It had been an exceptionally long week, and Anakin felt as if he had aged more than he should have. As he moved through the Temple, he often caught himself studying the lines etched into his fellow Masters' faces. He wondered how much of it was simply the passage of time and how much was the result of stress, secrets, and the burden of guiding the Order. He didn't know much about Master Yoda's species—few did—but he couldn't help but wonder if his 900 years might have been a bit kinder had he not walked the path of a Jedi.

The High Council had once again failed to reach a determination concerning the future of Solan Cael and it was beyond exasperating. Each day, there they sat, a room of the wisest beings in the galaxy, and none of them could agree on what to do.

The meetings were grueling and often sprawled on for hours, with every possibility and angle brought up, discussed, and brought up again. The ongoing debate between adhering to traditional doctrines or adapting to evolving circumstances. Change. Arguably, the thing Jedi feared most. More than once, Masters had flip-flopped on their stances multiple times reassessing long-held beliefs, which in a way, was progress. However, it also meant that they were no closer to a decision than they had been on day one.

He huffed out a breath, nostalgic for the times when Obi-Wan's disappointed lectures were his biggest concern. He almost missed the scoldings he'd received over losing his lightsaber—not once, but multiple times. Along with the frustration in Obi-Wan's voice whenever Anakin's reckless piloting of speeders and starships earned him a new set of gray hairs. Those moments felt distant now, eclipsed by the endless cycle of unproductive council meetings. Anakin longed for the familiar comfort of those reprimands, yearning for simpler times.

Life now was far more complicated.

Secrets were nothing new to Anakin. Stars knew he'd had his share of them, but now as a Master, he was expected to guard the councils as well. The decision had been set forth that any discussion of the boy or his future within the Order should stay squarely within the Council Chamber walls. It made perfect sense, even Anakin could see the wisdom in it. With the Jedi Order already shaken by recent scandals—his clandestine marriage to Padmé, and the impending birth of their children. Whispers of hypocrisy surrounded the Order, with many questioning their methods and integrity.

The Jedi were struggling to recover from the devastation of the Clone Wars, with their numbers greatly reduced from disasters like Geonosis, in which over 170 Jedi perished. Not to mention their public image wasn't as polished as it had been in generations past. Then there was the public fallout from Palpatine's arrest, and the ensuing power grab; no one knew who to trust. The pressure was mounting and while eyes shifted many places, he knew many would look to the Order; even if they looked on in suspicion.

The weight of these secrets, combined with the Order's increasingly fragile state, was beginning to take a toll on him. By the week's end, Anakin was mentally kicking himself for ever desiring the title of Master in the first place. It was nothing but trouble and steered far closer into the realm of politics than he liked.

The sleek, metallic doors of the turbo lift glided open with a soft whoosh, unveiling the peaceful hallway on the highest level of the Senatorial Apartments. A wave of cool and refreshing air kissed his face as he stopped off, only a long corridor stood between him and home.

Despite the thirty-minute walk from the Temple to the Senate District being one he knew by heart, it hadn't brought him much clarity. There was only the gentle rhythmic thumping of his heavy boots on the marble floor to keep his thoughts company as he worked to untangle them. Ultimately, he saw no success, he still had no idea as to what he would say to Padme.

What reason could he give for his behavior in the last week?

The apartment's door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the dimly lit expanse of the living quarters. His presence in their home lately, had been more of a shadow. Rising early to leave and slipping in late. Each time he crossed the threshold, he felt the constant encumbrance of the Council's secrets bearing down on him. Secrets he couldn't share. As a result, he'd thrown himself into the grind of temple life— extra duties, extended training sessions, and lectures he'd attended but rarely absorbed.

He loosened the fastenings of his cloak, letting it fall onto the back of a chair, but he felt no lighter.

He didn't even like staying at the temple, it made him feel so uneasy. It didn't feel like a home— it truly never had. The sterile halls, with their formal and minimal decor, and the strict rituals devoid of warmth made it feel more like sleeping in a museum. Or a prison. Nothing like the home he shared with Padme.

Her influence had turned their shared space into a refuge, filled with the life and comfort he craved. Something his mother had always managed to create, even in the harsh conditions of Tatooine.

Staying away for so long had made him utterly miserable.

When excuses were stripped away, all that was left was truth and lies. He was resolved he would not lie to Padme. He could feel her gaze on him before he saw it and he looked up.

There, framed by the elegant archway that led into their shared bedroom, stood Padmé. Her posture was composed, the lines of her figure commanding yet graceful even in the late stages of pregnancy. The loose-fitting clothes she had worn to conceal her pregnancy were now replaced by regal garments that accentuated her soft, rounded baby bump. It was a sight that brought a smile to his weary face.

Her eyes were filled with serenity and looking into them was to be home. Yet a stern and despondent expression marred her otherwise beautiful features—a queen's facade that masked a deep, troubling sadness. One that he knew he was responsible for.

His lips parted and his breath hitched as he prepared to speak, ready to utter the words 'I'm sorry' as many times as she needed to hear it. But before he could utter a word, she raised a commanding hand, silencing him with the gesture.

"Anakin," she began, her voice steady and giving nothing away of how she was feeling. "I understand that there are things within the Temple that you can't always share with me. I know you have secrets and responsibilities as a Master, and I respect that. I would never ask you to tell me what you can't. Nor will I ever deliver an ultimatum on the subject," Her tone carried the lilt of diplomacy and the firm resolve of a woman who had ruled and now served. "But I know something is greatly troubling you and this distance between us," she continued, her gaze piercing through his defenses, and she lowered her hand. "this is where I draw the line."

His throat tightened, ice flooded his veins and a familiar fear of loss and abandonment sent his heart racing. He swallowed hard and nodded, willing every inch of his form to remain calm.

"Pads, I—" He began, his tall frame lumbered closer, each step heavy with fatigue and regret.

"Shh," she interjected softly, her resolve crumbling just enough to allow her arms to envelop him in a gentle embrace. "I've missed you, Ani."

His arms, though strong, trembled as they hurredly wrapped around her, and he rested his cheek atop her head.

"I've missed you, Padme," he whispered back, the confession coming out as a breath laced with the ache of too much time spent apart. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever is weighing on you, know that you will always have my trust, and I will never force you to share what you can't. But you don't have to carry those burdens alone. Please come back to me."

Relief thawed the ice that had held his heart in a death grip and the warmth of her love chased away his fears and insecurities. He was safe. They was safe.

He nodded vigorously and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his gloved hands cradling her head. Her understanding was a kindness he didn't deserve and for a few moments, they stood together like that. With her smaller frame engulfed by his, he held his entire world in his arms. He just needed a moment longer to hold onto her– them, to anchor himself to something he knew was steadfast.

He counted his breaths, calming himself until her hand on his shoulder gently pushed him back, breaking their embrace. His arms dropped to his sides, his eyes lingering on the swell of her stomach before meeting hers. His fingers twitched, aching to touch her, but he hesitated. After a moment, she smiled softly and guided his hands to her belly, granting his silent wish. The relief was instant.

Even though she no longer held the title of Queen, Anakin still knelt before her without hesitation. He pressed his forehead against Padmé's stomach in a reverent gesture. Her hand rested on his bowed head, and as she stroked his hair.

All traces of tension disappeared, his shoulers loosened and his jaw unclenched. He took a final a deep cleansing breath feeling the air fill his lungs and holding it there before releasing it. Together, they were one. With a slow and deliberate movement, he stood up straight, his chest rising and falling steadily.

"What I'm about to tell you has to stay between us, Padme," he intoned cautiously, "The Council is facing something of a crisis, no one outside knows and it has to stay that way."

Padmé raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Of course, because I've never been party to keeping scandalous secrets," she teased. Then, with a reassuring smile, she quickly added, "You know you have my confidence, Anakin. Your secrets are safe with me—always."

In his heart, he knew he could trust her, but the guilt still nipped at his heels. He was, as Master Yoda would say, was breaking another rule. But with the Council trapped in endless, maddening debates, he needed an outlet for his frustration and perspective. Who better to turn to than his other half?

He guided her gently to sit on the edge of their bed, feeling the soft mattress yield beneath them. Settling down beside her, he let his shoulders sag, burying his face in his hands, a low, weary groan escaping his lips.

Beside him, Padmé sat with her hands were folded neatly in her lap, and she radiated a calm grace that made him feel inadequate as a Jedi Master. As he struggled with his thoughts, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He met her gaze and simply said:

"Obi-Wan has a son."

There weren't many things that could render Padmé Amidala speechless. She sat frozen in place, her gaze fixed and unblinking, as though caught in a moment of suspended animation. For a solid thirty seconds, she didn't move a muscle. Anakin couldn't help but recall how, just a week earlier, he had been in the exact same position—mouth slightly agape, brain struggling to catch up, as if the revelation had sent his thoughts spiraling into hyperspace.

Finally, she blinked—once, twice—her eyes fluttering in almost comical disbelief. The gears of her mind visibly grinding as she tried to process the four simple words Anakin had just spoken.

"Obi-Wan has…" She trailed off in disbelief.

Anakin nodded solemnly, "Yes."

"Obi-Wan has a—" Her voice rose an octave.

"Yes," Anakin repeated, his tone dry but also a bit amused.

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He watched as her attention span, as well as her gaze just sort of… drifted. Much like Obi-Wan had done when he first heard the news. Anakin waited, tapping his fingers lightly against his thigh, counting the seconds it would take for the realization to hit.

Then, suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, her head snapped back to Anakin with the intensity of a laser cannon.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi? Our Obi-Wan?" She blurted out in a rush of incredulity.

"The one and the same," Anakin confirmed, already feeling a sense of relief.

"What did? How—Wait, when could—?" She stammered, trying to piece together several questions but failing. They all just jumbled together into a verbal mess.

It was funny watching his normally eloquent and articulate wife stumble over her words. He found an odd sort of catharsis in her shared bewilderment.

She looked at him, wide-eyed and at a complete loss, but fortunately, Anakin knew exactly what she was trying to ask because he'd already thought it too.

"A blood test confirmed the paternity earlier this week," Anakin explained. "And his midichlorian count." He paused, meeting her expectant gaze. "Sixteen thousand."

"Sixteen thousand!"

He looked on as her pupils nearly overtook the brown of her eyes. No doubt trying to work out the whole thing like it was a puzzle. She looked to that same unremarkable patch of floor her eyes had found earlier and then again up at Anakin sharply.

All Anakin could do was nod again, biting back a smile at the absurdity of it all.

"Satine?" The name slipped out before she could stop herself, even though she knew Satine was gone.

He shook his head, "It's someone from Obi-Wan's past. A Sentinel. Last Primeday, she returned with a ten-year-old son."

"Ten?" Padme's shock was a continual relief to Anakin who had been thinking and feeling the exact same things for over a week now. "But how could Obi-Wan be unaware of his son's existence for ten years?"

"From what we know, and we don't know much," Anakin explained, "Shortly after she and Obi-Wan were… together, Cressida departed on an off-world assignment–"

"Cressida?" Padme asked, interrupting him.

Anakin stuttered a moment, he'd revealed more than he'd meant to but little could be done about the slip of the tongue so he just nodded.

"–Yes, Cressida Vox." He relented, a first and last name wasn't wise but what was the harm now?

"Such a beautiful name." She murmured as if she was testing it out.

"–Anyway, she was working under an established alias completely isolated from the Order. She gave birth to her son during her assignment and had no other option but to keep it hidden to protect both the mission's integrity as well as safeguard their lives."

Padme was quiet for a moment, quickly regaining some of her faltered composure. "No one knew? Her superiors? The High Council? Her Master?"

"No one." He shook his head. "Sentinels operate under a different authority than we do. They're primarily accountable to the Council of First Knowledge, which in turn answers to the Grandmaster… selectively."

Selectively; meaning the Grandmaster only knew what the Council of First Knowledge wanted him to know.

It wasn't a small thing he'd just divulged, and Anakin couldn't shake the guilt of adding more to Padmé's already heavy load, especially with the babies on the way. But her hand still rested on his knee and gave it another squeeze, she was still with him.

"But, Jedi have had children before, haven't they?" Anakin gave a sideways nod, suggesting the simplistic nature of the question did not come with a simplistic answer. "What happens then?"

A more sensitive subject would be difficult to find.

"It's complex," He sighed letting out another breath and taking her hand in his. "Jedi have had children, yes. In the days of the Old Republic it was commonplace for Jedi to not only have children but to marry as well. I'm not sure when the practice was forbidden exactly but even after attachments were banned Jedi still had children; we're not celibate." Resentment colored his words but he didn't linger on it. "Some exceptions have been made more recently with the approval of the High Council: like Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. His species is greatly endangered with a critically low birthrates among males. The Council permitted him to return home to marry. He has five wives and seven daughters all of whom he has virtually no contact with."

It wasn't a topic often broached—Ki-Adi Mundi's multiple marriages were well-known within the Order. But less discussed was the fact that, despite his efforts, the numerous daughters he fathered didn't exactly alleviate his species' population crisis. An awful irony, in Anakin's opinion.

"Typically, when a Jedi has a child, the child is taken from the parents at a very young age and raised within the Jedi Order. This practice helps ensure that the child grows up without forming strong emotional attachments, which could hinder their training and adherence to the Jedi Code. It's entirely plausible for a parent and child to go through their entire lives without forming a close relationship. Their roles would keep them on separate paths with little personal interaction, until adulthood if ever. That's even if the child was force sensitive."

Padmé's face tightened with a mixture of anxiety and horror as she asked, "What would happen if the child wasn't Force-sensitive?"

His heart sank as he saw the dread in her eyes and he hesitated to answer her. Her distress was like a knife to his gut. He shouldn't have even mentioned it, of course it would upset her. He cursed his short-sightedness.

" –The Order's focus is on nurturing those with a connection to the Force," he began slowly. "If a child didn't meet the minimum midichlorian count needed for training, they would likely be placed with a family outside the Order or given to a guardian who could teach them a trade or a skill to live. They would lead a life separate from the Jedi and might never know their parents."

Her hand immediately recoiled from his, instinctively covering her mouth as a shuddering gasp escaped, her other hand moved protectively to cradle her pregnant belly. The stark contrast between the Jedi's detached logic and the raw, visceral pain in her eyes struck him like a blow. Regret surged through him as he heard her weak sniffle and saw the growing glassy sheen in her eyes.

"Padme, I'm sorry–I shouldn't have–"

Again, she held up her hand to still his apologies, stifling the near sobs that almost broke free. He watched as she struggled to blink away the unshed tears and mask her sadness. Seeing her so affected, so close to breaking down, made him wish he could undo the words he had spoken. She looked at the ground in an effort to compose herself. Each little staccato breath she took further twisted the metaphorical knife in his heart.

"I can't imagine just letting our children go with no certainty of ever seeing them again." Her words were barely above a whisper, almost to awful to speak.

"I would never let that happen, Padmé." He said fiercely, his eyes fixating onto hers with unwavering determination. "If it ever came to that, I wouldn't hesitate to leave the Order with you and our children."

He reached out, gently brushing away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. She nodded rapidly, sniffling quietly before changing the subject.

"But the boy is force sensitive," She said, her voice growing more steady, "They wouldn't simply place him elsewhere, would they?"

"It is difficult to say, in this case, he's is already ten years old—well beyond the usual age for initiation into the Order. This presents its own set of challenges."

"Such as?" She asked, her composure snapping back into place so swiftly that the only hint of her earlier upset was the faint redness in her eyes.

Padme's capacity to push her emotions aside to deal with the present in a detached manner never failed to amaze Anakin, she would have made the superior Jedi, he was sure. He pushed himself up from the bed, his hands resting on his hips as he began to pace back and forth.

"Suppose he is allowed to begin training. His only instruction so far has come from his mother, and due to her situation, their training was kept secret. As a result, his training is... inconsistent. Normally, evaluation happens within a clan of younglings who have been together since childhood. He can't just be thrown into a clan of kids who've grown up together. That won't work." The ghost of resentment again colored Anakin's words, reflecting his personal experience. "Any gaps in his training would need to be addressed before the Initiate Trials. Who would train him until then? Where would he stay? How would his training be organized?"

As Anakin continued to pace, his frustration and concern evident in his every movement. His shoulders grew tight again and his steps grew heavy and quicker. He made several laps across the expanse of their bedroom as he worked himself back up. Padme's brows knitted together at the transformation taking place before her but as quickly as it had started, his steps faltered.

He paused staring out the nearby window as if searching for answers among the stars. After a moment, he turned back to Padmé. "And what about his parents?"

"He's spent his whole life with his mother; will she be allowed to remain in her son's life or just sent back into the shadows? If so, how will that affect her ability to do her duty? Will they make an exception for her because fo the nature of her work and experiences? Or will they think it too great a risk either way? How will it affect him? And what about Obi-Wan? Ten years ago he had a son, but it was only a week ago that he became a father." That particular statement was perhaps the most impactful. "He missed out on the first ten years of the boys life. Will the Council even permit him to establish any sort relationship now that he knows about him?"

He left the second part of his question unspoken—that being what if the Council decided to forbid any relationship between Obi-Wan and his son at all?

"Obi-Wan insists there was no romantic attachment, but can two people with a past like theirs truly remain impartial, especially when it involves raising a child conceived from their physical relationship? The Council is uncertain about how to handle the situation, questioning whether past connections might complicate their objectivity and impact the child's training within the Order."

The questions tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of thoughts and frustrations, draining the breath from his lungs as he spoke. He hadn't realized just how much he needed to say these things aloud. When he finished, he felt a bit tired but relieved and the room finally fell quiet.

"What will happen to the boy's mother?" Padme asked.

Anakin hesitated and shook his head, "Honestly? I don't know. I suggested leniency to the Council."

Padme agreed but then stopped mid-nod in bewilderment. "You mean they might punish her?"

He grimaced, features twisting unpleasantly. She wasn't going to like this... "It's not an impossibility, though it makes little sense—"

Padmé quickly shot to her feet, "—It makes no sense at all!" She declared, marching a few steps as Anakin tried to urge her to sit back down. He was unsuccessful.

Padme had been a queen and no stranger to conflict no matter the scope. She was as fearsome as any Jedi he'd ever seen. She was ferocious, brave and when pushed, his wife was a force of nature—a force of nature that he feared might... tip over.

"Punished for what? The crime of… having a child?"

Anakin held up his hands in surrender, a small smile playing on his lips as he tried to calm her. It truly wasn't as simple as that, but in a way it also was. He hated the juxtaposition.

"Padmé, I'm with you on this one. Given the situation she was in—no support, keeping the secret for a decade, maintaining her cover and assignments integrity, what other choice did she have? I've been pushing the Council to see that any harsh measures would be a disaster." This seemed to calm the storm that was swirling about in his wife, though she didn't sit back down. The harshness of her gaze wasn't meant for Anakin, he was just something of an unfortunate bystander. "And at any rate, it's not entirely up to the High Council, it's not even up to the Grandmaster alone. The Council of First Knowledge will also have a say in this matter since she's a Sentinel, and she answers directly to them."

"And Obi-Wan?" She asked, at last, her voice softening with worry as she crossed her arms over her chest. Skepticism lingered on her face. Stars help anyone who found themselves on the wrong side of Padmé Amidala when it came to the people she loved. "Where does he stand in all of this?"

He sunk back onto the bed and his hands dropped to his lap. All traces of levity fell away, and his eyes dulled.

"I don't know." he replied, letting out a deep breath that shook his entire form. "No one's seen him in days. Probably at Master Windu's request."

"What do you mean?"

"After the initial meeting, Mace suggested it was in the best interest of all parties if Obi-Wan limited his contact with his son and the boy's mother for the time being."

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Now she didn't just look offended—outraged was more like it. Her expression was a mix of shock and fury, her eyes wide and her lips pursed.

"Why would Mace make such a suggestion?" She threw her hands up in the air in indignation. "Surely, Obi-Wan and Cressida have more than a few things to talk about." The way she spoke about the Sentinel now, one might be tempted to think Padme was defending a dear friend. But she'd never met the woman, the depth of her empathy just radiated like a river of brilliance in the face of such… injustice.

Her determination and kind spirit had been two of the many things about her all the way back in the sands of Tatooine that first captured his attention, then his heart.

"Mace wanted to err on the side of caution—emotions were running high and…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "He's just trying to be, well… cautious."

"For what reason? Keeping them from sitting down and opening up a dialogue will only cause friction, it's the same in delegations. If parties refuse to communicate openly, misunderstandings fester, and conflicts escalate. The only way to find common ground and resolve issues is through honest conversation."

"On some level, I agree with you. But Mace has a responsibility to make the decision that's best for everyone, as well as the Order. The Jedi are under more scrutiny than ever before. He needs Obi-Wan to be clear-headed and in a stable place. Right now, he's not."

He hoped his words resonated with Padmé. As he spoke, he noticed a subtle shift in her expression, almost as if she were seeing him in a different light—a look that made him wonder if, for a moment, she'd been taken aback by what he'd said. Even he was sometimes surprised by how own maturity and wisdom.

"One can hardly blame him," She conceded, folding her arms over her chest again. They sat a little higher than usual due to her bump and it normall struck him as adorable but he forwent his usual comments. "How is he?"

Anakin rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hair fall around his face. "I've never seen him like this before, Padmé. He's struggling to find his balance." Anakin's expression grew troubled, and a flicker of pain crossed his eyes.

The sternness that emanated from Padme was gone and she quickly found her way to her husband's side.

"When Obi-Wan saw the Sentinel, he recognized her instantly. He was certain she spoke the truth and refused to entertain any notion that she had deceived him or manipulated the situation. He defended her without hesitation—there wasn't an ounce of doubt." Anakin's voice held a trace of awe as he recalled the events, still mesmerized by the depths of protectiveness that had come from his usually strict and straight-laced Master.

He didn't mention Mace's uncomfortable line of questioning knowing that it would likely set her off again, and it wasn't the point. Padme was level headed but being so close to motherhood was certainly influencing her thought process lately.

Anakin noticed the soft smile that played at Padmé's lips as she spoke. "Sounds like she made an impression," she suggested, her tone thoughtful. He could see she was picturing it too—the idea of Obi-Wan being so protective of someone, especially a woman, was as surprising to her as it was to him. "Anakin, could Obi-Wan or the Sentinel be expelled from the Order?"

Anakin shook his head with a scoff, his expression both serious and amused. "No, I think that's highly unlikely. Obi-Wan is too well-respected and has achieved too much within the Order. He's a hero of the Clone Wars. Not to mention he trained the Chosen One…" He threw in a cocky little smirk, which Padme returned. "They won't expel him, even if they are disappointed in him for–"

" –For what? Having sex?" Padme exclaimed in an almost laugh. "Jedi aren't celibate–" She gestured between the two of them and then to her stomach. "–as you've said, and physical relationships aren't forbidden. Why would they possibly be disappointed in him?"

"The council always seems to find a way to be disappointed in someone…" Anakin replied, knowing a bit more on the subject than he'd like, having been on the receiving end of that disappointment more than once. "Besides, he's a pivotal figure in the Jedi Order, and losing him would be a significant blow, especially given that ranks are at an all-time low. The Clone Wars is over but the Sith and other threats are far from gone. We need all the Jedi we can for when the next crisis rears its head. We must be prepared, dismissing seasoned and exemplary Jedi from the Order isn't exactly a good start."

"And what about the Sentinel?" Padme inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"They definitely won't expel her. They would need the approval of the Council of First Knowledge, they would also need to prove that she's a clear an present danger or liability to the Order. Everything we've been told suggests they have no intention of letting her go. Losing her would mean losing all the valuable knowledge and skills she possesses. A Sentinel's work is incredibly vital to the Order and it takes a unique calibur of Jedi to become a serve that role. We need them. I can't imagine either Council would take such a drastic step."

Padme nodded. "So, what will they do then?"

Anakin sighed, looking troubled. "They may impose certain restrictions or conditions. They could decide to train the boy as a Jedi but under a careful and impartial eye. They might also assign someone to closely monitor the situation between his parents to ensure that his training is conducted with the utmost caution. That's assuming he would pass the Initiate Trials, his training was conducted by his mother, and he didn't have the benefit of a class of younglings and learning from multiple masters. He's skilled but he's at a disadvantage."

"I understand better now, why the council would want this kept quiet and why you've been so distant." She said at last, it wasn't as relieving as he would have hoped. "You shouldn't have told me this– but I'm glad you did."

"No one can know, Padmé," Anakin said, his tone a mix of gentle reminder and serious warning. "Not yet."

She raised a hand, signaling that she understood, though her gaze remained distant, her expression troubled as if she were lost in deep thought, trying to work something out.

"What is it?" Anakin asked.

"This is, as you've said, a very sensitive topic—complex and potentially scandalous if misinterpreted. But I wonder…" She looked at Anakin with an analytical eye. "If the Council is even considering making exceptions they've never made before, what's prompted this change of heart? What's different now? It makes me think there might be more going on here."

At this question Anakin smiled, relieved at finally having an answer, he gently cupped her cheek turning her to face him and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Us."

His meaning remained vague for a moment. It wasn't until her look of confusion softened into the gentle blush that often accompanied his affection that he elaborated.

He continued, "It's because of us—the fact that our marriage and our child are public knowledge, and that we've shown how strong our bond is without compromising our duties. So much has come to light since Palpatine's arrest. The Council has seen how close we came to losing everything. There's talk lately among the temple and throughout the galaxy that many are beginning to ask questions, reevaluating their rigid policies. Some are suggesting that attachment and personal connections can be a source of strength, not just a vulnerability. That they must be addressed rather than simply ignored. Solan's case is being considered partly because they see the potential benefits of making an exception, given the lessons learned from our own experiences."

"Your opinion will be vital in their deliberations, Anakin." Padme insisted.

Anakin's brow twisted into disbelief and he stifled a laugh as he replied, "I appreciate your confidence in me, Padme, but I'm still relatively low on the totem pole when it comes to the High Council. My opinion might not carry as much weight as the more experienced Masters. I'm still on thin ice to some."

Padme gently cupped his face, making sure he met her eyes. "Anakin, you were once a ten-year-old boy brought before the Council, someone who had strong attachments to his mother. And yet, they saw your potential and chose to train you."

"Only because it was Qui-Gon's dying wish and Obi-Wan advocated for it."

"Nevertheless, your perspective matters, maybe more, especially in a situation like this. You know the struggles of growing up as an outsider to the Jedi, and you can understand what Obi-Wan's son might be going through. Who better to offer perspective that other Masters lack?"

Anakin looked at Padme a little dumbfounded. She was right. By the current rules of the Jedi, they should have sent him packing back to Tatooine as soon as he'd shown up at the temple with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan all those years ago. They had said all along Anakin was too risky to train. He had come from a humble background, butted heads constantly and pressed many boundaries. Yet now he stood as a Jedi Master. Perhaps he did have a unique perspective to offer, after all.

"I hadn't thought of that. Seems having my attachments might be beneficial to the Council for once,"

Anakin's lips curled into a grin, a chuckle escaping him. Padmé smiled and laughed lightly in response, though he could tell by the slight tilt of her head and the curious look in her eyes that she was a bit at a loss as to what he found so funny, given their conversation.

"You know the thing that I can't quite wrap my head around?" Padme gave him a questioning look with a shake of her head and a shrug, "Obi-Wan had a one-night stand."

Their chuckles soon turned into full laughter, something Anakin realized they both desperately needed. While casual physical relationships were actually quite commonplace among the Jedi, the idea of Obi-Wan, so disciplined and straight-laced, taking part in such a thing was... strange. Even though there were still no answers to the difficulties Anakin would face in the Temple, he felt lighter. His spirits had lifted, and his burdens felt easier to carry.

"Ani, I think we've talked enough for tonight." He smiled and agreed with a nod. "Would you like a distraction from all this? Something to take your mind off things for a while?" Padme's words brought a small smile to Anakin's face as he welcomed the change of subject.

"Yes, a distraction would be nice." He replied eagerly.

She scooted closer on the bed and gently placed his hand on a particular spot on the side of her stomach. Anakin's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to feel what she was waiting for. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he let out an audible gasp as the tiny kick beneath his palm startled him. A smile spread across his face, and for a moment, the weight of their conversation was forgotten.

"Feel that?"

Anakin's eyes lit up, and he nearly jumped "Yes!"

A wide, toothy grin spread across his face as he watched the lively movements of their unborn children, marveling at the miracle of life. Each little kick against his hand filled him with a sense of wonder and adoration. He turned to Padme, his eyes overflowing with love.

"Padme, you're amazing," he gushed. Their connection sparked a burning desire within him that he couldn't resist. He pulled her close, their lips meeting in a series of passionate, fiery kisses. "And beautiful, and radiant!"

Padme let out a playful giggle, her eyes sparkling with each kiss. "Are you sufficiently distracted now, Anakin?" she teased.

Anakin's grin grew wider, his voice rumbling with playfulness. "Oh, more than sufficiently." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as their lips met once again. His kisses were filled with apology and longing; he had some making up to do for the past week.


The tall arched ceilings loomed above, flanked by smooth stone columns that stood like silent sentinels. Sunlight streamed in through enormous glass windows, casting elongated beams across the polished floor, each illuminated mote of dust seemingly suspended in time. She felt so small walking through them but then most people did, she wondered if the hall was an architectural metaphor for their insignificance in the grand scheme of the galaxy. A spec of dust floating about at the mercy of the currents of the Force.

Perhaps she was just reading too much into a large hall.

Cressida's footsteps echoed softly through the vast, cathedral-like corridor as she left the council chamber. Another long meeting was filled with endless questions which again, saw no resolution. She had known from the beginning that her every word and action would be under more intense scrutiny than anyone else's. But that was often the way of things where children and the ones who carried them were concerned.

The table was often tilted, the game unfairly rigged.

Obi-Wan had not been present for a single meeting since the initial one where she threw his whole organized world into a burlap sack and roughly shook it. She understood why this had been the case of course, it wasn't as if he could be expected to give a clear-headed and unbiased opinion on anything that was being discussed.

It certainly wasn't his fault either. But the power of that single empty chair, whenever she dared to glance in its direction, was impossible to ignore. The absence of its owner pained her. Each step away from the Council Chambers brought no relief from the guilt she felt.

It was a terrible thing she'd done to him. Nothing could change her mind on that. In the span of a single day, she'd irreparably changed everything. Logic demanded she acknowledge that she had done the 'correct' thing, following her duty and protocol—at least as much as her unique situation allowed.

But why did it still feel so wrong?

She knew the answer. Only after that first day did she realize what she had truly done: She had humiliated him.

It had never been her intention, of course, however, like many things in hindsight she found herself agonizing over what she should have done.

All it would have taken was a simple com call, she knew his frequency. It would have been a minor break in protocol but would it have been so awful to meet him in the privacy of his quarters and tell him first? In her heart, she thought not, but longstanding procedure for such things demanded the Council be addressed first. How horrible a thing to suddenly be put on the spot with no notions as to what had been about to happen? To have his peers looking at him in such judgment and disaproval.

Suddenly, she couldn't bring herself to complain about her own feelings regarding the councils lengthy inquiries. Their probling questions. She deserved it.

Then there was Solan.

She couldn't forget those beautiful eyes of his, one gray like a brewing storm and the other blue as a cloudless sky, reflecting shock, betrayal, and disbelief. They were like a maelstrom—turbulent and deep, filled with emotions too vast for one so young. Surely she could have at least prepared him before she dropped a figurative bomb in that chamber.

No.

She followed protocol. She did what was correct. She couldn't blame herself for the fallout she knew to expect, although she was doing it anyway. It wasn't even really about her. It was about them. There was a bitterness on the back of her mind when she thought of Mace's resistance to allow her the courtesy of informing Obi-Wan or Solan elsewhere. Not before the prying eyes and disparaging gazes of the Council. In front of Obi-Wan's padawan too.

Anakin.

Stars. He was so grown up from the last time she'd caught a glimpse of him as a boy. He'd been about Solan's size. The passage of time was an odd thing. All these years later and there was still the existence of a ten year old boy between them.

She shook her head and slowed her steps. There was little more she could do aside from hoping for the best but knowing his reputation had been altered that day. Though, with any luck, not as horribly as hers was. Regardless of the damage had been done, all she could do was remain optimistic that his name was still in good standing. If it weren't, she'd never forgive herself.

Her mind was still awash with thoughts and 'what if' scenarios, so distracting and loud, but fortunately her feet knew the path back by heart.

She just wanted to get back, each night she and Solan would stay out together waiting for the moons to rise, it had become their little routine. Telling stories and talking late into the night, until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He'd fall asleep in her arms and each time he did, it stung her heart more knowing those precious moments were quickly coming to an end. The Council would make a decision eventually and she knew no matter their verdict it would pain them both.

Until it did, though, she was resolved to enjoy what she could while it lasted and she picked up the pace. At this time of day, it was blessedly empty, a reprieve from the bustle of the Jedi Temple. Quiet was what she needed. Peace. Tranquility. Guidance.

But an instinctive prickle at the back of her neck told her that she was not alone.

She stiffened imperceptibly, resisting the urge to whip her head around and examine her surroundings or take cover. She drew in a breath, steeling herself, keeping her pace consistent as she rounded a corner, turning down another hallway leading to an open veranda.

The sun was behind her and its beams of light on the floor gave away no shadows that followed, yet the sensation of being watched persisted.

She slipped out onto a balcony, concealed momentarily by the very shadows that spoke to her of her surroundings. Her heart beating in her chest with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

Seconds later, the figure emerged onto the balcony, their confusion evident as they surveyed the seemingly empty area. With a practiced ease, she circled around, her movements smooth and stealthy. Marking her presence with the quiet confidence of one who dwelled in darkness with as much comfort as one who basked in the rays of the sun.

The figure lowered its hood and to her surprise she knew the back of that particular head. It turned, the face of a familiar Kel Dor Master regarded her. Though obscured by the mask and goggles necessary for him to breathe in oxygen-rich environments, Cressida could see the subtle crinkles around his eyes. The only tell-tale sign of a smile from the otherwise stoic Jedi Master.

"When last I knew you, I saw only a young Padawan. Now, I see that same Padawan in the Jedi Knight before me." He greeted, his voice filled with warmth. "And a fierce mother as well," Plo-Koon added, "Time has shaped you well, Bright Eyes."

She had missed Master Plo and his comforting presence, though she hadn't expected to encounter him outside of the Council Chambers. Cressida smiled, touched by the sentiment and with a lightness in her step she closed the little gap between embracing the kindly figure in a much needed hug. Plo Koon returned the embrace with his hand lifting to pat her back in a fatherly manner before falling away.

"It's good to see you again, Cressida." He tilted his head to one side and then the other as he studied her, "Your complexion carries a warmth that suggests a harsher sun than our own here," he mused, his voice carrying a inquisitive tone as he turned her palms over to look intently. "And these hands of yours—they've taken on a certain ruggedness. It seems you've been through more than just rigorous training. Perhaps some form of labor?"

The observation was not a question but a gentle probe, an attempt to bridge the gap of the years she had been absent.

"Perhaps." Cressida's expression remained composed, though a flicker of amusement passed through her eyes. "I've been where I needed to be."

"Your strength has always been evident, Bright Eyes," he replied, "It is good to see it has not waned." He gestured back to the hall and the two began to walk again.

As they strolled side by side, the midday light played upon Cressida's auburn hair, casting warm glows that echoed the sentiment of their reunion. Plo-Koon, ever observant, glanced sideways at her, taking in the confidence in her stride, the set of her shoulders—so much like the warriors of old.

"Your journey has been fraught with trials, a Jedi and a Mother," he noted, the timbre of his voice humming through the breather. "And yet, here you stand, unwavering."

"Both paths have taught me much."

"Indeed, the Force flows uniquely within you," He replied, acknowledging her dual roles with a nod. "Balancing such destinies is no small feat. Deva R'lue would be proud." She offered a sad smile and then nodded, not trusting herself to speak on the subject of her late Master. "It has always grieved me that I couldn't be there for you after his death, nor could I see your training through to its completion. I often wondered who guided you after his passing."

"The shadows can be as illuminating as they are concealing," she said cryptically. "Some lessons are learned in the quietest of places."

Plo-Koon chuckled to himself.

"Indeed." He mused. He tilted his head slightly. "How is your son? A most resilient boy he seems. Is he like his father; smart and sharp? Or perhaps he takes more after his mother's wandering and mischievous spirit?"

Cressida chuckled softly, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Resilient but restless. He has much of his father in him, sometimes I fear the position I've put him in. There is little balance in his life right now, peace escapes the both of us." She confessed.

"Ah, but lest you forget, peace is often found in the eye of the storm, Cressida," He reassured her, "and balance can always be found, even in the heart of chaos."

Plo-Koon reminded her so much of her Master and she'd missed them both dearly. To walk beside a man who had shared such a friendship with Deva R'lue made the long empty hallway still made her feel small but less alone.

"Tell me what you can, I wish to know more about the son of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cressida Vox, my almost Padawan."


She found Solan lying on his back on the bed, his legs propped up against the wall. Feet rhythmically swinging back and forth by the heel like a living metronome, occasionally bumping into the wall with a soft thud.

His eyes were glazed over with boredom as he passively wielded the Force to build a tower of fruit beside him like any other child might use blocks or stones. It was impressive to say the least and it answered the question of where all the fruit has vanished off to.

There was a glistening Keldabe pear at the base, followed by several Tatooine figs. Above them, a purple Bloop fruit perched, its blue and bumpy surface contrasting with the smoothness of the Keldabe pear. At the very top, a small Mynock fruit, a green orb with a faint, bioluminescent glow, teetered.

The act of stacking the fruit was so second nature that he didn't need to concentrate on it, it was as second nature to him as breathing. He let out a big yawn, but kept swinging his feet, making the tower wobble briefly.

It would have been amusing had it not been for the mix of irritation and gloom etched on his young face. His mouth curled into a sort of unamused scowl and he blew out a breath that sent several strands of his hair fluttering up before falling back to his brow.

"A little precarious for modern architecture, don't you think?" She asked from the doorway.

Startled by the sudden interruption, Solan's concentration broke, and the carefully constructed tower toppled onto the floor. A plump fig bounced off the top and landed squarely on his nose. He scrambled to sit up, clutching his sore nose with an irritated grumbled 'ow' As he looked up, he found himself face to face with his mother.

"Feeling peckish? She asked with a grin.

To her dismay Solan didn't smile, he got off the bed and began picking up the fruit to place in the bowl it had come from, still rubbing his nose.

"Need me to take a look at that?" She asked, he shook his head and wriggled his nose as if testing for soreness. "Want to talk?"

"Nothing to talk about." He said finally speaking, and sat back on his bed. It wasn't what she was hoping to hear.

"You could tell me how you're feeling." She offered, taking a tentative step into the room.

"You won't like it." Solan offered, biting the inside of his cheek.

She offered him a small smile before sitting beside him, her outstretched hand calling the offending fig to rest in her grasp. Digging her nails into the tough, cracked brown skin, she began to peel it away. The fig felt like a perfect metaphor for their situation—patience, precision, and perseverance would reveal the fruits of their labor. What exactly that reward was going to be, she wasn't sure. She just hoped that it wouldn't be as tough to reach as the fig's leathery skin was to tear.

"I'm starting to miss the cavern." He admitted.

She paused mid-peel, only having begun to reveal the deep purple, jewel-like seeds inside the fig. The initial shock of his words hit her, but it quickly gave way to understanding. While it wasn't what she wanted to hear, she could see his point. Back in the caverns, dangerous and lonely as they were, he at least had the comfort of routine and a sense of purpose.

Almost two standard weeks.

That was how long they had been kept waiting. While Cressida had meetings, briefings, and debriefings to attend, Solan had no such commitments. The monotony was clearly wearing on him. A fresh wave of guilt gnawed at her—she had been neglecting him these past few days. Solan was old enough to look after himself, but even the most mature ten-year-old could only take so much isolation. Meditation was far from a fun way to pass the time and he'd always struggled with it. She plucked a few of the pulpy seeds from the fig and handed them to him, watching as he examined them curiously.

"Eat the seeds, they're good for you." She urged and he popped the fruit in his mouth, the crisp flavor bursting on his tongue seemed to amuse him or at least, raised his spirits. She tossed a few into her mouth and chewed through the soft seed pods as she chose her words carefully.

"I understand your frustrations, Solan. The Council is slow to change, but they are changing. The fact that it's taken them so long to reach a decision suggests they are considering many outcomes, one of which is far reaching change within the order. We just need to be patient a little longer."

"Everyone says that," Solan looked up at his mother, frustration was evident in his eyes. "but it feels like we're being punished, doesn't it?"

His logic was difficult to refute, and to a boy whose only 'crime' was existing she could certainly see how he might be tempted to think that.

"If the Council were to punish us, you would know it," she replied, her tone carrying a strong suggestion that she knew what she was talking about. "No one is being punished, least of all you."

He gave the obligatory nod and accepted another few purple seeds, rolling them between his fingers before eating them. But the disappointment and malaise still lingered in his expression.

"I just–I thought I would be training by now," he said with a shrug. "Or at least have a chance to speak with my father and get to know him."

Her heart ached, and she'd have given anything to grant him the answers he sought. But she couldn't, all she could do was keep peeling the fruit that had reddened his nose.

"I know," she said with a nod and a gentle bump of her shoulder to his. "But these things take time. I'm sure he wants to speak with you, but he needs to process the news he received. It doesn't come easy to learn you're a parent."

"It's been forever." Solan's irritation surfaced, and he frowned. It hadn't been forever but to a child boredom certainly could make it seem that way. "He was so different before," he said, his voice laced with confusion, "Did you know he talked to me outside the Council Chambers?" She shook her head, somehow that little detail slipped her notice. "He was so friendly and nice. He seemed excited to talk to me and he was just really… nice."

Solan had seen his fathers warmth and charm first hand and to suddenly find himself devoid of such comfort would have been hard. She knew exactly how she felt, having known that aching absence for ten years. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to provide some perspective.

"When we walked into that Council Chamber, your fathers whole life was changed." She explained as gently as she could. "He became a father. That's not something that one simply makes peace with overnight. I had months while I was waiting for you to be born, and I learned to be your mother as well as a Jedi. Your father hasn't had the opportunity to do so yet. It doesn't mean he cares any less about you, Solan."

"It doesn't mean he cares at all." Solan countered gesturing with his hands as if drawing attention to his point.

His words weren't entirely untrue but he was seeing things through a child's eyes, because he was, of course, a child.

"The stories I told you about your father weren't real, but everything I've ever told you about General Obi-Wan Kenobi is. Give your father the benefit of the doubt, he deserves nothing less." He seemed to accept this but also didn't seem convinced. "He's done nothing wrong, and neither have you."

The urge to take the blame once more rose up but she pushed it back down, even if she thought circumstances were her fault it would only sour things more. It would make Solan feel bad again, make him think everything was his fault and that unacceptable. It wasn't Solans' responsibility to ease his mothers feelings nor was it fair for her to force him into the role to comfort her. That was her job.

Though weary from her endless meetings, she didn't want to leave the day like this. She was determined to see him smile again, and idea popped into her head. She leaned in closer with a playful shoulder nudge and a lighthearted smile played on her lips.

"Do you want to go for a run?"

The result was instantaneous.

Solan's eyes brightened, and his face lit up. Without hesitation, he nodded eagerly, a burst of energy propelling him to his feet. He stumbled a bit as he scrambled to put on his boots, the eagerness to embark on this adventure outweighing any hindrances. So much so, that in his haste, he managed to get on one boot only to realize he'd put it on the wrong foot.


"Are you kidding? That's so high!" Solan exclaimed looking back to his mother after she highlighted the path they would take.

"It just looks high." She said with a wink.

Golden light bathed the stately grounds of the Jedi Temple as Cressida led Solan, onto the vertiginous parapet of grand columns that would serve as their stepping stones. With the sun warming their backs they stood poised at the edge of adventure.

"Won't we get into trouble?" Solan asked apprehensively, looking around at the bystanders who meandered around them with lessons of their own.

She looked around as if gauging the possible reactions, a quick sweep across the courtyard didn't seem to concern her and she shrugged.

"They'd have to catch us first." She replied with some well earned smugness tugging at the corners of her mouth. Solan's face broke out in a grin and he started bouncing on his toes in anticipation, her words seemed to chase away his doubt.

Cressida watched Solan with a keen eye as he examined the course. His heterochromatic gaze flickered over the obstacles, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. There was a moment of apprehension, quickly replaced by a focused intensity. It was as if he were analyzing the run like a complex puzzle or a mathematical problem, the intricate calculations visibly unfolding in his eyes. His concentration was palpable, and Cressida marveled at how his young mind seemed to grasp the challenge with a cosmic precision.

"Ready?" Cressida replied both as a challenge and encouragement.

He exhaled deeply, easing the tension in his body. He reached behind himself, interlacing his fingers and twisting his upper body from side to side, causing his joints to crack satisfyingly. The sound made Cressida wince slightly, though whether from pain or envy, she couldn't quite tell. It made her nostalgic for the days when her own joints were endlessly malleable. Solan then positioned himself in front of her, crouching slightly with one foot ahead of the other, his weight forward and ready to spring into action.

"Then follow my lead," Cressida said with a confident smile. With a fluid motion, she pushed off from the column, her body slicing through the air like a dancer mid-leap. Solan followed instinctively, feeling a rush of excitement as he propelled himself forward. She moved like a comet streaking across the sky, and he was her trailing light—learning, mimicking, and reveling in her expertise.

The thrill of the freerun ignited something deep within Solan. His every step became more sure, more in tune with the rhythm of the chase. As they raced together, he felt the Force surge through his veins, fueling him like a spark to dry kindling. His mother's pace was challenging, but he matched her stride for stride, his energy a mirror of hers, sometimes out pacing it.

The temple, once serene and still, transformed into their playground. They bounded over bridges and vaulted over walls, their movements synchronized like a carefully choreographed dance. As they skimmed over a polished stone bridge, Cressida's silhouette reflected in the tranquil pond below, followed closely by Solan's. The water rippled with each step, their reflections breaking into fleeting, ghostly shapes that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

Cressida led the way up the temple's smooth stone walls, scaling them effortlessly. Solan followed, his initial hesitation dissolving with each step. His fingers brushed the cool stone as he moved, feeling the ancient temple's quiet strength beneath his hands. The trepidation that once held him back was replaced by a bubbling excitement—each leap felt like flying, every landing a triumph.

Glancing back, Cressida's heart swelled with pride. Solan was no longer just following; he was thriving. His feet found solid ground with confidence, and where none existed, the Force seemed to lift him just enough to carry him forward. He moved with a grace that belied his age, and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the Jedi he would one day become.

They approached the training courtyards, the final stretch of their exhilarating circuit. Cressida's movements remained fluid, her body vaulting from wall to meditation chamber, her hair trailing behind her like a banner of fire. Solan's pace faltered slightly, but before he could slow down completely, she called out, "Push your limits, Solan! Let the Force guide you!"

Her words spurred him on, and with renewed determination, he surged forward. His legs pumped with purpose, and the world around him blurred into a swirl of colors and sounds—wind rushed past his ears, the distant hum of lightsabers mingling with the murmur of voices from afar. He focused on the path ahead, feeling the Force within him, guiding every movement.

As they neared the end of their run, Cressida landed with the quiet grace of a whisper, her boots making barely a sound as they touched the warm stone. Solan followed suit, his feet hitting the ground with a solid thud before he rolled forward, absorbing the impact with a newfound fluidity that surprised even him.

For a moment, they both stood still, catching their breath. Then Solan's face split into a wide grin, and laughter bubbled out of him, infectious and joyful. Cressida was filled with relief and happiness at the sight. Whatever soreness or aches tomorrow might bring, they would be worth it—seeing him this happy, this free, was a reward all on its own.

"Do all Jedi train that way?" Solan asked, his chest heaving.

"Well, I certainly did," she replied with a smile and her hands settling on her hips. "But no two Jedi have the same training. Each one is unique, just like the individuals themselves." She paused for a moment, stroking Solan's wild hair back into place, he looked so much like his father just then. "But no matter the training," Cressida continued, swallowing down the bubble of nostalgia. "there's always one important lesson – to look before you leap."

"That was fun! Can we do that again or do we have to return to our room now?" She wasn't sure she had the energy for another run but the way he sounded almost worried about returning made her stop and shake her head.

"I don't know about again, but this is our home," she said, gently patting his shoulder. "We're not under house arrest. How about a walk through the gardens? They're beautiful this time of day and I used to love spending time there."

Solan nodded and fell instep beside her as she swept an arm around his shoulders, leading the way. The scent of blossoms filled the air, and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze created a soothing melody.

She could feel the weight of their stares, the quiet murmur of whispered conversations just out of earshot. The Jedi around them weren't used to seeing such casual closeness between a knight and a youngling. Their bond, full of warmth and affection, stood out in a place where emotional distance was the norm. Yet, Cressida didn't flinch or falter. She knew they were watching, questioning, and perhaps even judging—but she chose to walk on, undisturbed, letting their whispers fade into the background. All would be revealed in time, one way or another.

Solan, however, seemed less bothered and more curious by the attention. His eyes flicked from one Jedi to another, absorbing the subtle shifts in their expressions. He studied the curious glances, the way they lingered a moment too long. She could sense his mind working, trying to understand why they were being watched so closely, why their bond drew so much attention. She knew a question was forming on his lips even before he turned to her.

"Why is it forbidden for a Jedi to love?"

She remembered when she had asked a similar question, all Jedi did at one point or another. She was around twelve years old when she approached Master Deva R'lue with her inquiries about the complexities of emotions. Her curiosity had more to do with developing crushes rather than forming attachments, young love was a fickel thing.

"It's not that love itself is forbidden. It's the attachments that can be dangerous if we allow them to dominate our emotions." She began, briefly marveling at how now here she was, a mother teaching her son the same way Master Deva R'lue taught her so many years ago.

"Dangerous? How can love hurt someone?" he wondered aloud.

Cressida continued with calm reassurance, "It's not love that brings danger. However, if we're not careful, our love can lead us to actions driven by fear or possessiveness—lying, cheating, or even harming others to protect someone we care about. These actions can betray our values and lead us away from the path of balance."

Solan looked puzzled. "But isn't having something to fight for what makes us strong?"

"Love can indeed provide strength, especially in challenging times. But it's crucial to maintain balance. The Jedi teachings caution against letting love turn into an obsession or a tool for manipulation. We must keep our emotions in check to avoid making decisions that could bring harm to others or ourselves. To remain compassionate."

Solan listened intently. "But how can a Jedi be compassionate if they don't allow themselves to feel love?"

Cressida's gaze softened as she met his eyes, there was still so much he was missing on the subject but it couldn't easily be absorbed in a single conversation. It was a common misconception that the Jedi didn't feel anything at all, nothing could be further from the truth. It was more about putting a regulator on emotions than denying them.

"Compassion and love are not the same as attachment. We can be compassionate without letting our emotions control us. It's about finding harmony within ourselves and acting with wisdom."

Solan frowned slightly. "Sounds like it's safer to be alone."

Cressida's heart ached at his words. She crouched to his level, her voice gentle. "Being alone doesn't protect you from hurt. Love can bring vulnerability, but it also brings joy and fulfillment. We connect with others through love and find purpose in our lives."

"So, it's like, you can love but you can't let love make you selfish or cloud your judgment?"

Cressida nodded, it was a rough take, but some understandings only came with age and Solan was still very young.

"More or less. A life without love, is no life at all, but we must balance it with wisdom and responsibility. Love helps us grow and gives us strength, and we must remain vigilant."

As they walked through the temple grounds, Cressida paused beside a planter of vibrant flowers. She missed such beautiful flowers as little grew in their harsh climate they'd lived in for the last tne years.

"It's true, many Jedi avoid exploring these feelings entirely, they feel its safer to just never entangle themselves with them."

Solan murmured, "You did."

"I had a very good reason to." Cressida gave him a wink. "I don't have all the answers to your questions, Solan," she looked from the flower to him. "But rest assured, you are asking the right ones."

"So, what happens now?" he asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

Cressida sighed softly, her brows furrowing with concern. "I'm not entirely sure, Solan," she admitted. "But I think the Jedi Council will reach a decision soon. They are deliberating on the best course of action for you."

"Why is it so hard for them to decide what to do?" Solan asked.

Cressida's eyes softened as she looked at him with compassion. "Because you're not like other younglings." she replied simply. "Your path deviates from what is considered the norm for any child within the Order."

"I guess that makes sense," he admitted reluctantly kicking a small rock. "But it still shouldn't be this complicated."

"You're right; it shouldn't be." She agreed wholeheartedly on that one. One could always trust that to leave things to adults would inevitably lead to more more complexities than the initial query.

"Why can't you just train me?" Solan asked, looking up at her with hope in his eyes. "You already started, and you know how to teach me anyway."

"Because I have a job to do as a Sentinel and you need to answer to a Master who isn't your mother. Masters learn from Padawans as much as Padawans learn from their Mastets. You need someone who can guide you impartially and help you grow. I can't do that as your mother."

"Could father train me?" he asked quietly.

She hesitated for a moment, avoiding a direct answer that she knew would only sting him. "Your father has his journey as a Jedi, we never stop learning." She replied, he scrunched up his face in dissatisfaction and she conceeded. "Probably not."

"What if the Council won't train me? What will happen to me? Will they make me leave?"

Cressida felt a surge of heat rise in her chest, her grip on Solan's hand tightening slightly. The idea of them sending him away, after everything they had been through, made her blood simmer.

"Solan, if the Council decides not to train you and they make you leave the Temple, then I leave it with you." Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but she didn't pull back. "I didn't endure ten years of keeping you alive just to let a bunch of Council members, who've grown too comfortable in their cushy seats, to deny my son his birthright. If they can't see what's right in front of them, then maybe they've forgotten what it truly means to be a Jedi and I can't trust them to teach my son."

She could feel Solan's gaze on her, wide-eyed and uncertain. His usual calm, thoughtful expression gave way to surprise.

"Really? You would leave?" Solan asked, disbelieving.

Cressida took a deep breath, softening her voice but not her resolve. "Yes, Solan. Anywhere you want."

He fell silent for a moment, and she could see his young mind turning, weighing possibilities that felt too heavy for his age. "What if—"

"Careful with those words, Solan. They're dangerous: what if?" She cut him off, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned closer. "Those two words will twist you into knots. You'll torment yourself over things that may never be, and lose sight of what's right in front of you." She paused, forcing her tone to ease as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Focus on the present, and—"

"I know, I know… Be patient." Solan sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "I don't like being patient."

Cressida couldn't help but smile at that, the tension in her easing a little. His honesty was a reminder of just how young he still was, despite the weight he carried. She ruffled his hair gently, her touch lingering with a softness that belied the fierce determination still simmering beneath the surface.

"Too bad."