For weeks, Varan wrestled with the turmoil inside him. It had been years since he had felt the Force stir within him, since he had allowed himself to acknowledge it, but that night with Asa had changed something. He couldn't escape it. The pull. The calling. It was faint at first, like the soft tug of a distant memory, but with each passing day, it grew stronger. The child had awakened something in him. The Force was reaching for him again, and he didn't know how to respond.
He had tried to bury it, to ignore it. He was done with that life. The life of a Jedi—of a protector. He didn't want it. He didn't want the weight of it, the responsibility, the constant fear that someone, anyone, might learn what he truly was.
But there was something in him that was slowly cracking, something that couldn't stay hidden forever.
He kept himself busy. He worked on droids at Bisk Vi'Kiro's shop. He did repairs on the odd job at the Marshal's office. He went through the motions, not allowing himself time to think about the growing conflict in his chest. But it was always there, a quiet hum beneath everything.
And then one evening, it all came to a head.
Varan was sitting alone in his quarters, trying to distract himself with a tool he was fiddling with when a knock sounded at the door. His heart skipped. He wasn't expecting anyone.
When he opened it, there stood Raal, Asa's father. The man's eyes were solemn, unreadable. Varan stiffened, unsure of what was happening. He'd kept his distance from the Torrik family, knowing how much they had to protect. He had no idea how deep their suspicions ran, but Raal's presence at his door didn't sit well with him.
"Raal," Varan greeted, trying to keep his tone neutral. "Is there something I can—"
"Pack a bag," Raal interrupted, his voice low but urgent. "You're coming with me."
Varan blinked, caught off guard. He wasn't sure if it was fear or confusion that sent a chill down his spine. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll know soon enough." Raal's expression softened just a fraction. He knew more than he was letting on. He could tell Varan had been struggling with something. Maybe he had seen the way Varan had been avoiding the Force, but Raal wasn't someone who would ask questions without cause. He was a man who had seen the world—maybe more than he wanted to—and understood its darker corners.
Raal's words carried weight. Something was happening, and Varan couldn't escape it any longer. His mind raced, thoughts darting back to Asa—back to the bolts floating in the air, to the Force that pulsed in the child's every movement.
Without a word, Varan grabbed his bag, stuffing it with the bare essentials. His heart thudded in his chest, anticipation gnawing at him. Was this it? Was this the moment that everything would change? Was he about to be thrown out of Aurora's Reach?
Raal led him out into the fading light of the evening. The skies were painted with streaks of purple and orange, faint auroras flickering at the edge of the horizon. The air was heavy with heat from the day, and the Spirewood stood tall and quiet around them, the ancient petrified trees watching over the land like silent sentinels.
They climbed into a small speeder, and Raal took the controls. The engine hummed to life, and the two of them sped through the dense forest, the path lit only by the occasional flash of the auroras above. The air was thick with the ancient energy of the Spirewood, the towering spires of petrified trees casting long shadows on the ground as they passed. The faint glow of the auroras flickered above, painting the sky with ribbons of color, but it did little to lighten the weight of uncertainty pressing down on Varan's chest. He had spent years running, years trying to forget the Force, and now it was calling to him again—stronger than ever.
The speeder hummed through the dense undergrowth, pushing aside the thick vegetation that seemed to close in around them. Varan's mind was spinning. Why had Raal brought him here? What did this even mean? The only thing he was sure of was that he had done everything he could to bury his past and deny the Force. But lately, the pull had become impossible to ignore. He didn't know what he was running from anymore. He just knew that he couldn't go back.
"Almost there," Raal said quietly, his tone as calm and steady as always, as though he wasn't bringing the man who had been hiding from the past for so long to a place steeped in the remnants of that very past. Varan didn't respond. He simply stared out at the dim landscape, his jaw set, his thoughts a tangle of uncertainty.
The speeder came to a stop. Raal powered it down, and the two of them stepped out into the cooling night air. Varan's breath was shaking, but he barely noticed. He couldn't focus on the beauty of the auroras above or the strange quiet of the Spirewood. He was too focused on the temple that stood before them, barely visible in the shifting shadows. It loomed in the distance like an ancient relic of something long lost—long abandoned. The walls of the Jedi temple were worn, the stonework cracked with age, but something about it felt... alive. Not in the way the Force felt, but in a different, deeper way, as though it had witnessed things no one alive could imagine.
"We're here," Raal said, walking toward the entrance, and Varan followed, though his steps were heavy. He hadn't wanted to be here. He hadn't wanted any of this, but now, there was no turning back. The past was here, waiting for him.
As they stepped inside, the air seemed to shift. It was cooler, heavier, as though the space itself carried the weight of centuries. The stone walls of the temple were cracked and scarred, but even in its disrepair, there was an undeniable power to it—a force in the air that pulsed just below the surface. Varan swallowed, suddenly very aware of his own breath. Every footstep echoed too loudly, reminding him of how out of place he felt.
And then, from the shadows, a massive figure emerged. A Wookiee, his fur streaked with silver, standing so still that he seemed almost a part of the temple itself. Varan's eyes widened as he took in the Wookiee's immense size, the quiet power in the way he moved, the steady rhythm of his breath.
Raal stopped a few paces away, bowing his head in respect. Varan instinctively did the same, though it felt awkward and foreign. He didn't belong here. He hadn't for a long time.
The Wookiee spoke then, his voice low and rumbling, but strangely calm. "Welcome, Varan Doav," he said, his words translated through a small device on his bandolier, but thick with authority, and with understanding. "I have been waiting for you."
Varan stiffened at the sound of his name. How did this Wookiee know him? His heart began to race, his breath quickening. This wasn't supposed to be happening. None of it. He had come here hoping to bury his past, not face it head-on.
Chaladdik's eyes were steady, unwavering as they met Varan's, and for the first time in years, Varan felt something stir deep within him. Something old. Something powerful. The Force.
"I wasn't looking for you," Varan said, his voice hoarse with reluctance, the words almost falling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He looked away, trying to find something to focus on other than the Wookiee's piercing gaze. "I've been running from this life. I'm not interested in reliving it."
Chaladdik regarded him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. "The path you speak of is not one you can simply walk away from. You cannot outrun it, Varan. The Force is not through with you, and no matter how far you run, it will follow you."
Varan clenched his fists, feeling the heat of frustration and anger rise within him. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to be reminded of everything he had lost, everything he had abandoned. His life had been torn apart by the Force. It had ruined him. It had ruined everyone he cared about.
"I don't want it," he growled, his voice thick with a mix of defiance and pain. "I don't want to be a part of any of this. I don't want to be a Jedi. I can't go back to that."
Chaladdik's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his large presence filling the space. "No one is ever ready, Varan," he said. "You do not have to return to what you once were. You do not have to walk the path of the Jedi in the way you think. But you cannot run from what is inside you. The Force is not your enemy. It never was."
Varan shook his head, unable to reconcile the words. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do this. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to walk away, to push the Force back down where it belonged, out of sight, out of mind.
"You don't understand," he muttered, looking down. "You don't know what it's like to lose everything. To have your life torn apart by something you can't control."
Chaladdik's hand landed gently on his shoulder, and though the touch was heavy, it wasn't oppressive. It was a quiet reassurance, the kind of reassurance Varan hadn't known he needed until this very moment.
"I do understand," Chaladdik said softly, his voice filled with a wisdom that seemed to stretch through the very bones of the temple. "I have watched many walk the same path as you. And I have seen them find peace. Not through force or control, but through understanding. The Force is a guide, not a weapon. It is not to be feared."
Varan didn't respond. He couldn't. He felt something stirring inside him again, something he couldn't push away, no matter how hard he tried. But fear gripped him. He didn't want to walk this path. He didn't want to face the possibility of losing everything again. The weight of the Jedi Temple's silent walls pressed on Varan as he stood across from Chaladdik. The echoes of the past seemed louder here, sharper, as if the Force itself refused to let him forget. Chaladdik stood calm and resolute, his presence as steady as the ancient stone around them. Varan could barely look at him, his gaze darting to the floor or the faint glow of auroras through the cracks in the temple roof.
"I remember Lioran speaking of you," Chaladdik said softly, breaking the silence. His deep voice carried a tone of warmth, but it made Varan's stomach knot. "He always believed in your potential, even when you doubted yourself."
At the mention of his former master, Varan stiffened. The name, Lioran Kel, was both a comfort and a wound. Memories rushed back unbidden: Lioran's encouraging smile, his steady guidance, the way he stood tall even in the face of danger. And then, the screams, the blaster fire, the betrayal, and the sight of Lioran falling, cut down during the purge.
"He said you were like a son to him," Chaladdik continued, his tone gentle but probing. "And he was proud of the Jedi you were becoming."
The words were too much. Varan's fist tightened, and his voice lashed out before he could stop himself. "Don't," he snapped, his green eyes blazing as they met Chaladdik's. "You don't get to talk about him. You weren't there when it happened! You don't know what it was like—what we went through!"
Chaladdik didn't flinch at the outburst. He stood firm, his gaze full of patience and understanding. "You're right," the Wookiee said calmly. "I wasn't there. But that doesn't mean I don't carry the loss with me every day. I trained Lioran. I saw the man he became. And I see pieces of him in you."
Varan looked away, his jaw tight, his chest heaving as he tried to control the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. The temple seemed to close in around him, the past clawing at the edges of his mind. He didn't want this. He didn't ask for this.
Chaladdik took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You carry pain, Varan. I see it. I feel it. But the Force is not your enemy. It is a part of you, as it was a part of him. Whatever choice you make, it will not change who you are."
Varan's shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the faint whisper of the wind through the cracks. He didn't respond. He couldn't.
Chaladdik bowed his head slightly. "The choice is yours. No one can make it for you." With that, he stepped back, his large frame moving with surprising grace.
Varan stood in silence for a moment. The weight of Chaladdik's words felt as though they were going to crush him. So he turned and left the temple.
The cool night air greeted Varan as he stepped out of the temple. The faint flicker of auroras painted the horizon, their colors muted but mesmerizing. Raal was leaning against the speeder, his arms crossed, staring off toward the distant Spirewood. He turned as Varan approached, his face unreadable.
"Get what you need in there?" Raal asked, his tone even but probing.
Varan didn't respond immediately. He stopped a few steps away, his gaze falling to the ground. "I don't know," he muttered.
Raal pushed off the speeder, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. "That's fair. It's a lot to take in, I imagine." He paused, then added, "Chaladdik seems to think highly of you."
Varan scoffed softly. "He doesn't even know me."
Raal studied him for a moment, his expression softening. "Asa thinks highly of you too," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Varan stiffened, glancing up at Raal, who took a slow step closer.
"She's never been like that with anyone else," Raal continued. "Never followed anyone around like she did with you. Never looked at someone the way she does when you're around. Like she's... drawn to you."
Varan's jaw tightened, and he looked away, the weight of Raal's words settling heavily on his shoulders.
"I don't understand the Force," Raal admitted, his voice tinged with both humility and frustration. "I don't claim to. But I know my daughter. And there's a part of her I can't reach, a part that's... beyond me. I can't explain it, but I feel it. And I'm afraid—" His voice broke slightly before he steadied it. "I'm afraid there's gonna come a time when I can't help her anymore. When she's gonna need someone who can guide her, someone who understands what she's going through."
Varan shook his head. "I'm not that person," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Raal frowned but didn't back down. "Aren't you?"
Varan's gaze snapped to Raal, his green eyes hard. "I can't even help myself. What makes you think I can help her?"
"Because she sees something in you," Raal replied simply. "And I see it too."
Varan opened his mouth to argue, but Raal raised a hand to stop him. "Look, I'm not saying this is easy. Maker knows I wouldn't wish this life on anyone, least of all my daughter. But I also know Asa. When she sets her mind to something, there's no stopping her. She's gonna walk this path whether you're there to guide her or not."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. "So ask yourself this: when that time comes, when she's out there trying to figure this all out on her own, can you live with yourself knowing you could've helped but didn't?"
Varan flinched as if struck. He looked away again, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Raal sighed, his tone softening. "I'm not here to guilt you into anything. I just..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "I just hope you'll think about it. Because if anyone can help her, I think it's you."
Varan didn't respond. He stood there, the faint glow of the auroras casting long shadows around them.
Raal took a step back, giving him space. "Come on," he said, gesturing toward the speeder. "Let's get back."
Varan followed silently, his mind churning with doubt, guilt, and something he couldn't quite name. As they sped through the quiet Spirewood, he caught a glimpse of the auroras above, their colors shifting and pulsing like a heartbeat.
For the first time in years, he felt the Force calling to him—not as a demand, but as an invitation. He didn't know if he was ready to answer. But as Raal's words echoed in his mind, he realized he might not have a choice.
Raal brought the speeder to a gentle stop outside Varan's small house. The faint hum of the engine faded into the quiet night as the auroras shimmered faintly on the horizon, their colors barely visible against the stars. Varan stepped out, his boots crunching on the dry, packed ground.
Raal leaned against the speeder, watching him for a moment. "I don't mean to put this all on you," he said, his voice quiet. "I know it's a lot. But... just think about it, Varan. For her sake."
Varan hesitated, his hands gripping the edge of the speeder for a moment before he nodded. "I'll think about it."
Raal studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. "Goodnight, Varan."
"Goodnight," Varan replied, turning toward his house. He waited until he heard the speeder hum to life and roll away before letting out a long breath.
Varan stood outside his house, the faint hum of the speeder's departure fading into the night. He stared at the door, the familiar weight of his solitude settling over him. The inside of his home felt more like a shelter than a sanctuary—four walls to keep out the elements, not a place of comfort or belonging.
The night air was cool and still, the faintest whispers of the Spirewood's petrified canopy rustling in the distance. He let out a breath, long and slow, his mind spinning with the conversation he'd just had.
Raal's words clung to him like burrs.
"For her sake."
What did Raal see in him that made him think Varan could be of help to Asa? Sure, he could repair droids, mend a speeder, or fix a broken generator—but raising a child to walk the path of a Jedi? Guiding her toward a destiny he had tried so hard to bury? That was another matter entirely.
Varan sighed and rubbed his hands together, his fingers lingering on the faint scars that crisscrossed his knuckles. The past had left its mark, not just on his body but on his very soul. He'd tried to forget, tried to push away the memories of what he'd lost. Of who he had been.
And now, here it was again, clawing its way back to the surface.
He thought of Asa's wide, curious eyes, her quiet intensity. There had been something about her that had struck him deeply, even when she was just a child holding a tool in her small hands. He hadn't seen that kind of connection in years—not since his own time as a Padawan. Not since the bonds of the Jedi Order were severed by betrayal and death.
And then there was Chaladdik.
The Wookiee's voice echoed in his mind, steady and sure. "The Force is not through with you, Varan. That much is clear."
Was it? Varan shook his head, pushing the thought away. Chaladdik had spoken of his old master, Lioran Kel. The name had reopened wounds that Varan thought had scarred over long ago. Lioran had believed in him, had trained him to see the light even in the darkest of times. And what had Varan done with that faith? He had run. He had buried the Force so deeply within himself that he had nearly forgotten what it felt like to touch it.
What would Lioran say now, if he could see him? Would he be ashamed? Disappointed?
Varan's chest tightened.
The idea of training Asa terrified him. The Jedi way was not a life of peace and safety, not anymore. It was a life of danger, of constant vigilance, of running and hiding. He knew that all too well.
If he accepted this, if he agreed to guide her, he would be putting her—and himself—at even greater risk. And for what? To rekindle a path he had abandoned, to reopen old wounds that he had spent years trying to ignore?
But there was another thought, one that gnawed at him quietly but relentlessly: What if you're meant to do this?
It wasn't just Raal's words, or Chaladdik's insistence. It was something deeper, something he didn't want to name. A pull, faint but steady, like a current beneath the surface of still water.
He clenched his fists, trying to shake off the feeling, but it refused to leave him.
Varan stared at his house again. He knew if he went inside, he'd spend the night tossing and turning, haunted by memories and possibilities. He could feel the forest calling to him, its quiet vastness offering space to think—or maybe just space to get lost.
With a deep breath, he turned away from the door and began walking. His feet carried him toward the edge of the settlement, toward the towering shadows of the Spirewood.