. Slowly, his mouth fell agape, his eyes widening in a ghastly revelation. The terror descended upon his heart, gripping it like an unforgiving vise.
In years past, the Sith had often been plagued by infighting. He had not dwelled much on their precise place in this world, assuming there might be a hundred or so, perhaps a few dark lords, and an even rarer handful that ascended to prestigious ranks.
However, his hopeful musings crumbled like fragile glass. The air crackled with crimson energy, the humming and slashing of lightsabers tracing intricate patterns of Ataru. Dark robes swirled around them, exuding the palpable malevolence of the dark side. They stood in formation, like a deck of cards about to collapse. Row by row, stance by stance. In this colossal training ground, there were no fewer than three hundred.
He felt the Sith assassins honing their skills in the art of concealing their presence within the Force, sensed the anger and hatred fueling the Marauders' relentless combat drills, and tasted the dark designs of the Sith Lords who watched silently, directing their recruits.
Kiara's words echoed in his mind: "Academies." Multiple training grounds littered the Fire Nation. Ben could only imagine how many there were or how potent they might be. If this vast training facility was any indication…
There had to be well over a thousand of them. The notion of such an epoch of darkness weighed him down, and he collapsed onto the roof, his hair billowing in the wind as his eyes reverted to their usual state. Fear and sorrow coursed through his chest.
His perspective shifted. Shadows encroached, and a brilliant comet materialized in the sky, tearing through the atmosphere with an incandescent fury. It struck the earth with cataclysmic force, consuming everything in its fiery maw.
"You are far too weak, Exile. To prevent…what is to come…"
Ben watched helplessly as the wave of fire devoured everything in its path. He extended his arms in a futile attempt to halt the inferno, but it was too late. Darkness swallowed him whole, and everything faded to black.
"The Jedi Who Fall are the most dangerous of them all."
Those words had been part of a children's rhyme, one his mother had shared with him during his upbringing. He wished she were still here, especially on days like today.
He erupted from his slumber, flinging the blanket aside. Hollow breaths echoed through the camp, and sweat dripped from his nose, a hand swiping it away as he gazed upon the stirring forms of Team Avatar.
He struggled to seize the blanket, still shaken by the haunting ordeal, but it eluded his grasp. His right hand faltered at the edge of the fabric, slipping away with ease. Fingers twitching and contorting, he clutched it with his left hand, attempting to anchor it in place.
Yet, it persisted.
The fear had a relentless grip on him, too strong to ignore. He needed solitude, away from prying eyes and well-intentioned inquiries. He knew his team cared for him, that they would want to talk, to help, but this burden was his alone. As the Jedi of the group, he couldn't afford to display vulnerability.
He cared deeply for them, but this was a weight he must carry alone. With a muted exhale, he gingerly retrieved his satchel, careful not to disturb his slumbering comrades. They would want answers, but he had none to offer. The visions that had plagued his rest were indescribable, unimaginable horrors.
But the quaking fear and tremors refused to relent. He delved into his pouch, a repository of hidden items. He needed something to push the memories away, to grant him respite. Amongst the contents, he unearthed a small, faint bottle of gin, a handful of matches, and a few tightly rolled tobacco leaves.
"Just to forget...just for a little while," he whispered to himself, a plea and a promise.
His lips parted, ushering the cigarette between them as he grappled with the matches. His trembling fingers dropped them twice before a third attempt successfully ignited one. The match's flame danced briefly, then found purchase.
He brought it to the tip of his cigarette, igniting the tobacco with a deliberate inhale. The toxic fumes swirled into his lungs, and for a fleeting moment, he felt like he was ascending, liberated from his earthly burdens.
As the cigarette dwindled to a nub, he flicked it away. Popping open the small bottle of gin, he felt the fiery liquid scorch his throat, further dissolving his worries. A warm, numbing sensation enveloped him, coaxing a faint smile.
Yet, the unsettling visions lingered, etched into his mind. The dream of his friends, the ominous comet on the horizon, and the legions of Sith, honing their skills to extinguish not only the Avatar but the entire world.
The war loomed, its conclusion imminent. The true question was how much time remained. He had never faced a crisis like this. His training, his studies in Jedi history—none had prepared him for this dire moment. The odds were overwhelmingly stacked against them, their survival prospects dwindling to near nothingness.
He had read of the Hyperspace Wars, the exploits of Exar Kun, the darkness that shrouded the galaxy during the Dark Wars. He had lived through the Mandalorian and Jedi Civil Wars. But this...this was something else entirely. There were no saviors like Nomi Sunrider, no Cay or Ulic Qel Droma to turn the tide. There were only the Sith and the encroaching darkness, threatening to envelop their world.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the overwhelming tide of sorrow and fear that threatened to drown him. A part of him yearned to flee, to run as far and as fast as he could from the encroaching darkness. But he silenced that impulse just as swiftly as it arose. He would never run away again. He had people who depended on him, who relied on his strength.
Never again.
With determination radiating from his very being, he raised himself up, tossing the bottle to the ground. His eyes blazed with a fierce resolve. He had a duty to fulfill. He knew he wouldn't meet a peaceful end in some quiet corner. No, he had a mission, whether he was recognized as a Jedi or not. The Sith and the Fire Nation had to be stopped.
"You're damn right," he declared, his voice carrying up toward the star-filled heavens, an answer to the voice that had spoken to him in that haunting vision. "I'm too weak to prevent what's coming."
Ben acknowledged the painful truth. He was a hollow reflection of what a Jedi was meant to be. Time was running out. He had to grow stronger, to thwart the impending disaster, to safeguard the precious lights he held dear.
Delving into his satchel, he knew exactly what he must do. He needed to rally allies, to unite them with Team Avatar in their battle against the Fire Nation and the Sith. Perhaps, if fortune favored them, they could find another Jedi to join their cause.
Haru might be that Jedi, once he completed his own journey and found his place in the Force. But Ben knew that day was distant. Just like him, Haru had his own path to follow.
His fingers recognized the object as he retrieved it from the sack. The Sith Holocron now rested in his open palm, its weight pressing upon him, urging him to unlock its secrets, to claim its power as his own.
Drawing a deep breath, he summoned memories of his past, of his fall after the horrors of Malachor V. "If I remember that the Force is just a tool, that I control it," he murmured to himself, "then maybe...maybe I'll be all right."
He closed his eyes and brought one of the Holocron's crimson sides to his forehead. "The dark side doesn't frighten me," he attempted to convince himself, though he knew it was a lie. Yet, he believed that by repeating this mantra, he could maintain control.
Oh, how misguided he was.
With another deep breath, he set the Holocron gently on the green grass, kneeling before it. Raising his right arm, he gazed into the artifact, the crystal within beginning to stir. He sank into a meditative trance, slowing his breath, delving deeper into the inky abyss of the dark side.
The Holocron responded, shimmering and sparkling. An orange beam of light radiated from its sides, enveloping Ben in a shroud of pure dark side energy. A figure began to take shape within the shadows, twisting and forming deeper within the abyss of the dark.
Amidst the shadows, a figure began to coalesce, draped in a voluminous, oppressive robe. Yet, even shrouded as he was, Ben discerned the telltale mark of the Sith etched into his forehead. A thick braid dangled over his left chest, a sinister emblem of his malevolent power. He loomed over the would-be Jedi with a gaze that pierced to the soul.
With a voice as icy as the void of space, he declared, "I am Exar Kun, Dark Lord of The Sith."
Ben met his chilling stare with unwavering resolve, his once-golden eyes now smoldering with the sulfurous, corrupted hue of the true Sith. This was for his friends, for the ones he held dear. The mad laughter of the dark side reverberated through the forest, echoing its sinister intentions. Ben, now committed to a perilous path that threatened to consume him, took yet another step into the abyss that awaited his very destruction.