welcome! this a side blog. my main fic blog centers around one character, so this one’s for all the random, obscure, and embarrassing fandoms i am in. enjoy!
Just wanted to say I ADORE I Love You (It’s Killing Me) and cannot wait for the next installment. Your characters are excellent, your plot is great, and you’ve nailed Yord. Keep up the good work and have a great day!! ❤️
hi!! Thank you!! I’m still updating it (pretty sporadically) but I have more chapters coming! I’m really glad you liked it!!☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️
Just wanted to say I ADORE I Love You (It’s Killing Me) and cannot wait for the next installment. Your characters are excellent, your plot is great, and you’ve nailed Yord. Keep up the good work and have a great day!! ❤️
hi!! Thank you!! I’m still updating it (pretty sporadically) but I have more chapters coming! I’m really glad you liked it!!☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️
here’s a new chapter for all who have been waiting!! I’m hoping to upload again next Friday. We shall see. Much love!
table of contents
chapter 9 - let it happen
Dinner feels like a fever dream. Dalphri keeps eyeing you suspiciously as though you’re going to drop dead at any moment. She’s already given you a lecture about how she explicitly told you not to overexert yourself which includes taking on five Jedi masters and Venez cannot stop asking to poke your hand.
“Can you pull them out?” he asks, running a fingertip over the crystals. You shrug as Dalphri says, “No!” as vehemently as possible. Yord looks slightly apoplectic.
You mouth, let’s try later, when neither of them are looking, and Venez nods. You’ve been curious about that as well.
Yord sits at an angle that allows you to lean against him if you feel tired (which you do) but you do your best to push through.
Thank the Maker none of it is enough to raise suspicion.
In fact, you’re a little shocked Yord is keeping his face so straight as he recounts the mission.
Dalphri and Venez are appropriately satiated and catch the two of you up on the latest happenings in the Temple. It’s not much beyond padawan squabbles, starship malfunctions, and the fact that a local bar now serves a drink called “the Imanu” that’s bright green and shoots off sparks.
“I get all my drinks free,” Venez boasts, and you laugh. Yord shakes his head. He has his own thoughts about Jedi and drinking.
“I’m taking a padawan,” Yord announces and the shock of it is enough to make you drop your pastry.
“I beg your pardon?” Venez asks, but it’s rhetorical.
“He says he’s taking a padawan,” Dalphri says directly into Venez’s ear, and he grimaces.
Venez says, “Watch it, Ameras,” but she just sticks her tongue out at him.
Dalphri turns to Yord. “Who’s the lucky youngling? I’m sure you’re disappointed that Master Sol already chose Jecki.”
Yord inhales. “Jecki Lon is a menace to the Temple and the Order, and I thank the Force every day that Sol saw fit to take her under his wing and tame her unruly streak.”
You mouth Sol? Tame? where Yord can’t see, and the two others laugh. Yord doesn’t notice or if he does, he doesn’t comment. You feel a pang at the knowledge that Sol has chosen Jecki. She’s the only youngling you would have considered as a padawan so you suppose you’re solidly stuck as a padawan-less Jedi Knight.
“I chose Tasi Lowa. She’s top of her class when it comes to diplomacy, and shows great promise.”
You flip through your mental roster and come up with a vague image of a Zygerrian. Big ears, long hair. Quiet, too. Probably for the best, considering Yord’s distaste for constant chatter.
The idea of Yord with a padawan sits uncomfortably in your chest, and it takes a minute to figure out why. You’ve been out for two weeks so obviously you’re going to miss out on some things, but you hadn’t even known Yord was considering a padawan. And he certainly has been thinking about it for a while given his penchant for studious thought.
If Yord sees you’re perturbed, he doesn’t say anything. The conversation flows around you and you blame lingering effects from your hand for the way you don’t say a single word for the rest of the night.
—
Sleep doesn’t come easy, even with the warmth of Yord’s body next to yours. There are a million thoughts racing through your mind so finally you slip out of Yord’s grasp and out of the bed. You grab a robe and it’s only once you’re a fair distance out of his room and down the hall that you realize it’s a few size too big, meaning it’s Yord’s. No matter. No one’s awake except the guards and they’re hardly paying you any attention.
The Archives are empty, save Padawan Nu. You and Dalphri have long suspected she sleeps here, and this further proves your theory.
You nod to her as you limp deeper into the Archives. The pain in your hand seems to worsen at night, shooting up your arm and to your hip. You’ll have to talk to Dalphri about changing your meds.
Past Jedi are categorized past names, so it shouldn’t be hard to find Bindo, Jolee. You’re not sure why, but you cast a look around before reaching for his file. You aren’t doing anything wrong, you know that, and yet somehow it feels illicit.
You take the file to an alcove and as you begin to read, you understand what Yoda was saying.
Master Bindo’s life ends with a self-imposed exile on Kashyyyk following a wife turned Sith and a Sith turned friend. His story is littered with personal relationships, crossed lines, and above all, the desire to see true justice prevail. Not Jedi justice, not Sith, not even the justice of the Republic; but that which allows truth and freedom to prevail.
The file ends with a code for another document. You remember enough from Archive training as a youngling to know it isn’t a biography. It isn’t a planet, or laws, or animals or weapons or anything that you can recall; but you know approximately where it should be in these halls.
You return Master Bindo’s file and count the shelves as you pass until you see a label in Aurabesh:
Jedi Codex.
Each one is labeled by date as the Jedi code evolved throughout the centuries. But the one you’re looking for is conspicuously absent.
You flip through the shelf once (carefully) and twice (frantically) but it still doesn’t appear. You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’d almost be able to convince yourself the file was unimportant to what Master Yoda was telling you, but the fact that it’s missing just leads you to believe it is nothing less than essential.
It’s frustrating.
You’d ask Jocasta for help, but you’re not sure you want her questions. Maybe you can get Venez to check the Archive files and see who was last recorded to check it out. You turn to go back to Yord’s room and find Master Sol in front of you.
“Looking for something?” he asks, and holds up a holo-file.
You don’t know whether to lie or tell the truth, so you stay silent.
“The Code of the Gray Jedi,” Master Sol says in answer to your unspoken question. “Not many know it exists but those that do question its place within the Jedi Order. Still others argue that it is the Jedi’s truest form. History tells us Master Jolee Bindo was considered the first. He did not live to see the code, but he certainly upheld it with his life.”
Each answer births two more questions.
You ask, “Why are you here?”
Sol smiles. “I could not sleep.”
He doesn’t ask why you’re there.
Instead, he hands you the file. “Don’t lose it,” he says. “It’s registered under my name and I have a perfect return record.”
He smiles again and then is gone.
You slip the file under your robe and stifle a yawn. You’re going to have to get some semblance of rest before your first class tomorrow. And you need to be up early enough to talk to someone in Medical about the stiffness locking up the left side of your body. Was it a result of your fight this afternoon, or was that just an exacerbating factor? And how much of it is the stress of the impending conversation with Yord pertaining to your mission to Alderaan?
You wonder and wonder and wonder all the way back to Yord’s room and into his bed where he lies fast asleep, oblivious to your absence.
—
You wake up cold.
Not the good kind, the usual kind- absolutely frigid.
Yord is still next to you, definitely awake, but you’re freezing. You try to say his name but the words won’t come past your lips. You try to sit up but all you manage is a vague tremor which is all it takes for Yord to be fully alert.
“Your lips are blue,” he says, panicked. “Did you take your meds?” He hops over you and out of bed to rifle through your clothes. “Here.” He puts the pills on your tongue and helps you swallow them with a glass of water.
You try to tell him you’re fine, you’re just cold, but you can barely make a sound. It feels like your body is cracking, crystalizing from the inside out.
He opens the door and you hear him ordering a youngling to sprint to the medical wing.
“I knew they shouldn’t have discharged you,” he mutters more to himself than you.
Something’s buzzing behind your eyes. It burns. You cough, a hacking sound, and something dislodges from your throat. You spit. It’s a crystal, blackened and alive.
“Yord,” you croak and he’s by your side in an instant. His eyes widen at the sight of the crystal on the bed in front of you and feels your forehead.
“You need to get warm,” he says and he gets up to rummage through his closet. He pulls out every robe he can get his hands on and piles them on top of you. You shiver.
You want to tell him you’re fine, you have to be fine, you’re teaching this morning and leaving for Alderaan in two months.
He’s left the door open, which means curious Jedi of all ages glance in to see what’s happening.
He doesn’t care. He gets in the bed and shifts you around so he’s sitting behind you, cradling you to his chest.
He’s trying to warm you up.
Yord kisses your head briefly and whispers, “You’re fine. You’re fine. I promise, you’re fine,” but you just continue to shake in response.
Footsteps race down the hall and a medic bursts into the room, followed by a droid.
“Where is Dalphri?” Yord asks sharply.
“She’s resting, she won’t be in until-” the medic starts, but Yord is already halfway into the hall again. He grabs a youngling as it passes by. “Do you know Dalphri Ameras?”
The youngling nods.
“Good. Go get her. Now.” Yord spins around on his heel. “She’s freezing. You need to get her warm.”
“‘M fine,” you rasp, but no sound comes out and the world goes black once more.
—
Dalphri tells you later that Yord lost his composure.
“I wish you would have seen it,” she says. “He completely snapped.”
You do too. You hate the fact that you keep passing out, more so due to what you’ve missed than fear as to why it’s happening.
It’s hard to envision Yord, always so calm and collected, shouting at half the Jedi council to get out of his room, but Venez found a security holo that he slipped you during lunch a few hours after the incident.
You’re in the Med Bay again, and Dalphri fiddles with the monitor hooked up to your arm and chest while filling you in on what you missed.
“Some Bith youngling came and found me in my room and said Yord sent them to find me. It didn’t say why, but it looked pretty scared for a Bith, so I pretty much ran all the way back to his room. By the time I got there about half the council was crowded into the room, you were out cold, and then you started convulsing. That’s when Yord flipped. I almost thought he was going to swear, he was so furious. I think Master Sol found it funny, but Master Rwoh was not pleased. Doesn’t matter what she thinks though because Master Yoda was there and I think he was ready to start yelling too, you know? But anyway, you were shaking on the bed and honestly I wasn’t entirely sure what to do because you were literally freezing and I thought your skin might start cracking. It was horrible. But Jecki- you know Jecki, Sol’s padawan-” you nod- “she ran in with that kyber crystal. Somehow it got into my hands and I just sort of shoved it into your chest and you went all… limp. And you warmed up, too. It was weird the way it happened. It was so fast, and I swear it was like you had an organ missing or something. Like that crystal’s a part of you. Anyway, sorry for the bruising.”
You grimace. Dalphri was not kidding when she said she shoved the crystal into your chest. There’s a scab and some bruising that’s going to last a long while.
You look down at your chest, and watch the kyber crystal pulse in synchronicity with your heartbeat.
“That can’t be normal,” you remark, and Dalphri snorts.
“Understatement,” she replies. “Master Yoda thinks you need to make it into a lightsaber. He says the raw energy is what’s messing you up.”
“And what do you think?”
Dalphri pauses. “I suspect he may be right. I’m not sure- you know my main strength is intuitive medicine.” You nod. Like how she knew to put the crystal on your chest. “Well I kind of had the same thought. I think you should make the lightsaber sooner than later. I’m not saying it will fix you, but it’s a start. Oh, and take your kriffing medicine.”
Your face morphs into an expression of guilt. “Sorry,” you say meekly.
She shakes her head. “I’m supposed to discharge you. I think you’ll be fine if you take your pills and make your saber.”
Her face is flush with a faint purple hue. “Dalphri,” you begin, “are you okay?”
She turns away. “You almost died,” she says matter-of-factly. “You’re one of my best friends in the whole galaxy and you almost died. And if you had, it would have been my fault for not knowing how to save you.”
She faces you again with watery eyes. “If you hadn’t been with Yord-“ she takes a deep breath. “It could have been really bad. I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
You sit up. “Dalph. It would not have been your fault. It is my fault for slicing my hand open and not taking the medicine you gave me. I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.”
She takes a shuddering breath and swipes at her eyes. “I know you are. I just- yeah. You’re fine.” She squeezes your hand. “Alright. I’m going to unhook you and then I want you to get out of here.”
You nod and repeat, “I’m fine.”
—
You’re not.
You head straight to make your lightsaber, but the memory of what happened, the fear that lingers-
It’s hard to focus.
You stop by one of the large Temple windows and watch the sun sink below the skyline. You hadn’t realized it was so late in the day, and you remember that you’ve officially missed your first day of training. Today was supposed to be good, supposed to be normal and instead you’ve begun your descent into madness.
Surely it must be madness. Why else would such visions possess you?
You’re so absorbed in thought that you don’t notice Venez standing beside you until he nudges your shoulder with his.
“Long day,” he observes, and you nod.
“Yord gave me that crystal,” he says. “The black one that you coughed up. That thing was pretty gross. I think the Council wanted to study it, but I took it to the shop and crushed it. Then I jettisoned the dust into space.”
You raise your eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “Sometimes they’re too nosy for their own good. I’m not. I think you need to be left alone.”
You turn back to the sunset. “So why are you here?”
“Because I think you need a friend who’s not absolutely insane,” he says without hesitation.
That almost makes you laugh. He is not wrong. Yord and Dalphri are both heavily influenced by their extreme involvement in the situation, while Venez has no personal stake in it other than he loves you.
“I had a weird vision,” you say instead of trying to claim Yord and Dalphri are, in fact, not insane.
Venez tilts his head. “Why don’t you tell me about it on the way to make your lightsaber?” He holds out his arm, and you take it.
You mutter, “Kriffing Dalphri,” because surely she’s the one who has told everyone to keep you on the straight and narrow, but you don’t actually mind.
You still feel a bit wobbly, so it’s nice to have Venez to hold on to. You pass a group of padawans, who point and giggle. Venez winks. You ignore it.
“I saw a man,” you say, and Venez snorts. “I don’t think Yord counts as a man,” he says, and you pinch him.
“Shut up. I mean in my vision. He was… on fire I think. At least, he was burning. I watched him crawl up the steps to the Temple and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t stop him, but I knew he was going to burn the whole thing down. And nobody could move, everyone was just screaming and screaming- Imanu, there were younglings. It was awful. It felt like- it felt like the Force had ripped itself in two. And there was nowhere in the whole galaxy that was safe.” You shudder.
Venez turns serious. “And then?” he asks.
You pause, remembering. “Then… he reached for me. But I didn’t feel anything, I was just… cold. I was too cold for him to burn me, and I didn’t like being cold but it didn’t kill me. And someone grabbed my hand and as long as they held it, they didn’t burn either. And he kept trying to set me on fire but this youngling, or maybe he was a padawan I don’t know but he was young, he was able to move. Because until this point it’s like walking through sludge, you know? Which is why I can’t reach so many people. But this kid, he runs to the man on fire, touches his head, and then everything just- stops. Then I woke up and Dalphri had shoved the kyber crystal into my chest, literally into it, I’m bleeding as we speak, and now here I am.”
Venez blows out a breath. “Kriff. That’s serious. Who have you told?”
You shake your head. “That’s just it. I don’t think I’m supposed to tell anyone. I feel… I don’t know. I feel weird. I know it means something. I just have this vague feeling as though it will unfold in due time, but I am worried. I woke up feeling like I can’t trust anyone.”
You’ve reached the lightsaber crafting room. It’s mostly empty, just a few younglings working on their sabers.
Venez opens the door and you follow him inside.
“You told me, though,” he says. “Does this mean you trust me?”
You look straight at him and into the face you have known since you were a child. His black curls fall haphazardly on his forehead, and the tattoos on his chin stand out against green skin. He’s the youngest of the group and always been branded as the jokester and yet he’s the one you felt most comfortable sharing your vision with.
“Yes,” you reply. You are not sure why, but it felt like out of everyone in the Temple, Imanu was the one to tell.
“Great,” he says, “because I don’t trust anybody so your secret is safe with me. That’s why I got rid of that crystal. I really don’t trust the Council.”
You give him a strange look. It never occurred to you to mistrust them, but maybe he’s right. They’re just people, and people are fallible.
“Okay, enough of that. You’ve got to get to work and I have to pack.”
And just like that, Venez breaks any tension in the air.
“Pack? Where the kriff are you going?” you ask.
Venez runs a hand through his hair. “There’s this arms deal that Yord and I are assigned to. Something with the Trade Federation, I don’t really know, I’m just going because I know tech. Should be pretty easy, but they’re saying we’ll be gone for a month.” He notes the confused expression on your face. “I would’ve thought Yord told you.”
Your eye twitches almost imperceptibly. “He did not.”
Venez grimaces. “Well. Now you know. And I have to go pack, so…” he trails off. “Don’t kill him, okay? He’s had a lot going on.”
You flash him an icy smile. “He’s had plenty of opportunities to tell me. And you and I both know this isn’t going to be an easy assignment.”
Venez looks supremely uncomfortable, and you sigh. “Look. I’m just upset that he didn’t tell me he’s going on this mission. I assume you’ve known for a while?”
The look on Venez’s face is a dead give away.
“Right. So he probably knew while we were on Jelucan. I don’t understand why he didn’t say anything. We’re friends. What was he planning to do, just disappear and send me a holo from hyperspace?”
Venez looks away, which means that is probably what Yord was planning to do.
“Great,” you say sarcastically. “Love that.”
You sigh again and reach for Venez. You shouldn’t take out your anger on him, especially not when he’s leaving. “I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest. “Be safe. Don’t do anything particularly stupid, and we’ll talk when you get back.”
Venez squeezes you tight before letting go. “I promise to be appropriately dumb.”
He goes to leave, and you call his name. He turns with a grin. “Miss me already?”
And in that moment, something flashes before your eyes, too quick to make out but leaving you with a sense of dread.
“May the Force be with you,” you say instead, and he gives you a half-salute.
“And with you,” he replies, and then he’s gone.
You shake yourself and flex your hand. You’re probably just loopy from the meds, adrenaline, and whatever else is flooding your system. Lightsaber-building will be a good reset. You close your eyes and take a breath.
Hi, just wanted to say how much I love your Yord Fandar series… Hands down one of the best Acolyte fics I’ve ever read!
By any chance will you be uploading any future chapters? I can’t wait to see how it ends.
Much love,
🐈⬛ Anon
thank you! I’ve drafted quite a bit of it. I haven’t abandoned the project, I’ve just been so caught up in end-of-year stuff at work. I’m hoping to pick it up again soon, and if you’re impatient you’re more than welcome to private message me and I’ll tell you my plans for the ending haha
zero apologies for this chapter. theoretically the next one should have more Yord but idk.
oh thanks to everyone who voted on my poll! you chose the one I was going to do anyway lol.
table of contents
chapter 8 - the road less traveled
Mornings at the Jedi Temple are a loud affair. Knight’s quarters are farther away from the younglings than the padawans are, but their clamoring can be heard throughout the halls at the first crack of dawn. You’ve never been able to tune it out and today is no exception.
Yord on the other hand is fast asleep. It’s a rarity. In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always been the one to wake up first; but he’s sleeping soundly here in your bed. You wonder how many times you’ll be able to wake up next to him. You hope it’s enough that you lose count.
You carefully extricate yourself from his grip. He has ten minutes and then you’re waking him up but until then, you re-familiarize yourself with your room.
Everything seems to be in order, but a scrap of paper pushed under your door catches your eye. You frown. That wasn’t there when you went to bed.
You pick it up and unfold it to see a note in Imanu’s strangely flawless handwriting. You smile at its contents before frowning again. Imanu Venez was outside your door last night, and you didn’t hear him. You’re relatively certain he didn’t knock, but what if he had? Did he linger in the hallway? Could he have heard something?
You replay the night in your mind, this time with a critical eye. You have a vivid recollection of slapping your hand against Yord’s mouth and sinking your teeth into his shoulder in an effort to keep quiet.
There is no way he could have heard, right?
Right.
You shake off the anxiety and turn back to Yord. He’s completely sprawled out on your bed, taking up the space you just occupied. His mouth is parted slightly, and you walk over, crawl on top of him, and lower your mouth to his. He blinks once, twice, the inhales sharply as he wakes up.
“Morning,” he rasps.
“Hello, my love,” you reply. “Sleep well?”
Yord nods, then rolls you over so he’s on top. “I should be asking you that,” he replies as he reaches for your hair. “How’s your hand?”
You say, “Weird,” then push him off you to get dressed. You flex it involuntarily as you open a drawer to find a robe. Yord starts dressing in last night’s clothes, a testament to how much he loves you.
You struggle with the tie around your waist; your hand isn’t quite sore, but you’re aware of it in a new way. It felt normal the other day but that must have been the meds. It folds like your hand used to, but you can definitely feel the crystals grind together.
“Here,” Yord says from behind. He helps you with the tie and fastens your belt. You sigh. You’ve never been great at handling injuries.
Scratch that: you’ve never been good at being taken care of.
It makes you feel incapable, like you aren’t able to handle being a Jedi. A Jedi Knight should not need help getting dressed. You step into your boots, refusing to look at Yord.
“I’m going to see Master Yoda. I’d imagine he has a lot of questions for me. And Venez left me a note saying the Council has been considering me to teach some of the younglings, so I’m going to have to talk to Master Lakshay later too and I don’t know how long that will take.”
You don’t explicitly tell him you don’t want to see him, but he knows anyway. And you’re sure it hurts him, it would hurt you if the roles were reversed, but it’s overshadowed by the lingering question you’ve been trying to push from the back of your mind.
What if you can’t fight the way you used to?
A critical part of Jedi combat is being able to wield a lightsaber. What if you can’t anymore? What if it hurts, what if you’ve lost the ability to perform some skills, and what are you supposed to do with a second kyber crystal?
Yord can’t read your mind, but he certainly can read your face.
He reaches for your left hand and traces a line along the palm.
“You’re fine,” he says. “I promise. Dalphri and Imanu want to do dinner tonight. Will you be there?”
You want to say no, but none of you have ever skipped dinner debriefing. Rescheduled, sure. Relocated, of course. But bailed completely?
Never.
You half-nod, unable to actually form the word yes, but Yord smiles a crooked smile anyway.
“Perfect,” he says. “I’ll see you then.”
He strokes your cheek once then heads out the door.
—
The Jedi High Council would be intimidating to you, probably, except Master Yoda’s there and you’re not intimidated by him, so why would you feel nervous around anyone else?
You aren’t surprised to see Master Lakshay present as well. He was your lightsaber instructor as a padawan, and had often stayed late to answer your questions or to teach an obscure sparring technique. He doesn’t smile at you, but he throws a wink in your direction.
“Master,” you say with a slight bow.
“Knight,” he returns. “Here for my job, I see.”
You grin. “Master, we both knew it was a matter of time. And look at you, you’re getting much too old to be chasing around all those younglings all the time.”
He shrugs. “They age you, that is certain. But I’m still capable enough to beat you. Say, tomorrow after the noon class?”
Master Lakshay looks at you expectantly. After all, you’ve never been one to turn down a challenge. But you flex your hand and feel a shock of anxiety travel from your chest to your fingertips. This morning’s questions still linger in your mind, and they are much louder and more real than you would care to admit.
But you’re the best swordsman of your generation. Possibly of a few generations in the past and future as well. So you shrug with as much confidence as you can muster and say, “Of course- if you’re not too tired.”
At that, Master Lakshay lets out a loud guffaw, accompanied by chuckles from various nearby council members.
“I wish I had time to come see that,” Master Piel comments.
The Council doors shut with commanding thud, and everyone turns to see Master Yoda.
“Quick, we shall keep this. Much to discuss have I with my padawan,” he says as he makes his way to his chair. You’re standing in the center of the room with Master Lakshay off to the side. Yoda nods, and Lakshay begins speaking.
“I’d like some help with the older younglings,” he says. “They need practical training from someone who is able to teach various forms and styles that aren’t necessarily my forte. Particularly forms such as Ataru or Soresu.”
“And a form of Djem So,” Master Piel interjects. “The Council has deemed it necessary for younglings to have a closer study of Jar’Kai before they are chosen as padawans, and Master Yoda has informed us you have come into possession of another kyber crystal.”
“Come into- yes, I have come into possession of one,” you stutter. “But I haven’t been able to build a lightsaber yet. And my understanding of Jar’Kai is rudimentary at best-”
The Council titters.
“Your ‘rudimentary understanding’ is considered a mastery among most Jedi,” Master Rwoh interrupts. You blush, a deep red the blooms from your chest, up your neck, and onto your cheeks. You’ve never felt particularly comfortable with this type of direct, public praise (except when it comes to outshining Yord) and you feel even less comfortable with your potential impediment. You carefully feel for the lightsaber attached at your hip and slowly run your fingers over the hilt as to not attract attention.
Master Lakshay’s speaking again, saying something about the benefits of teaching, but you’re not really listening.
You had assumed that you would be an assistant of sorts, or teach theory and basic Shii-Cho. That you’d be walking around a room full of younglings and helping them with their grip or their stance. Not training groups of almost-padawans in double-bladed combat.
As you feel the cool metal of your lightsaber, you allow yourself to feel everything else around you.
There’s an avian perched outside the window, a rarity on Coruscant.
You hear the pull of thread as Dalphri makes sure a stitch is taut. The rattling of a multi-tool and smell of grease as Venez tinkers with a ship. Yord pacing outside the door-
Yord.
He’s supposed to be reviewing diplomatic policy the Archives. You’re so focused on his footsteps that you almost miss Master Yoda interrupting Master Rwoh.
“To Alderaan, we have decided to send you. Temporary this teaching position is. For your own benefit, and for the younglings we believe it will be. We shall discuss further questions privately.”
He taps his walking stick on the floor once, a signal that the meeting is adjourned. The Council gets up and disperses, but you make your way toward Master Yoda.
“Temporary?” you hear Master Lakshay say to Master Rwoh. “That isn’t what was discussed.”
You don’t catch her reply. You greet Yoda as he points to the door. “A walk we will take.”
You push open the doors and brush past Yord, who stops himself from speaking when he sees Yoda. Your shoulder burns where it touched his but neither of you acknowledge the other. Whatever he was going to tell you will have to wait.
“About the vergence I will not ask, unless talk about it you wish to. Ready, you do not seem to be; yet a conversation we must have.”
This is not uncommon. Often the two of you will walk and talk and suddenly instead of telling him what you thought was wrong, something else entirely comes spilling out.
“Master, the Jedi code decrees attachments are forbidden,” you say. This is the beginning of a question you have tossed around since becoming a padawan, but you have never voiced it before. You’ve never had the need- just accepted it as a flaw, a minor oversight; but one that strengthened the Jedi rather than weakened them.
“Perhaps a question, in there you have?” Master Yoda asks, twinkle in his eye.
The corner of your mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile.
“All attachments are forbidden, as decreed by the code. We are allowed compassion alone, yet most if not all Jedi form deep friendships with each other. This is overlooked time and time again in favor of romantic partnerships, which are not expressly forbidden in the code. Jedi must accept the transitional, ever-changing nature of life. Is that not possible with romantic love? What differentiates it from the attachments formed between friends, or even master and padawan? Masters are told not to form familial bonds with their padawans, yet very few listen. And they go without consequence. Should we not be learning how to exist within these varied relationships in accordance to the Order instead of picking and choosing which we vilify?”
The twinkle is gone. Yoda’s face is etched with a deep frown as he taps his cane on the marble floor.
“An intricate question, you ask,” he finally says. “One perhaps unstudied. Ancient, the Jedi code is. For our detriment, it is not; but rather our betterment. Glad I am that me, you asked. As understanding, another master would not be.”
You’ve known Master Yoda long enough to know when he’s steering you off course. He doesn’t have the answer, and disappointment hits you in a solid wave.
There is no scenario in which you or Yord leave the Order. There is no scenario in which you or Yord leave each other. You picture the future, twenty years from now, still sneaking around. Perhaps you’re stationed far apart from each other, unable to communicate lest you raise suspicion. Could either of you really live like that?
The memory of Yord’s lips on yours flashes before your eyes. You’re not sure you could live in a system where he never touches you again, never traces a finger down your spine, never meets your eyes with an intensity brighter than the suns of Tatooine.
“Jolee Bindo,” Yoda says, breaking through your reverie. “Files of him there are, in the Archives. Interesting, you may find them. If asked who sent you, my name do not say.”
You look down at him and into his once-again sparkling eyes and realize, he’s helping. Master Yoda feels the same attachment toward you that he teaches other Jedi masters to disregard. He wants you to succeed. He wants you to find the answer, wherever it may lead, position on the High Council be damned. Whatever you find about Jolee Bindo must have some sort of answer to the question you’re really asking. You’re under no illusion that you’re fooling Master Yoda, although you do hope he hasn’t guessed the specifics.
“Knight Fandar,” he says, sending a jolt through your body. You think, does he know? but years of Jedi training help you school your expression.
“To Alderaan the council is sending you,” Yoda continues and you’re flooded with relief. That’s Yord’s home planet and culturally similar to yours. It’s been a long while since you’ve been there and you’ve never gone with Yord before.
The Council has often paired the two of you together, or sent Dalphri, Venez, and his former master along. The Jedi have always believed in creating the most cohesive teams as possible; you’re pretty sure that most (if not all) of your teachers purposely cultivated your friend group for that purpose. It’s been a strange transition from going on assignments with Master Yoda to being responsible for yourself. Certainly not unwelcome, just strange.
“Listening intently you are,” Yoda quips and you laugh.
“I’m sorry Master, I just have a lot on my mind.”
Yoda says, “Hm,” and nothing else. You continue walking in silence for a few paces and you realize you’re headed toward the training rooms.
Yoda opens the door to a particularly secluded sparring grounds and reaches for his lightsaber.
“Rusty I am,” he says, but that’s a lie. You know exactly what’s happening here and once again, he’s guessed exactly what’s on your mind.
“Master,” you begin to protest, but he’s pointing a green blade at your throat so you have little choice but to draw your saber. The blue beam comes to life with a familiar hum, and you feel the kyber crystal harmonize in your chambers.
I can do this. I am one with the Force.
But you’re afraid.
You’re afraid to use your left hand and be proven right so you don’t; Yoda attacks and you block, restricting your grip to the right hand only.
It’s easier than you remember, but you’ve trained for this. Technically you can fight single-handedly and had studied specifically for the event that you lost an arm. You hadn’t planned on it and you preferred to keep both of your limbs, but life is unpredictable.
You block and parry, but with no real offensive maneuver. You’ve never been one to underestimate Yoda due to his size; he taught you how to use it to your advantage through Ataru when you were younger. He’s not pulling his proverbial punches, either. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was actually trying to kill you.
Combat is a bit like a dance- you have to be sure of your steps and know them so well you don’t have to think about it. You have to be mindful of your opponent, both where they are and where they will be. You fall into the familiar rhythm as you step, step, block. Step, turn, duck. You’re waiting for the perfect opportunity to disarm Yoda, to make the move he can’t block.
For half a moment, as he leaps through the air in a horribly perfect somersault, you see it.
You barely think as you exhale, I am one with the Force, and reach up while he passes overhead.
He wasn’t expecting it so his grip on his lightsaber isn’t as firm as it should be. He lands and you hold your saber in one hand and his in the other, criss-crossed at his neck.
Yoda smiles and reaches, and from seemingly nowhere he has a yellow blade in his hand. It’s not his size, but he wields it with grace. He rushes you with full force but your instincts are too sharp. It’s easier with two blades, and it reminds you of your days as a padawan studying Jar’Kai with Master Lakshay.
You sense someone bearing down behind you and block with one hand, using the other to fend off Yoda.
You push Yoda away so you can get a good look at your new opponent. Master Sol smiles as he forms a classic Djem So stance.
Yoda is on one side, Sol on the other. You twirl your sabers and breathe. Everything’s quiet. Nothing is wrong. The only thing you hear is your own breaths and the clash of lightsaber upon lightsaber.
It feels good to spar and not be certain of a win, but to know a loss won’t result in death. Dalphri has never been able to beat you in combat, but both Yord and Venez have come close. Still, you love the thrill of fighting Jedi Masters.
It’s a first, fighting two Force-wielders against one like this, so you have to calculate a win. How can you disarm both of them in a way where neither will catch you off guard? You dive and roll in an attempt to get them on one side of you, instead of two but you’re barely on your feet before they’re on you again.
You feel more people in the room but you’ll pay better attention once you don’t have two lightsabers swinging at you.
No- three lightsabers.
A green one joins the fray but you’re undeterred. It’s harder for more than two to attack a single person at once, and they have to be in perfect sync in order to avoid tripping over one another. You can use their weakness to your advantage.
Unfortunately, Masters Battchi and Sol have been complementing each other’s fighting styles for years. Paired with Master Yoda’s attack on a lower plane, they make formidable opponents.
You push them all away and reassess.
“Some more assistance we might need,” Yoda calls which two other masters take as an invitation to join the fray.
He wouldn’t do this with any other Jedi and to an outsider, it might even seem unfair. But this is your element-
They don’t stand a chance.
The room is filled now as Jedi of all ages and ranks stop to see what’s happening. Each breath comes quicker than normal, but you’re grinning with each strike and flip. You land a particularly solid kick to Master Battchi’s chest, more of a push than anything, but it’s simultaneous with a difficult defense against two other sabers. You lose your footing for the barest hint of a second but that’s all it takes for five lightsabers to be pointed at your neck.
You could surrender now, it’s not a huge loss. But you catch sight of Yord and the youngling, Jecki, both watching you with similar awed expressions and that’s all it takes to drop your lightsabers and push. All five masters are thrown to the sides of the arena and you hold them there. It takes effort, especially as they struggle to get out of your hold, but finally Master Yoda drops his weapon with the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard from him. The other four follow suit as the training room erupts in applause.
It’s hard to catch your breath, especially now the adrenaline has worn off. You crouch on the floor and focus on inhaling through your nose and out through your mouth until a pair of boots comes to a stop in your line of sight.
You look up to see Jecki staring down at you.
“That was wicked,” she says. “Can you teach me how to do that? I heard Master Mundi saying you were replacing Master Lakshay.”
“I’m not,” you tell her, but don’t elaborate. You give yourself a shake and stand up. “What are you doing here?”
Jecki shrugs and follows you as you squeeze your way through the crowd. You dodge compliments and slaps on the back as you look for Yord.
“Everyone was in here watching something and I was curious. You’re pretty good with a lightsaber,” she says. You snort. Pretty good. That’s probably the most accurate assessment of your skills you’ve heard in a long time.
Jecki asks, “Could you teach me?” and that stops you in your tracks. You turn to face her which is impressive, because it’s still very crowded.
You say, “I’m going to teach the younglings for a bit before my next assignment,” but Jecki shakes her head. “I’m talking about me. Can you teach me how to fight like that? I’m a good student. You can ask Master Sol.”
“Maybe,” you reply. “Where the actual kriff is Yord?”
Jecki shrugs. “Probably off being stuck up somewhere. Does he ever smile?”
“Yes,” you say a little too emphatically. Jecki reminds you of you, funnily enough. A strange mix of formal and comedic with an affinity to pick on Yord.
You don’t want a padawan, but having Jecki trail behind you feels- normal? Good? You’re not sure, but it’s not as bad as you thought it might be. You spot your by the door and as you push your way through the throng he reaches for your hand. You grab it and he pulls you the last few feet to him and then sweeps you out into the hall.
“Here,” he says. “I grabbed this for you.”
He hands you your lightsaber, which you’d forgotten on the ground. You clip it to your belt and frown. “We’re going to Alderaan,” you say.
“I know. We should talk about it later. I don’t think now is the most appropriate time.” Yord glances behind you with a wrinkled nose. “Jecki.”
“Yord,” she sniffs.
She notes your apologetic expression and laughs. “She’s so cool, Yord. Maybe someday she’ll rub off on you.”
You drag Yord away before he can retort. You take him all the way from the training halls to the living quarters. You punch in the code to his room and shut the door behind you.
Alone once more, Yord says, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” then he takes your open mouth as an invitation. He kisses you with an intensity that makes your head spin, and you feel the same way you did as when you first held your lightsaber. He pulls away and your eyes flutter.
“I could ruin you,” he breathes.
You reply, “I know,” but you actually consider what he’s saying. You have a long, theoretically illustrious Jedi career ahead of you and getting caught in a romantic relationship with a fellow will completely destroy any chance you have at fulfilling your potential.
“I’m serious,” he says.
You pause and take a good look at his face. You can see it’s weighing heavily on his mind, and the fact that he’s so considerate of your future almost makes you want to cry.
Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and say, “Then ruin me.”
hello friends, I am asking for a bit of assistance. Obviously this fic is uh, long, and I’m trying to finalize what I want the major conflict to be. I’m pretty sure which one I’m going to choose but pls let me know what you think or if you have any other ideas!!!
final boss battle
evil force-wielder (not qimir and not a rogue Jedi)
I love your Yord series. I finished it in one sitting. Love it 💕
THANK YOU. It’s definitely getting away from me lol but I just posted another chapter! I’ve mentioned this before, but I have it planned all the way through season one of the Acolyte.
As always, comments and asks like this make my day and motivate me to keep writing!! Thank you!!!!
pls forgive me, this took way too long😭 I’ve been getting back into the swing of work plus my main blog has been severely neglected. but here you go!
table of contents
chapter 7 - tiniest death
Dalphri and the Jedi in the medical wing have pumped you so full of drugs that the two weeks after Jelucan are nothing more than a fever dream. Your conversation with Jecki is the most coherent you’ll be until a sunny morning where you wake up to find Yord, asleep on a chair and holding your hand.
His head is tilted back, mouth slightly open. He’s snoring every so slightly although he’d be appalled at the accusation. His robes are crumpled slightly, and you wonder how long he’s been here. You’ve rarely (if ever) seen his clothing wrinkled, aside from the night you saw them on the floor.
And even then, you weren’t really paying attention to the clothes, were you?
Yord senses you’re awake and opens his eyes.
“Morning sunshine,” you say.
“Good morning,” he replies. “How are you?”
“Good, I think,” you respond. You take stock of your body. Your blood feels normal, hand feels normal, heartbeat- well, you don’t think it will ever be normal if Yord’s in the room.
It’s so silly and so stupid- you feel like a padawan, blushing at the thought of him.
He’s just Yord, you remind yourself. The same Yord who steams his robes every night and needs everything in his room to be perfectly straight. Who short-circuits at the thought of something outside his paradigm, unless it involves a diplomatic matter in which case, he’s all in.
“What are you doing here?”
Yord moves to lean on the bedrail. “Venez and I have been staying with you in shifts. He should be here in a few minutes. Do you need anything before I go?”
You grip his hand and pull it ever so slightly. “Can you stay?”
Yord frowns, but you know it’s really a smile because he tells you to move over and gets into bed next to you.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says. “Imanu Venez is insufferable without you.”
“Rude,” Venez says from the doorway. “And hey, you’re all better! Move over, Yord, I don’t want to squish her.”
“I can’t move any further-”
“Well you need to make room somehow-”
“It’s a finite space, it’s not like I can just-”
“You could try.”
Venez and Yord are on either side of you at awkward angles, but you don’t care. They’re both doing their best not to hurt you, and it’s sweet.
Dalphri opens the door a moment later. “You’re alive!” she squeals. “I got the notification that your vitals were back to normal and I ran, literally ran to get here first. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Dalphri piles on top of you, causing yelps of complaint from Imanu and Yord.
“Touching, this is,” comes a voice from the doorway.
“Master Yoda!” the four of you chorus. Yord tries to get up but can’t, awkwardly pinned down.
“Seen this sight since you were younglings, I haven’t,” Yoda says. “The best at meditation, you were not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Master, I was an angel,” Venez grins.
Yoda diplomatically says nothing.
“Better you are?” he asks and you say, “Yes,” as best you can from being crushed under your friends.
“Good,” he replies. “Much to discuss we have, I’m sure. Resume your celebration, I will let you.”
Venez says, “My back is cramping.”
“Happens, when you get older,” Yoda replies with a smile.
“No Master, I’m young and exciting! My whole life is ahead of me!” Venez calls to Yoda’s retreating figure. You turn your head to look at Yord. He has a pained expression, so you tap his ankle with your foot. He meets your eyes but his expression stays the same.
You mouth, “Lighten up a little, love,” and he softens.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “I missed you.”
—
It’s your first night back in your room in almost three weeks. You stand in the doorway and take it in.
It’s a standard room for a Jedi Knight, but it’s one of the few things that’s just yours. The bed on the left with a pillow you got on Naboo. The cream-colored curtains on the round window directly opposite from where you’re standing. The uneti tree in the corner from Ahch-To.
As you survey your room, your eye catches on something. Someone’s been in here, straightened up and placed your new kyber crystal on your dresser. It’s right next to your lightsaber, and they fill your chest with a pleasant buzz.
You close your eyes and plant your feet in the floor, just feeling. You see the ghosts of Imanu Venez opening the window for fresh air, Dalphri Ameras straightening the bedspread, Yord Fandar re-straightening it and unpacking your bag. You feel him turn the kyber crystal between his fingers, press it to his lips, then put it next to your saber.
Breathe in.
I am one with the Force.
Breathe out.
I wish Yord were here.
You wonder if you should go find him, he’s almost certainly in his room; but he’s probably meditating, and you don’t want to disturb him. But he probably wouldn’t mind. Or would he? You haven’t had a moment truly alone with him since that night on Jelucan. What if Master Battchi was right, and Yord’s beginning to regret his actions?
Your hand hovers at your door as you debate.
No, this is Yord you’re talking about. He’s not so fickle as to change his mind like that. You open the door and make your way down the hall to his room. He’s not far, you’re on the same floor, but it’s a more difficult walk than you’d anticipated in your weakened state. A few other knights give you curious looks as you pass, but you disregard them. Curious looks are nothing new.
You pause to lean against a column by a large window. It’s night, but Coruscant is no less busy. Ships and vehicles of all kinds pass by and you press a hand to your chest in an effort to regain control of your breathing.
Breathe in.
I am one with-
Breathe out.
I am one-
Breathe in.
I am-
Breathe.
You slide to the floor
Your clenched fingers dig into your crystallized palm, reminding you that you’ve been permanently changed. No one, not even yourself, truly understands the physical effects Jelucan had on you. Why you’re still weak and Yord was fine, you’ll never know. You wonder if you’ll have side effects for the rest of your life or if the kyber in your hand will eventually become the only reminder of your mission.
Your eyes are heavy. You should have listened to Dalphri when she told you to take it as easy as you can, and you remember the pills she gave you for fatigue.
“Force illness or no, these will help you get back to normal. Take two in the morning and one at night, and you should be back to yourself in a week,” she’d said.
You can picture where they are in your bag back in your room, and mentally curse yourself for not taking one before you went to find Yord. You close your eyes, just for a moment, promising that you’ll get back up in a minute.
Someone calls your name. Boots hit the floor, running toward you and you crack your eyes open. Yord drops to his knees in front of you and puts his hands on either side of your face. He’s checking your pulse, tilting your head from side to side as carefully as he can.
He asks, “What happened?” and it takes far too much effort to reply than you think it should.
“Came to find you. Got tired,” you slur. Best to keep it succinct and conserve energy.
“Can you walk?” he questions. He’s still holding you, running his thumbs up and down your cheekbones.
“Dunno. Can try.”
Yord slings your arm around his shoulders and supports your back as he all but drags you to your feet.
You say, “Thanks,” and lean heavily against him as you stumble back to your room.
He punches the door code in with ease. “Go lay down.”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You flop down onto the bed with a sigh as Yord rummages through your bag.
“Here,” he says. He hands you a glass of water and you throw back your medication with a grimace.
You say, “I feel hungover,” in an attempt to make him laugh but he just shakes his head.
The pills works with remarkable speed and before long, you feel your head clear up.
Yord hasn’t moved from his position, standing beside your bed with his arms crossed. He’s either changed or pressed his robes, because they show no sign of his visit in the medical wing.
“All better,” you say with a half-hearted smile.
He doesn’t budge. “What were you doing?” he asks sternly. “You’re supposed to be resting. Do I have to install a lock on the outside of your door?”
You shrug and look away. Tears well up and you blink them back. You’re not even sure why they’re there. Maybe it’s relief at finally being in your own bed and finally being alone with Yord.
Yord sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. He reaches for your hand and presses a kiss right on the crystals. “I was just worried. You’re lucky I was on my way to find you.”
At those words you surge forward to capture his lips in yours. He makes a startled noise but reciprocates as you tangle your hand in his hair. You run your other hand down the length of his arm and when you reach his hand, you place it on your thigh. He squeezes for a brief moment, then pulls away.
“We can’t.”
You groan. “Yord. I’m fine. And anyway, it’s a natural painkiller.”
Yord shakes his head. “I’m not talking about that, but that is a concern. I was considering the fact that there are a few thousand Jedi in the Temple right now, and that raises the chances of us getting caught by an astronomical amount. Besides, it’s forbidden.”
You snort. How quintessentially Yord. He abides by his rules even when breaking them. “Yord. Do you have any idea how many padawans, right now, are-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he warns.
You raise your hands in defense. “You remember what it was like,” you tell him. “All those hormones. Being told that we still had a chance to decide if the Order was for us or not. Of course, I was a perfect angel and never did anything but I know for a fact Dalphri-”
Yord covers your mouth with his hand. He says your name like both a plea and a sigh of resignation, a talent of his you’ve never been able to mimic. You kiss his palm and look up at him with the softest eyes you can muster.
“All right,” he relents, beginning to untie his robe. You reach to help him pull it off and he continues, “You have to let me know if it’s too much. You’re still not supposed to exert yourself.”
You smile. “I’ll just lay back then, shall I?”
Yord pauses. “Not a bad idea.”
You take a moment to admire his biceps as he slips his fingers under your waistband. The cool air hits your legs and you gasp.
i'm writting something for yord i can't take it anymore more people should appreciate my boo :(( i dreamed with him last week and now had this really cute ideia for a fic 🥰
thank you for keeping the love yord club alive 😭😭 there's so little stuff to read about him i need more people to wake up to this mann
someone had to do it 💪😤 i know, my work is pretty much the entire tag. meanwhile death teeth gets all the love just bc he’s pretty and scary😭 shoutout to my hyper fixation for lasting this long lol, and thank YOU for the encouragement!! here’s part of chapter seven, just for you 😘
“What are you doing here?”
Yord moves to lean on the bedrail. “Venez and I have been staying with you in shifts. He should be here in a few minutes. Do you need anything before I go?”
You grip his hand and pull it ever so slightly. “Can you stay?”
Yord frowns, but you know it’s really a smile because he tells you to move over and gets into bed next to you.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says. “Imanu Venez is insufferable without you.”
“Rude,” Venez says from the doorway. “And hey, you’re all better! Move over, Yord, I don’t want to squish her.”
“I can’t move any further-”
“Well you need to make room somehow-”
“It’s a finite space, it’s not like I can just-”
“You could try.”
Venez and Yord are on either side of you at awkward angles, but you don’t care. They’re both doing their best not to hurt you, and it’s sweet.
Dalphri opens the door a moment later. “You’re alive!” she squeals. “I got the notification that your vitals were back to normal and I ran, literally ran to get here first. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Dalphri piles on top of you, causing yelps of complaint from Imanu and Yord.
“Touching, this is,” comes a voice from the doorway.
“Master Yoda!” the four of you chorus. Yord tries to get up but can’t, awkwardly pinned down.
“Seen this sight since you were younglings, I have not,” Yoda says. “The best at meditation, you were not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Master, I was an angel,” Venez grins.
tee hee guys I know I say it every time but I’m living my best little life writing this. I’m so serious, this brings me SO much joy and ik it’s silly and whatever but I don’t care!!
in case u didn’t know, in this house we stan the Jedi. there is no Jedi slander here, they are sweet beautiful people (with flaws, okay, I’m not blind) but they really are keeping peace in the galaxy. and people get weird about their attachment rules but that’s because over time the intent of the law gets corrupted by the letter of the law. and that’s just life.
anyway Jedi good Sith bad idk how to make it more clear😌
table of contents
chapter 6 - quiet treason
Morning comes far too soon. It’s not unfamiliar to wake up next to Yord, but what is unfamiliar is the way he brushes the hair out of your eyes with the softest smile you’ve ever seen. That’s all it takes to remind you that yesterday was no dream.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice rough with sleep. You groan.
“My bones hurt,” you say, and it’s the understatement of the millennium. Every single nerve feels like it’s on fire, your muscles are tensed to the breaking point, and it feels like a herd of banthas are running inside your head.
Yord sits up to get a better look at you, concern etched on his face. “You don’t look well,” he says, and you frown.
“Thanks, Yord. Sorry I don’t wake up with perfect hair like you.”
Yord half-reaches for his hair, self-conscious. You can practically hear the words, you think I have perfect hair? but instead his hand changes direction to touch your forehead. It’s soothing, the cool of his hand against the warmth of your forehead.
Except you run cold-blooded. His hand should feel warm.
“You’re burning up,” he says, throwing off the blankets. “I’m calling Dalphri.”
You reach for him, but catch sight of your left hand in the process. You gasp.
“Yord!”
He’s back at your side in an instant, and you thrust your hand to him, palm up.
“Oh,” he says, voice catching in his throat. “That cannot- that cannot be good. I’m sure Dalphri will know what to do. You’ll be all right, I promise. You’ll be all right.”
He reaches for his comm, still in his cloak from yesterday, and it lands securely in his hand. You’re barely aware of his call back to the temple as you stare at your palm. The gash has crystalized, white minerals sparkling along the edges. Black veins pulsate from the cut and up your arm before becoming diluted in your bloodstream.
“…Thank you, Knight Ameras,” Yord says to the comm, turning it off. “We’re going outside,” he says, pulling on a shirt and trousers before helping you into your undershirt. You groan again, whether at the prospect of moving or the fact that Yord is now in a shirt, you’re not entirely sure. But you comply and let him lift your arms as he slides your top carefully over your head.
He asks, “Can you stand?” and you shrug.
“Won’t know unless I try,” you say, except the words don’t actually come out and the world goes black.
—
You wake up to the entire world ringing. You’re no longer in your undershirt, instead wrapped in your cloak with a heavy weight on your chest. Everything is pleasantly cold; soft snow tickles your lashes as it drifts down onto your face.
“…Not sure when she’ll wake up,” comes Yord’s distorted voice. You’re coming back into your senses, buried from the neck down in a snowbank to regulate your temperature while he speaks on comms nearby.
“Hey,” you croak, and he turns to look at you. Relief doesn’t come naturally to him; his emotions are carefully trained to lie beneath the surface, but you’ve known him long enough to see the knot between his eyebrows loosen ever so slightly.
“She’s just woken up, Master,” he says. “As I was saying, I believe we will need more surveillance on this mine. This is a corrupted vergence, and-”
“Corrupted?” interrupts Master Vernestra Rwoh. “And the two of you just happened to come out unscathed?”
“Unscathed, they were not, Master Rwoh,” comes Master Yoda’s calming voice. “A debrief, we shall have. Trusted, these knights are.”
You sigh. Master Rwoh is one of the best Jedi Masters the Temple has produced in a century, becoming a knight at a mere fifteen. And yet, you wonder if perhaps that weight of responsibility is too much for her. If she is too paranoid, so bent on preserving the perfection of the Order that she has forgotten its true place in the galaxy.
“Excellent it is to hear you are well, my padawan,” Yoda says, and you crack a smile. He’s the only one who could ever get away with calling you a title below your rank. It’s a sign of affection and for you, a bond of family.
“Hm,” you rasp out, and you barely hear his chuckle before he and Master Rwoh sign off.
“Yord,” says Master Battchi.
You frown. You hadn’t realized he was on the call. In fact, you’re not sure who else had been on the call. It stands to reason that if three members of the council were there, the rest could have been as well.
“I wanted to speak to you on a personal matter,” Master Battchi says. You do your best to tune out what he’s saying, instead trying to focus on the snow around you. Your temperature is going back to normal, and you wiggle your hand to see if you can feel the crystals there. You’re not sure if it’s your imagination, but you think you feel a crunch.
Your ear picks up Master Battchi saying, “I just want you to be mindful of personal attachments,” and just like that, you’re hyper-focused.
He continues, “Events like this can put great strain on our minds. Emotion clouds judgement, and there are some judgements that cannot be undone. I have seen many a Jedi slip due to hasty actions.”
“I understand, Master,” Yord says. “I have not allowed my emotions to distort my decisions. You have taught me well; this assignment was highly eventful, and my concerns lay in making sure that we did not lose one of the best swordsman the Jedi have seen in a good long while. She is a great asset to the Order, and I would hate to be the one responsible for losing her.”
“Good,” replies Master Battchi. “As long as your concerns are not emotional. Yord, I shall see you soon. May the Force be with you.”
“May the Force be with you,” Yord responds. He clicks of the comms then finally turns all the way toward you.
You, meanwhile, are having a hard time understanding what you’re hearing.
“Yord. You just lied. And you lied well,” you say, incredulous.
Yord never once wavers in intensity. “I want you and I want to remain with the Order. I will not sacrifice one for the other. I will do whatever it takes to have both.”
You’d kiss him, except the Jelucan colony is beginning to appear around you. You settle for a half-smile instead. He feels your forehead, nods in satisfaction, then stands. “More Jedi are coming to help contain the mine, and to help you find another one to sustain your lifestyle. I’m happy to answer further questions in an hour, once my partner is in a more stable condition. The Order thanks you for your cooperation, and we hope to help you move forward as soon as possible.” Yord bends, scoops you up out of the snow, and carries you back to your housing.
“What happened to my shirt?” you mumble, snuggling as close as possible.
“You threw up,” he states. “It was disgusting.”
—
The flight back to Coruscant is a blur. You have no memory of the Jedi sent to remain on Jelucan or of getting on the ship; you barely remember a worried Dalphri Ameras poking your arm and attaching you to all kinds of machines.
“We just need to keep her stable until we get back to the medical wing,” she tells Yord. “No, don’t touch that!” She swats away a med droid, then apologizes. “I’m sorry, I just need you to keep an eye on her vitals. This is a discipline in which I’m not well-studied.”
“Apology accepted, Knight Ameras,” beeps the droid. He moves to hover in a corner, watching the ebb and flow of your vital signs.
Something’s in your right hand, and you grip it trying to figure out what it is. Everything is so… hazy.
“Hey, I’m right here,” says Yord, his face coming into view. “I’m not leaving. You’re going to be all right.”
You try to smile and tell him, I know, silly, but something Dalphri has given you hits your system and you black out once more.
—
You wake abruptly, with the strangest feeling that you’re being watched. Things are clearer now, and you can tell you’re in the Jedi Temple’s medical wing. But you could’ve known that by the sterile smell alone. It’s never been a particular favorite place of yours, but you’ve spent a good amount of time here while Dalphri studies and schemes so you’re familiar.
You roll your head to the other side of the bed and come face to face with a group of younglings.
“How-“ you ask groggily, but are interrupted by a Caphex closest to the front.
“Do you really have kyber crystals in your hand?” she lisps.
“Are you going to build another lightsaber?” asks a Quemerian, head sticking above the group.
“Can you teach us how to fight? Master Sol says you’re the best-”
“Can I be your padawan? I’m still little, but Master Poof-”
“Why does Master Yoda talk like that? Can you-“
Their clamoring is sweet, but overwhelming. You’ve always liked younglings, with their wide-eyed optimism and eagerness to learn. There’s a part of you that considers teaching in the temple one day, if you were ever asked. You’re fairly certain Yoda will at some point, and although younglings lack the technical skill with a saber that padawans possess, there’s something satisfying about teaching them the foundations of Jedi combat.
You smile and open your mouth in hopes that a response comes out, but you’re saved by someone loudly clapping their hands.
“All right, everyone out! You’ve disturbed her enough. I’m sure she’ll come see you when she’s good and ready.”
The younglings groan, “Jecki,” in unison but they file out without further complaint.
Jecki steps forward, previously blending in with the group of younglings. “Hello,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
You squint at her. “What’s happening?”
“Master Sol sent me to check on you,” she says.
That makes sense. But- “Why were the younglings here?”
Jecki grins. “No one’s allowed to see you except members of the Council and even then, I think Knight Ameras would put up a fight. She’s so cool. Did you see she pierced her lekku?”
“We pierced her lekku,” you correct. “And anyway, what does that have to do with the younglings?”
“Master Sol isn’t allowed to see you so he sent me. I figured that I could let them in, they’d cause a scene, and then I’d be your saving grace and kick them back out. That way if Knight Ameras comes back you can tell her that I was actually helping enforce her rules,” she explains.
You take a moment to study Jecki. She seems familiar, and as you take in the orange markings on her pale face, you try to remember why. It’s not until you note her horns that you realize why.
You laugh. “I know you. You tried to out-argue Yord in front of Master Sol.”
Jecki shrugs. “Almost had him too. I see how I could have won in hindsight. Next time I suppose,” she sighs.
You laugh again. “He would not shut up about it. I think he was impressed, but don’t tell him I said that. I’m doing well, I think? My hand is still weird but my veins have receded.”
Jecki opens her mouth then shuts it just as rapidly.
You raise an eyebrow. “You want to see it, don’t you.”
“Very badly,” she responds. “Just so I can give Master Sol a… detailed report.”
“Whatever you say,” you tell her as you unwrap the bandage. “But if Dalphri comes in and sees this, we’re blaming it all on Imanu Venez. You know him? Not sure exactly how to pin this on him, but he’s our fall man.”
Jecki nods and leans closer. “That’s weird,” she says in awe. The crystals have closed the gash, forming makeshift scar tissue. You clench your hand expecting a crunch of rock against rock impeding your movement, but it feels like normal. The veins extend to your fingertips and wrist, no longer up your arm. You touch it gingerly.
“It went all the way to my chest,” you say. “I’ve never heard of anything like it. You can touch it if you want.”
Jecki reaches with her index finger for the largest crystal closest to your thumb. “Feels strange,” she says. “It’s like- it’s like I can feel the Force through it.”
You like Jecki. Maybe it’s because she’s gutsy enough to go against Yord, willing to blame a Knight she doesn’t know for trouble she’s definitely caused, or the youngling Sol chose on a private mission to check on you. It’s probably all of those things. You watch her as she gently pokes at your hand in fascination and think, do I want a padawan?
The question remains unanswered as Jecki asks, “You know how the Sith can bleed a kyber crystal?”
You nod.
“Well, what if that happened to you? I don’t mean that you’re a Sith,” she hurries on, “but rather the opposite. As in, the Jedi version of bleeding kyber? Or maybe it bled you? I’m not really sure, it’s just a working theory but I promise it’s a positive one.”
You pause to consider the implications. Certainly other Jedi have been cut by their kyber crystals in the retrieval process. And you’re by no means the first to be called by two. Jecki’s hypothesis would mean something about the purity of your heart, of your commitment to the Jedi Order- a level of commitment you’re not sure you possess.
“Jecki,” you begin slowly, “I understand what you’re saying. But I do not believe that applies to me. I would believe it if it were about a Jedi such as Master Yoda or Master Sol, but as interesting as your theory is, I do not believe it is possible in my case.”
Jecki tilts her head. “Isn’t it?”
The door swings open, silhouetting a furious Dalphri Ameras.
“What the actual kriff is going on in here?”
Without skipping a beat, you and Jecki reply, “It’s Venez’s fault.”
y’all I was mad sick😭 couldn’t work or write, I just laid in my bed in complete silence bc screens/sounds were overstimulating. but I’m back at it so here’s a bit of the next chapter
***P.S. JECKI COMES SOON***
“…Thank you, Knight Ameras,” Yord says to the comm, turning it off. “We’re going outside,” he says, pulling on a shirt and trousers before helping you into your undershirt. You groan again, whether at the prospect of moving or the fact that Yord is now in a shirt, you’re not entirely sure. But you comply and let him lift your arms as he slides your top carefully over your head.
He asks, “Can you stand?” and you shrug.
“Won’t know unless I try,” you say, except the words don’t actually come out and the world goes black.
when I tell you these two have never thought these thoughts before… I mean it!! They are very unsmart!! But they’ve loved each other this whole time in case you couldn’t tell. You probably knew it before they did.
shorter chapter because i’m tired reasons. I’ve gone full nerd in this story and I’ve already written the ending. I’ve decided it does go through the Acolyte, but I won’t have a retelling of the series, fear not.
table of contents
chapter 5 - longsuffering propriety
Finally, finally you’re back in your room. Ja-Leri hadn’t said a single word when she appeared through the trees, sighting you and Yord for the first time. A second-wave officer, clearly her vaguely-referenced lover, is in tow. Neither of them argue when Yord commands, “Nobody goes in. Find a new mine.” They just nod and begin the trudge back to the colony.
Your hair is tousled and matted, blood and sweat dried on your face. Yord doesn’t look much better. His tunic is ripped and he has cuts on his face, too.
The door closes, and he sets the deadbolt with a satisfying click before whirling on you.
“That was incredibly irresponsible of you,” he says, and his words are like daggers, carefully sharpened and aimed. “Using Trakata? I knew you studied alternative forms, but that is both forbidden and dishonorable! It’s one thing to utilize Ataru, but the way of the Sith…” He’s seething, angrier than you’ve ever seen him.
You’re taken aback. You hadn’t needed a thank you from him, but you certainly didn’t expect him to be mad that you saved his life.
“Irresponsible of me?” you retort, “I’m not the one who went off by myself. What the actual kriff were you thinking, that was-”
Yord strides toward you, interrupting mid-sentence. “What was I thinking, what were you thinking? Oh wait, you weren’t! You just ran headfirst like you always do, not a single thought about how-”
“I guess I should be more like you then, and run all my decisions by the Council instead of taking action??”
“You could have died-”
“Would you rather I just left you to-”
“Yes! You’re too attached, you should have put the assignment first, you could have gotten hurt-”
“Oh, so I should throw away almost two decades of a friendship for some stupid assignment? You’re my best friend in the whole galaxy, Yord! I can’t just let you die!” you snarl.
You realize Yord is no longer shouting, just staring down at you with a distinct, Yord-like intensity.
You barely have a moment to exasperatedly ask, “What?” when he crashes his mouth into yours.
Your mind goes blank except for the thought: We are one with the Force.
That’s the only thing running through your head as your hands reach for his tunic to pull him closer. But no sooner do you touch him than he’s pulling away in abject horror.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t- I’m sorry. I thought you were going to die. I think I’m just- tired, maybe? I’m sorry.” He’s panicking, the epitome of Yord-ness. And you realize, oh. Of course.
Of course this was going to happen- is happening. It feels inevitable, like the last cog of your friendship has finally clicked into place. You remember a thousand moments throughout your life of the two of you, where you both should have realized that this attachment was headed in this direction.
We are one with the Force.
“Yord?” you ask, uncertain.
He’s still close enough that you only have to move half a centimeter to touch your forehead to his, but you won’t. This is his moment to process.
Yord’s eyes are squeezed shut and you briefly wonder if he’s broken.
He just went against the Jedi Code for the first time in his life, and in no small manner.
He opens them at the sound of your voice and meets your gaze.
His expression is assured. It’s so unlike him, and yet it suits him perfectly.
“We are one with the Force,” he says.
Then he’s kissing you again, backing you toward the bed, and you let him.
—
Neither of you are entirely sure what time it is as you let the warm water from the shower wash away the last traces of the earlier fight.
Yord’s hands skim along your arms and back as he leans down to kiss you. It’s slow, but no less hungry than before.
The more you touch him, the more you wonder why the thought never crossed your mind before. Or perhaps it did, but never in a way that truly registered with you.
There’s nothing quite like the freedom to softly mouth your way across his chest while he cradles your head like it’s something holy.
The entire affair feels reverent, each gasp a prayer instead of sacrilege. It doesn’t cross your mind until much later that there will be consequences if you’re found out, but for now, you’ll let his hands continue their exploration down your body.
He’s serious as always, not cracking even a hint of a smile until he brushes a soapy strand of hair out of your face.
“You look like a Nautolan,” he says, and you grin.
“My hair always looks like this in the shower,” you respond.
Yord hums. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
You raise an eyebrow and he continues, “I’m going to need to gather more evidence before coming to a complete conclusion.”
He winds the hair around his finger and you reach for his free hand. You lift it and press a kiss to the inside of his wrist as he shudders. Any physical contact seems to send him into overdrive, contorting his muscles and sending sparks through his nervous system.
Yord drops your hair in favor of resting his hand on the side of your neck. “We should get some sleep.”
You nod, and it’s only at his words that you realize how tired you actually are. Yord steps out of the shower for a towel then turns off the water before wrapping it tight around you. He flips the water switch, gets his own towel, then follows you to the bed.
You settle into his strong arms, a relatively familiar action, but one that feels more like a puzzle piece being slotted into place.
You’re facing each other in the dark. It’s much different from hours before, yet it brings back vivid images of Yord gasping your name and pressing you into the mattress, consuming you like a fire.
It’s no less intimate.
Clothing seems like a crime at this point, but he’s helped you into sleeping trousers, at least.
“I know you can’t sleep without them,” he whispers and he’s right. You’ve never been able to sleep in the gown-style nightclothes that many Jedi opt to wear. There’s something sensory about needing full-length pants in order to rest, but Yord, Dalphri, and Venez are the only ones who know.
You tangle your legs with his and press as much of your skin against him as possible. He’s warm, contrasting with the cool blood pumping through your veins.
“Master Yoda taught me,” you say quietly, running your thumb and pointer finger along Yord’s collarbone.
“Hm?” he asks, voice rough.
“Trakata. Master Yoda taught me. He said the honor of defense supersedes the honor of combat. An opponent who fights without honor does not need to be shown it in return, especially when a life is at stake.”
You’re not entirely sure why, but it’s important to you that Yord knows. Knows that you’re not a Sith, not breaking the Code, not a stranger.
At least, not breaking the Code in a way that involves him.
“I expressed an interest in lightsaber combat, and he encouraged me to learn as many different styles as I could. We all have our interests and mine seems the most… well, it seems the least serious. I flip around and swing a stick. But the rules of Jedi combat run deeper than most Jedi realize, and they are only meant to be upheld when the opponent holds the same tenets.” You’re speaking barely above a whisper now. “Trakata… it’s about reacting. Thinking outside of the box. You use your opponents strengths against them instead of targeting their weakness. It was developed for a true fight and bastardized by the Sith; my use of it makes me no more susceptible to the Dark Side than a Sith using Soresu is to the Light. It’s about what’s in your chest.”
“That is… an interesting perspective,” he answers. He disagrees with you, but not enough to do anything about it. Later though, when he has the time, you know he’ll research what you’re telling him. This is a challenge to the Jedi Order he believes in; but not the the Order as it truly exists. It threatens his paradigm, but not the Jedi.
Yord ghosts his lips across your forehead and down your nose. A contented sigh escapes your lips, and you slip away into a deep sleep.
finally finished chapter four and I’m going to do some good work on chapter five. that one is my fave so far
I am sorry that’s we’ve been slow to the romance. We’ll get there I PROMISE and then there’s no going back🤭
table of contents
chapter 4 - reference this open part of me
The humming gets louder with each step and with each crunch of dirt under your boots, you become more of the cave.
Ghosts of Jelucani miners pass by you, going about their business at first. You hear the clang of their picks and taste metal on your tongue. The peaceful visions soon transform into horror, as the ghosts rush past you with faces distorted by fear.
You feel it, terrible and visceral. Your heart’s beating faster than it should, and you grip your lightsaber tighter. The blue light mingles with the yellow from Yord’s, casting a not-quite green glow but the only thing really keeping you grounded is the sound of the nearby kyber crystal.
“We’re close,” you grit out in response to Yord’s unasked question. “Turn here.”
“It’s off the path,” Yord says, but he follows anyway.
You turn a sharp corner and find yourselves in a large cavern with multiple outlets. The two of you switch off your lightsabers; the cavern shines with a luminous glow from the kyber crystal, embedded on a wall of fogstone.
“Well,” says Yord. “We found the crystal. But no monsters. I wonder if there’s a toxin in here that’s been causing hallucinations.”
You shake your head, eyes fixed on the kyber. “Absolutely not. Just because we haven’t seen anything doesn’t mean it’s safe. We’ll get the crystal then we’ll keep going.”
Yord isn’t paying attention. “I hear something,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, wait, Yord-“ you say but it’s too late, he’s disappeared. You sigh. So much for all his talk about sticking together. Oh well. He’s not far off, and you’ll join him in a moment.
The kyber crystal is high out of reach, but it’s going to be an easy enough climb to get it. You take a step and in the space it takes to blink, you’re in a desert.
Navy blue sand forms large, barren dunes under a bloodied sun filtered by clouds of smoke. The air is stifling, and reeks of death.
You can feel the cave no longer. Yord’s heartbeat is far from you, and for a brief moment you wonder if you’ve died.
But no. This cannot be what it means to become one with the Force. There is no peace, no serenity.
There is only emptiness.
No.
I am one with the Force.
You spin, lightsaber ignited against an arm swinging toward you. They meet with a buzzing clang and for a moment, your blade crackles. For the first time, you are really and truly afraid.
This has nothing to do with the nervousness you felt the night before. This is fear, real and palpable.
The arm pulls away, fades into smoke, and reforms into a being.
“Jedi,” it hisses.
Your lightsaber is still in a defensive position. This is the Force, corrupted as the Sith of old. Chills spread up your arms, and your chest tightens. You have no frame of reference for what stands before you but as you will dark sand out of your eyes, you know.
There is no way out but through.
“Let me go in peace,” you say despite the fear settling in your chest, “or we will continue in violence.”
The entire desert shakes in laughter. You watch as the sun descends, splitting into two as the smoke being grows to fill the air around you.
The ends of your hair begin to singe with the heat, but you dig your heels into the sand. The newly-formed twin suns blink and you realize they have become eyes.
“You cannot kill me, Jedi. I know who you are. You serve a cause that does not care for you. One of hypocrisy. One that turns a blind eye to way of the world. I exist to bring order to the galaxy. Your fear consumes you. I am inside of every living thing. I am inside of you.”
You smile. The being has made a critical mistake. You are no longer afraid as you breathe in, feeling the desert plants gasping for water and the buried bones of those come before you. All are one.
“You’re wrong,” you say simply. You think of Master Yoda and of Yord. Sweet Yord who has been there from the beginning; so inflexible with his ideas of propriety, but never once has he let you down. “The Jedi do care for me. You, however, do not. I feel the bones of Jedi beneath this sand; you would consume me as you did them. You say you know me, but who are you?”
The being rumbles, “I am Death.”
“I am one with the Force. What is death but a different sort of life?”
The being laughs, distorts, multiplies. “Then I am mistaken,” it choruses. “I am Nothing. I am the End.” Smoke races toward you but you don’t swing at it; instead you hold your lightsaber high as a beacon. You’re listening, straining your ears.
One of the most useful things Master Yoda ever taught you was that if there is at least one way in, there is at least one way out. You’re certain your step toward the kyber crystal is what brought you here, so you listen until you hear exactly two things:
The first is Yord, breathing in and out.
The second is the low hum of the kyber crystal.
You close your eyes, smoke clogging your lungs and vision as you press forward toward the sound.
In your mind’s eye, you see the cavern. You see the crystal shining with a dim glow on its fogstone shelf.
Hands grab at your shoulders, waist, and legs, pulling you back. You choke.
You holster your saber and muster all your strength to break free, kyber crystal clear in your mind.
I am one with the Force.
In desperation you reach for the crystal. It trembles, loosens, but a yell from deeper in the cave causes it to overshoot; slicing a deep line in your palm. “Kriff,” you swear, uncaring that you’re a Jedi and foul language is beneath you.
You clench your palm into a fist, feeling a flash of pain as the crystal is pressed into the gash. You swear again then drop it into your right hand.
It’s warm, no longer the cold piece of rock kyber remains until united with a Jedi.
You watch in fascination as it pulses with a dull blue sheen before it absorbs the blood from your hand. It swirls inside the crystal, turning it a brilliant white that illuminates the whole cavern.
I am one with the Force.
The light turns inward, traveling in a blaze up the veins in your arm through your chest and spilling out your eyes.
Someone’s screaming; whether it’s you or the being, you can’t tell. Maybe it’s both.
It doesn’t really matter because the light streaming out of you is blinding, so bright that you try to close your eyes despite the fact they’ve been closed this whole time. You wrench them open to find your self back in the cavern, kyber crystal clenched in your left hand. You’re not sure how it got there, but it’s pressed into the very real gash in your hand.
You slip it into your pocket and shake your head in an attempt to clear it. You’ll try to make sense of what happened but for now, you need to find Yord.
Another yell echoes through the cavern.
“Yord!” you shout, running toward the noice.
He calls your name and you follow it. “Yord!”
You come to a fork in the road and turn right without hesitation. You could find him anywhere. You’ll worry about getting out of here once he’s safe.
Yord’s kneeling on the ground beside a stream, head tilted back to the ceiling. As you get closer, you see his eyes are rolled back into his head. He opens his mouth to groan and black smoke spills out. The same kind you saw in the desert.
On instinct, you grab his face with both hands. The smoke disappears with a hiss, and Yord’s eyes come back to normal. He blinks, shakes his head; a mirror of you a few minutes prior.
“What happened?” he asks. “I was- I don’t know. I’ve never- We have to inform the Council.”
“We have to get out of here,” you say, exasperated. The Council is low on your list of priorities at the moment. “Come on.”
You turn back the way you came and are met with a stone wall.
You mouth kriff, and spin around to Yord.
“We’re stuck.”
He grimaces and opens his mouth to respond, but is silenced by a sound down a fogstone corridor you hadn’t noticed before.
“Yord!” calls a voice. “Yord, I’m down here! Where are you?”
He looks first at you then toward the voice.
“Yord!” calls the voice again, the one that’s identical to yours.
“Yord,” you say slowly, “that’s not me. I’m me. I don’t know what that is, but we have to get out of here.”
There’s a deep crease in his brow as he studies your face. “You feel different,” he says.
You can’t believe this. There is no way he thinks the voice is you. There’s no way he’s going further into the mine, further into the vergence instead of looking for an exit with you.
“Yes, Yord, we’re in a cave on a vergence and something weird happened with the kyber crystal and I’ll tell you about it once we get out. But we need to go and call the Council.” You’re beginning to feel exasperated, frustrated by the fact that he doesn’t trust you. It’s unnatural, in a way. He always trusts you.
“Yord, help!” shouts Not-You and before you can stop him, he’s gone again.
“Kriff,” you say, short and swift. You run after him, lightsaber ignited and trailing behind you.
You come to an abrupt halt. The path has widened into a cavern, much larger than the first and although you’ve been going downhill, you’re almost certain it’s near the entrance.
Yord has stopped in the middle, staring at a shadow.
“Yord,” the shadow says again, moving out of the darkness. It’s shaped like you, walks like you, talks like you. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Not-You steps into the light, all gray skin and limp hair.
“I told you that wasn’t me,” you gripe. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Yord throws a worried glance at back you, hesitant to take his eyes of Not-You for more than a moment. She laughs, bouncing of the stone and ignites a lightsaber. It crackles filling the air with the same energy you felt in the desert.
Yord ignites his in kind, running to swing at her.
You take half-a step to follow him, but are stopped by a hand on your shoulder. On instinct, you shrug it off; whirling around to come face-to-face with Not-Yord.
Time seems to freeze as you take him in, frozen with the shock of seeing rotting, but a shooting pain from the cut in your left palm brings you back to reality.
Not-Yord swings and you block, but he’s stronger than you. As he bears down, you’re caught in his hauntingly hollow eyes. It takes all your strength to prevent his lightsaber from pushing yours into your face. As you struggle to overpower him you notice his lips are black.
Blood spills out as he laughs.
You duck and break away. Not-Yord cackles as his lightsaber buzzes past your ear. It all seems to be happening in slow motion, your movements weighted as if you are underwater.
Dimly, you’re aware of Yord fighting the Not-You. She fights in a parody of your style, just a bit more blunt and a bit more sloppy.
But you can’t focus on that now. You have to trust Yord and fight your own battle so you assess; if Not-You is fighting like you do, then it stands to reason that Not-Yord would fight like real Yord.
And you know all of his weaknesses.
Yord primarily stays in Form III, Soresu; effective for deflecting blaster fire with applications in close combat, but repetitive in movement.
As you block and parry, you take note of Not-Yord’s strikes. He lands a powerful blow, knocking you into a stalactite. Blood runs down the side of your head and you will it away from your eyes. You count, one, two-
There it is.
His lightsaber meets yours and at just the right moment, you switch yours off. Not-Yord is thrown forward, off balance, giving you the perfect opportunity to strike.
His head falls to the dirt with a howl and a stream of thick smoke. As soon as his body hits the ground you turn, leaping on a rock for height as you bear down on the horrible facsimile of yourself. She’s so busy attacking Yord that she doesn’t notice your lightsaber slicing her in half until it’s too late. She falls apart in the same smoke as Not-Yord, and you watch as their bodies dissipate entirely.
“Well,” you say, breathing heavily, “I think it’s time for us to go.”
im SO excited for this next chapter homie. make sure you're not over working yourself 🫶
thank you!! I usually don’t write this fast BUT I am on vacation and I am living my best life. I have sooo much free time bc I thought I was going to have to work, so I blocked of chunks to sit and stare at the view while typing work-related junk. But I was wrong so now I have time to write what I want🥹🥹🥹
i’m working on chapter four at the moment and I have a LOT of chapter five already blocked out so I’m hoping to get them out around the same time.
🤭🫶
areudirty
dailybridgerton
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