Content: nightmares, force visions, order 66, sith artifacts, bacta tanks, explosions, canon-typical violence
Mando'a Guide:
sarad - flower
osik - shit
ner jetii - my jedi
Kresta
When she woke, it was dark, almost foggy, and filled with the kind of energy that sucked the air from her lungs. It was cloaked in that sort of familiar that makes one suspicious.
There was a knock on the door to her quarters.
“Come in,” she said, already certain who was behind the door. She could feel her heart beating against her chest in excitement. Or was it fear?
The door slid open to reveal Fluke in his armor, the sea green the 763rd had chosen to paint their armor with shining in the soft light of her room.
“Hello, dear,” she hummed, walking towards him, but was stopped short as he leveled his DC-17 at her. “Fluke, what are you doing?”
“You are in violation of Order 66, and you will be executed for your crimes against the Republic,” he said. His voice sounded almost robotic with none of its usual charm or sarcasm. Something in the back of her mind screamed wrong, wrong, WRONG!
“Crimes?” she sputtered. “What are you–”
She could feel the moment he pulled the trigger, her hand reaching out to pull her lightsaber but not making it in time.
She fell to the ground, two holes burning through her chest.
He stood over her, the emotionless expression of his helmet staring down as she felt her body dying.
This time, she awoke, heaving air into her lungs like she was resurfacing from a nearly too-long stint underwater.
She found herself surrounded by a medic and a couple of guards, a machine beeping rapidly nearby. Someone must have found her in her quarters and brought her to the medbay. But Fluke has excellent aim, and he wasn’t too far away. How did she survive?
The medic, Rowdy, held his hands up. “It’s alright, General,” he said, his voice trying to be soothing. “You’re disoriented from the bacta, but you’re safe. You’re in the medbay on the Steadfast–”
“Where’s… where’s Fluke?” she demanded, starting to remove the IV from her arm.
“I’m sure the Captain will be back shortly,” Rowdy said, tapping her hand away from the IV to remove it himself. “He’s barely left your side the past week.”
Kresta felt like her chest was hollow. “Waiting to finish the job?” she sneered under her breath.
Rowdy finally finished removing the needle from her arm. “Waiting to what?”
“General,” Fluke said. He sounded normal again. How could he sound so casual, like he hadn’t just attempted to execute her? “Glad to see you… awake. What’s wrong?”
She’d jumped out of the bed, putting distance between herself and the captain, snatching a blaster off the side of one of the troopers standing guard nearby.
“You stay back,” she warned him, raising the blaster against him like he’d done to her. “You know what you did.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Fluke breathed, his hands raised. His face was pure concern that radiated around him in the Force. Why didn’t he feel wrong like he had before? Why didn’t he feel like he was lying to her? Why did it feel like his heart was shattering?
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
Fluke
“General,” Rowdy said, keeping his voice even. “Please put the blaster down.”
Wilde rushed into the room, his eyes widening at the sight before him. One of the guards must have commed him. He could see his twin’s hand twitching at his side. He silently begged him not to pull his blaster.
“He tried to kill me,” the General growled. “Take him to the brig.”
Fluke felt like his world was collapsing around him. He’d never hurt her. Never. She knew that, didn’t she?
“General, I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Wilde said, his voice carefully calm. “We can talk it all out, but can we please do it without weaponry.”
Kresta’s eyes left his face for the first time since he’d walked in, nervously glancing at Wilde.
“Please, General. Let’s talk.”
Her hands shook slightly as she lowered the blaster and passed it back to Blare. She apologized quietly to him and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist.
“Thank you for trusting me, General,” Wilde said. “Will you try to explain to us why you’re–”
“H-he came to my quarters,” she explained, her voice shaky and unsure. “When he pointed his blaster at me, I asked what he was doing, and he said the Jedi committed treason and… and shot me.”
Fluke felt like he’d been shot as she painfully forced the last few words out.
“Kresta, sarad,” Fluke nearly sobbed, everything in his body itching to step closer to her. He thought better of it; he wouldn’t risk frightening her. “I could never hurt you. Never.”
In his periphery, he could see Rowdy’s confused expression as he turned to Wilde, who just shook his head minutely. Small mercies.
“General, you’ve been in a bacta tank for a week,” Rowdy explained. “You were on a mission with Generals Kenobi and Skywalker and Commander Tano. There was an explosion. Do you remember?”
Kresta scowled at him. “Wh- no, I-I remember him…” she mumbled, though she sounded uncertain. “No, th-the… the Sith crypt. Oh, stars,” she gasped. “Obi-Wan–”
“Is alright,” Wilde stepped in. “The Generals and Commanders are alright. They’re just out of bacta today as well. Actually, they want to talk to you as soon as you’re well enough to–”
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
Kresta
She glanced down at herself. She could still feel the tacky residue of the bacta across her newly repaired skin beneath the scuffed-up undersuit she wore beneath her dress. She could feel her saber in a nearby drawer and called upon the force to bring it to her while she slipped into her boots that had kindly been left next to the bed. She could hear the protests and insistence that she stay, but she needed to get to Obi-Wan now.
How could she forget that awful place? Was that horrible memory of betrayal just a nightmare? No. Not if Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-Wan needed to see her. A vision, then? That seemed more likely at this point, but why would her beloved captain ever execute her without even talking to her? She needed to sort this out. The memories of the mission were slowly trickling back in: brief flashes of fire, someone jumping in front of her, the darkness clouding her vision.
She could hear Fluke and Wilde bickering as they trailed after her through the ship to her quarters, but only Fluke followed her in.
She ignored him, stripping out of her clothes and stepping into the refresher. She didn’t like ignoring him, but there were pressing matters at hand that needed to be addressed. This could wait.
“Sarad, please,” he half-shouted over the thrum of the sonic shower as it blasted the residue from her skin. “Can we talk about what just happened?”
She unbraided her hair, realizing that someone else must have done it for her before they put her in the bacta tank, given how neat it still was. The strands of it were woven in on one another tightly. It was almost difficult to undo.
“Did you braid my hair?” she called.
He paused. “What?”
“I asked if you–”
“No, I heard you,” Fluke cut in. She turned the sonic off. “Kresta, you almost died in some ancient Sith osik, and when you finally wake up a week later, you point a blaster at me, saying that I tried to kill you, and you’re asking me if I braided your hair?”
She poked her head around the door frame, hiding the rest of her body behind it. She tried not to enjoy the way Fluke’s cheeks flushed as he averted his gaze, walking to the small trunk of her belongings. He dug around until he found a robe, bringing it over to her.
Fluke sighed. “Of course, I braided your hair. I figured you wouldn’t want it in your face, even if– even though you weren’t conscious in the tank.”
“Thank you,” she said, adding quickly, “For the braid and the robe.”
Fluke nodded.
She wrapped the robe around herself and stepped into the room.
“And for putting up with my… everything,” she added, pressing a kiss to his cheek, which heated beneath the soft touch.
She slid her boots back on and continued to the door, but he caught up with her, grabbing her wrist just before she could open it.
“We’re not done talking about this,” he said, seriously. It wasn’t a question; it was an acknowledgment that he knew getting to the others was the priority but that this discussion was important.
“I know what the vision showed me,” she nodded. “But despite how… real it felt, I know you would never hurt me on purpose.”
The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. He nodded with a quiet scoff. “Alright, go save the galaxy, ner jetii.”
⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸
To be continued…
⪡ Previous Day Next Day ⪢
Thanks for reading! - River
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Two years ago, I wrote about young Anakin’s strange vision of the future; last year, I wrote about old Ulic Qel-Droma’s tragic vision of the past. This year, I thought I’d write about the natural next step: old Daegen Lok’s terrifying vision of infinity.
I expounded briefly but extravagantly upon my love for Daegen Lok once before; I’ll try to be clearer here. Daegen and Xesh form the core master-student relationship of the excellent 15-part Dawn of the Jedi comic series. Never were two souls more haunted by their own dark deeds, oppressed by the cruel systems around them, nor tormented by the sheer, cold majesty of the Force than Messrs. L and X. Obi-Wan and Anakin? They had it easy. Kreia and the Exile? That’s nothing. Cere and Trilla? No, the boys definitely suffered more. (Alright, apparently when it comes to DotJ I must be extravagant.)
Daegen's Force-vision, which takes place just before the story begins, has two layers: the first like Cassandra’s, and the second like Zaphod Beeblebrox’ (pictured). As a young and reckless knight fresh off a bloody victory, he descends into the forbidden cavern below the Temple with his buddy Hawk Ryo to see what they can see. Their first, more plot-heavy vision foretells of another war, heralded by a mighty young man with a glowing stick (new at the time). When they try to warn their elders to prepare, they are threatened with exile for their disobedience. Hawk betrays Daegen (cue homoerotic subplot) and Daegen is banished to the moon, where he becomes the titular Prisoner of Bogan until Xesh and the proto-lightsaber fall right into his lap. Since no one believes Daegen about the war, he takes matters into his own hands and prepares his own army of crooks and ne’er-do-wells against the impending alien invaders. Xesh follows along until his love triangle plot kicks in; of course, heterosexuality was the one thing Daegen could not have foreseen.
But the second layer of Daegen’s vision is the thing that really fucks him up. If you’ve read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, you might remember the scene where they try to torture Zaphod by impressing upon him the immensity of the galaxy. While Zaphod is too egotistical for it to work, Daegen is not. The true identity of the mysterious chasm is revealed to him: it is a portal that can take one anywhere in the universe! (It’s also a reference to my least favorite Quinlan Vos comic.) The elders always said the chasm would drive any visitors mad, and this overwhelming awareness is why.
Nevertheless, though Daegen has gone insane because of the second thing, he is still right about the first thing. And while Hawk takes the easy path of conformity and self-denial, Daegen never wavers from his terrible truth, which is very sexy and transgender of him.
As far as the illustration goes, it is simpler than those of the other two visions I discussed. The vision is technically full-page, but the inserts don’t allow it to dominate the scene, which is just too bad. In the limited space available, Jan Duursema does the “sky full of beachballs” trick which is also utilized in Anakin’s vision, is a staple of Al Williamson’s compositions, and is honestly most effective in Michael Murnane’s conclusion to the epic Wat Tambor one-shot. This visual trick actually makes the universe look small, which is usually a great choice for Star Wars, where transportation is hardly the physics-straining problem that it is in harder sci-fi. That is the exact opposite of what Daegen’s cosmic-horror vision is supposed to convey, but Duursema’s expressive figure and face make the intended emotions obvious anyway.
“Dawn of the Jedi: Force War,” issue 3. Dark Horse. January 15, 2014. Writer and co-plotter: John Ostrander. Penciller and co-plotter: Jan Duursema. Inker: Dan Parsons. Letterer: Michael Heisler. Colorist: Wes Dzioba.
Chapter 12: Facing Thine Demons | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis
Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.
A/N: There was a tiny technical error on my end. Was about to save the draft with the new touches until it ended up posting it (surprised pikachu meme here) and so I put it on private first. But now it’s ready! ^^ Sorry if I have confused those of you who opened the shortcut link from Chapter 11 and got a blank webpage or that it was simply gone... Don’t worry, it’s here now!
Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC | Special tags: Nomara Anesh, Jedi Master! Fem OC, Togruta, Force Vision, Dark Force Vision
Jidné fixed herself a cup while staring intently at the Holocron shard. She recalled Cal’s words from yesterday, and right after that, Darth Vader’s specifications of the contract followed. It frustrated her that it was the thing that kept her awake way into the wee hours until it had mentally exhausted her to sleep.
Her mind concocted an endless list of assumptions, theories, and scenarios that she forgot to take a sip from her cup to slow herself down. The images replayed to no end, some of them were interjections of her own memories from the day of the Jedi Purge; her breath shuddered, for no matter how many times she blinked them away, the memories and the moments that are yet to be—from her meditation before and the premonitions now—flashed behind her eyes. The sounds she imagined were starting to sound too surreal, covering her ears to shut them out proved futile.
Jidné’s head shot up, interrupted by her droid barging in with a series of panicking chirps.
“Who is it, ID-3?”
“Bee… Beep, trill,” the droid answered rather nervously, the tone of his chirps caused Jidné’s eyebrows to pull together.
Jidné jogged away from the galley and headed to the lounge—she asks ID-3 to relay the transmission to the holotable’s receiver and the droid promptly obeyed, twisting his connector in the port left and right until the transfer became successful.
The projection of Darth Vader from the waist up crackled into existence at the center of the holoprojector. Jidné approached the holotable, the projection towered a few feet above her that she kept her head tilted up and stood at a distance away from the table.
“Lord Vader,” she greeted with the same steely tone of voice she used on the dark lord. “How untimely of you to drop by.”
“I require a report of your progress, Sheedra,”
Jidné clenched her jaw.
“Did you find the boy?”
Her shoulders heaved, “Yes. I’ve found him in hiding… though he’s not aware of me yet.”
“And what of the Holocron?”
Jidné played dumb—a risky move for a young Jedi who’s also in hiding—and pulled her eyebrows together.
“Is that the vital thing you seek of him?”
“Yes. Does he still have it?”
The bounty hunter shakes her head in earnest, “I haven’t… seen him hold it yet. Obviously, he’s kept it in his ship for safekeeping.”
The longer this conversation went, the more cemented her assumptions became.
“My Inquisitors have already failed in recovering that Holocron from the Jedi,” he raised his finger in her face, regardless if it was via hologram. “Do not fail me like they did, Sheedra.”
He hissed at the utterance of her surname, Jidné could visualize the clenching of Vader’s teeth through that mask’s mouthpiece when he did. The hint wasn’t easy to miss, especially with that steady yet foreboding tone; she could’ve sworn she felt the interior of her ship rattle upon the intensity of the dark lord’s words.
Jidné stood her ground and steeled her voice, not tolerating being told what to do in her own turf and on her own expertise. She almost raised her voice back in an attempt to dominate his volume.
“With all due respect, m’lord, don’t ever tell me how to do my job.”
Taken aback by the child’s words, Darth Vader’s broad shoulders evidently eased, as the resolution of the hologram blurred and cracked with static in synch with his breathing. He leaned forward, closer to the lens of his holoprojector, he raised his finger at her again.
“You are fortunate it is I who employed you. Consider this your warning, child. The Emperor would not have forgiven this as I did.”
Without needing a response from her, Vader ended the transmission on his end and the projection of the girl dissolved into nothingness. He returned into the silent solitude of his meditation chamber, a black shell that hid him away and concealed his true self from everyone else.
A long exhale wafted through the mouthpiece of his mask as he leaned back against the seat of his chamber. His calm mechanical breathing ricocheted in the organic walls of his sanctum. He recalled the conversation with the bounty hunter, he sensed something within the girl and the delivery of her words—he gave himself the benefit of the doubt and deduced it was the usual anxiety one would have when reporting to him, afraid that they might step into the wrong foot and have to elaborate themselves.
“I sense a disturbance in the Force… and in that child.” He purred, his leather between his gloved fingers squeaked as he gripped on the armrests of his sanctuary’s throne.
Robotic limbs from the ceiling whirred and lowered towards his head, its pincers gingerly clamped at the hem of his helmet, with a single click of the inner mechanism the limbs carefully took off the layers of his mask one by one. With the final layer was removed, light is shed upon the true face of Vader: sickly, calloused skin that aged as it healed from fatal burns, a wrinkled bag of skin that crumpled whenever he blinked his sunken, sorrowful eyes, and a rupture on the top of his head ran from one point to the other.
Another set of robot limbs appeared, vials of Bacta and syringes were fixed on where their pincers ought to be. In his first few years of getting used to this armor—now his new body—the medical procedure was a form of self-pity and pain, though it fueled his connection with the Dark Side, making him stronger and more powerful the way the Emperor intended him to be.
Vader afforded a moment to breathe before commanding the robotic claws to fit his helmet back on. The chipped, coarse leather glove ran across his creased forehead. He yearned for a moment of peace, a moment to meditate, but the demons of his past intruded his sanctum as they please, ravaging his supposedly rock-solid conscience as sturdy as the armor where his life clings onto constantly. When he deemed the activity pointless, he slammed a button—he waited for a few minutes and heard the main door of his room hiss open. Another press of a button and his meditation chamber parted open.
“What is thy bidding, my master?” a female Twi’lek Inquisitor, with skin as crimson as blood and her blade, inquired upon her entrance, kneeling in front of Vader with the greatest reverence.
——————————————————–
Jidné caught her breath after the transmission, clutching her chest did little to relax her wild heart. She fumbled her way towards the booth seat in the lounge, she attempted to relax—she clapped her hand against her forehead, slouched her back against the sofa while trying to realign her thoughts.
The beeping of the homing beacon caught her attention, it sat idly atop the center table. Using the Force, Jidné reached for it, she gawked at it resting at the center of her palm and she was reminded of her duty, but the feelings that has been forged by her connection with Cal conflicted her greatly.
“Trill…?”
“I don’t want him to get hurt, ID-3,”
Jidné closed her fist with the beacon still in her hand, she and ID-3 looked at one another for a brief moment—as if wordlessly coming to an agreement—the girl’s fist tightened, inhaled deeply that it puffed her chest, she turned her hand sideways and opened her fingers to let the blue circular device fall to the floor…
The sole of her boot stopped the beacon from rolling away, then with all her strength, Jidné crushed the device beneath her feet—reducing it into shards of glass and metal.
She’s seen enough. She’s understood enough.
“I won’t let them hurt him,”
The other end of the beacon is still attached to the Mantis, but she made it a point to get it and destroy it the same way before Cal finds out. She donned a maroon jacket and a black cowl before heading out of the Scarab, she beckoned ID-3 to come along and the droid hovered towards her shoulders to perch himself there.
Jidné found a herd of Q’aval in the desert not far from the water hole, imitating the same approach as Cal did yesterday, she tamed one and mounted it. The animal reared as Jidné spurred the side of its belly with a gentle kick of her boot, clouds of smoke fluttered behind its heels as it stamped through the badlands and towards the forest, foam frothed at the rim of its mouth. She dismounted the Q’aval before it even came to a full stop, she sprinted towards the Mantis; she recomposed herself until Cere greeted her at the door.
“Jidné? What a pleasant surprise for you to come by,”
“Hi Cere, is Cal here?”
“No, actually he went to Diitana with Greez—he finally got to tour the captain at the marketplace—but I bet they’re just about finished with those errands,”
“Oh? How nice of him,”
“You can wait for him inside,” invited Cere.
“Sure, just let me… catch my breath,”
Cere excused herself and went back inside, Jidné ran to the stern of the Mantis where she had shot the homing beacon during their chase. The device ceased to blink or beep, it died out the same time Jidné destroyers hers. She tore it off clean from the exterior and stamped her boot on it numerous times, she dug the soil with her shoe and buried the shards in the tiny crater she made.
It was peaceful in the clearing—nothing but wind and chirping songbirds hidden amongst the trees. Jidné situated herself atop a boulder a few meters away from the ship, in an attempt to meditate while waiting for Cal. It has been a while since she did so and she wanted to see how she fared lately.
Finding solace in the clearing, she meditated and relearned her master’s lessons at the same time; recalling the words of Master Anesh from the vision she had a couple of days ago. Little by little, the girl afforded to be proud of herself as the meditations become more tranquil and resonant.
What was initially experimental, and then turned out to be quite effective: she dared to reach out to the Force and allowed to let whatever thoughts flow within her—there was laughter and warmth, comfort and compassion, images of Master Anesh smiling, and the gleam of Cal’s clear, green eyes that’s burned into her mind all too well.
“That actually felt nice…” she murmured upon opening her eyes. She gazed at her hands, then wiggled her fingers as she examined them as if the sensations touched her in reality.
She thought hours have passed, when in fact it has only been minutes. However, the good feelings were immediately washed away when her Q’aval suddenly began to neigh nervously and clopped its hooves in place.
“Hey, what’s wrong, old timer? You smell something?”
The animal neighed again, then she heard the rustling of the bushes that lined the clearing. Jidné’s instincts went on high alert, she cautiously hopped down from the boulder as she peered through the dim denseness of the forest beyond.
“Who’s there?”
A cacophony of insects hissing and chirping replied her, she didn’t take that for an answer. She senses something else than just insects and birds.
Her hand subtly wandered to her saber; with her rifle still out of commission, she had been leaning into her saber more, and she actually preferred it to the ballistic weapon. She unclipped the hilt from her belt as quietly and slowly as she can. A narrow path connected the Mantis’s spot to another open space of the forest, something about it lured Jidné in, but she had sensed a trap—for Force’s sake, she’s a bounty hunter! She knew this strategy all too well; whoever the enemy was, they wanted to her stray from the Mantis, they wanted to single her out.
Something’s definitely not right. She thought while she prowled, saber in hand and ready to ignite.
Her attempt to use Force Shroud on herself was hindered when her ears pricked up at the sound of a pin clinking. A flashbomb hissed upon the removal of the pin and rolled to Jidné’s feet. Luckily, she had the sharp reflex to kick it back to the thrower.
She shielded her eyes with her arm but was jumped by the bounty hunter who wielded a rifle with a vibroblade bayonet, she was able to deflect the attack with her saber; upon closer look, she recognized the enemy—it was the same bounty hunter who chased Cal in Diitana, the goon named Fazer.
“Where’s your boyfriend, girlie!?” the male hunter spat through his cloth mask.
“Where’s yours, scum?!”
If there’s one thing Jidné could never go wrong about the Haxion Brood—it’s that they always travel in pairs.
“Look at that, she’s got a laser sword too!” the HURID droid stomped his way into the picture, outnumbering Jidné two to one.
“So glad you could join us!” Jidné blurted and pushed the hunter away to stance herself.
She deflected the HURID droid’s barrage of blasts from its gauntlet gun in a fluid, spiraling motion of her saber. A third one had appeared from the trees, another male human hunter with a jetpack. He jumped on her, she evaded it too little too late thus she staggered for a brief second before using the Force to push her assailant away.
All three enemies circled her in the center of the clearing, like vultures to a carrion.
“We got you outnumbered, ye cunt! Sorc is gonna pay us a shitton of money for yer head!” Jetpack barked.
Sorc!?
“That son of a bitch!!”
Jidné’s hard feelings didn’t root from the fact that she once worked for Sorc—despite their stale work dynamic—and discovered now that he’s put a price on her head; what enraged her is that she had become a target herself in her own organization—though it’s highly likely that he had bribed someone, with Baz being a probable candidate, or had a mole in the Guild. Sorc had actively broken a law in the Guild and whoever else was in connivance. Whatever the reason, she needed to finish these three goons.
The skirmish got intense pretty quickly. It was just Jidné alone against three; her first target was the hunter with the jetpack—she immediately put him out of work when she deflected a blast and redirected it to the exhaust hatch of the jetpack, instantly setting it on fire. All eyes—both Haxion and Jidné—were glued to the poor sod who’s spinning out of control, perfectly incapable of escaping his jetpack until he blew up with it upon impact of a tree trunk.
“Alright, your attention here!” Jidné beckoned, spinning her saber and positioning herself in a beginning stance.
The HURID was the most aggressive attacker among the two remaining. Both of them were troublesome in their own special way—Fazer kept himself at a safe distance while loading his gun, to ruin his strategy, Jidné moved a lot: taking advantage of the trees, scaling them and perching on their branches, and finally utilizing her Force Shroud in battle. She masked herself using the Force; to the weak-minded eye, it would appear that she disappeared out of plain sight and into thin air.
“Where’s the little cunt!?” Fazer roared.
The hulking droid and the human hunter spun around in place, in search of their nimble target.
“If you’re such a brave lil’ girl, why don’t ye come out!?” Fazer taunted.
Jidné saw that the HURID droid standing directly below the branch she’s perched on, she ignited her saber and descended upon the walking block of metal from the heavens, driving her saber into its central processing core with her purple lightsaber.
“Now, it’s just you and me, Fazer,”
“You know me, don’tcha, little birdie?”
“You’re one of Sorc’s favorites, I figured he’d send you. Shall we put that to the test?”
“Don’t make me laugh, kid!”
In a deadpan snark, the girl clapped back, “I’ve always had a dry sense of humor.”
Jidné had taunted Fazer into laying down his shield, telling him to face her like a true fighter with the remaining ounce of a crook’s honor in him; the enemy hunter humored the girl and relinquished his foldable shield, leaving himself with only his bayonet rifle.
Tiny, blue cracks of electricity coursed along the blade of the bayonet and instantaneously died out as soon as it came into contact with the saber’s beam. Jidné held fast, the soles of her boots were practically buried into the dirt as she kept her stance, her unwavering grip secured her hilt as she shifted all her weight in blocking Fazer’s blade.
“You can’t win, girl!! I’ll have your head rolling over Sorc’s table!” grunted Fazer.
Collecting all her might and transferring it all on her deflection, she took a big, deep breath as the purple gleam shone over the gloss of her dark, willful eyes.
“Not if I have anything to say about it!”
She pushed Fazer away, kicked him the hardest in the abdomen to stagger him and afford a window of opportunity to cut him down. With the strength fueled by adrenaline, she struck down the bounty hunter and silence returned to the forest…
Or so she thought.
More rustling among the bushes alarmed her, she brandished her saber securely, prepared for a stance if necessary. The noises persisted and prompted her to follow it, instead of waiting for it to jump on her. Blinded by the anger that she mistook for the thrill of the action, she dashed mindlessly through the forest, following the sound.
Meanwhile, Cal had returned to the Mantis’s clearing and spotted a Q’aval. He approached it and started bobbing its head to its forward direction while neighing fervently.
“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay! What’s wrong?”
Cal held the animal’s muzzle, petting it with his one hand while the other cupped its large cheek. The Q’aval kept nodding at the direction of the clearing despite being calmed down, the redheaded Jedi finally got the hint as he turned his head to the path.
He withdrew from the animal, tugged his saber off of his belt, and cautiously prowled into the neighboring clearing with peeled eyes. When the boy sensed nothing, he investigated the area and discovered the bodies of the three Haxion Brood hunters sprawled across the clearing; he got closer and found lightsaber cuts across their bodies—except for the third one who had majority of his body charred from the explosion of his jetpack, nonetheless, Cal recognized the handiwork.
“Beee…!” BD-1 chirped and pointed at something with his entire body.
Lying just a few inches away from Fazer’s body were bright, turquoise beads threaded into two separate strands. Cal knelt down and examined it, he hesitated to take it at first but eventually scooped it up with one hand, he’s seen this trinket more than once and didn’t need to guess who the owner is.
“Jidné…” uttered Cal.
The fingers of Cal’s free hand gingerly touched the trinket—one finger for each bead—and a tunnel of light violently clouded his vision, the sharp sensation was reminiscent to being punched hard in the gut. Cal’s knees buckled as the echoes of the Force kick in. Sounds and voices that he knew all too well screeched and bounced along the walls of his skull.
“Execute Order 66…”
“Keep up with me, Jidné!”
“I’m trying, Master!”
“The Jedi and the little girl are here! Don’t let them escape!!!”
The barrage of blaster fire nearly deafened Cal, he finally melted to the forest floor; his hand gripped around the beads, his consciousness battled with its own demon—a part of him wanted to let go, but the other kept his fist shut, as if gripping it tightly to stop him from opening his hand, and so the waking nightmares persisted in his mind.
“This way, child! Come on!”
“Coming, Master!”
“Get behind me, little one!”
“Blast her!!”
“NOOOOOOOO….!!!!”
“Jidné… RUN…!”
——————————————————–
Jidné sprang out of the woods and into a lone waterfall’s clearing, different from the one where she once bathed and smaller in comparison. She panted and arched her back, her hands holding onto her knees as she gasped for air, finally allowing her body to relax. Jidné scanned the place and realized that she has no memory of the place, it was an entirely new area that she has gotten herself lost in.
Strange, she thought as she stepped further into this unfamiliar spot in the forest; she gawked quizzically at the sky as she walked, the trees’ canopy didn’t cover up the sun and yet the weather appeared to be overcast, as if a storm is brewing above—even though it was significantly sunny when she came here.
“Jidné…”
The girl’s head jerked to the direction of the voice. At first she found nobody around, but her eyes continued to survey the area with great eagerness and curiosity. The call of her name brought her closer to the pool, oddly enough, the rippling of the water was louder than the end of the waterfall meeting the basin.
Jidné stood at the fine line between land and water. A silhouette—standing tall and regal in stride—materialized, she squinted her eyes to peer through the curtain of water. The shadow became more opaque bit by bit: the tips of the montrals parted the water but not a single droplet lingered, the hem of the long robe swept the surface of the water as if it was a plane of glass flooring, and the apparition seemed almost too real.
Nomara Anesh, her master… or perhaps the shell of what she used to be.
Jidné’s knees were reduced to jelly, so much so that she staggered back in surprise upon laying eyes on the waking vision of her mentor.
“Master Anesh…” a wide-eyed Jidné shuddered.
Silence. Only a smile replied to her, but it was no smile of compassion. There was something ominous that traced the line of that smirk. Wind howled amongst the towering trees as the two women faced one another.
The apparition stepped closer until she stood at the center of the pool, ripples orbited her even though Nomara stood like a statue; Jidné was able to get a closer look—she was impressed with the apparition, for it mimicked the sage aura that her master emitted, despite being a mere manifestation borne from the nether of the Force.
The young girl shakes her head and grips onto her saber.
“No,” she snarled, attempting to harden herself in the midst of this delusion. Her thumb crunches the switch of her saber. “You’re not her.”
The ghost of Nomara Anesh rebuked the girl’s claim in the form of igniting her own saber. An indigo blade emitted out of the elegant silver hilt. The Togruta slowly walked up to her as they spoke.
“What makes you so sure? Have you allowed your doubts to cloud your feelings?”
Jidné detected the difference of this apparition’s tone of voice compared to the real thing; this one sounded emotionless and strict altogether. The apprentice couldn’t find the same warmth the original has within this ghost. The compassion and kindness that the real Nomara Anesh had, the traits that the girl missed sorely and dearly, was completely non-existent.
“No, I haven’t…”
“Well then, we won’t find much outcome in words, will we?”
That compassion Jidné desperately searched in that walking manifestation of Nomara was replaced with a demanding, arrogant façade—it’s as if she’s facing a different person with the perfect identical copy of her late master’s body.
Jidné itched to swing her saber at this ghost so much that she didn’t realize she had stepped onto the water, she paused and looked down on her feet. The water’s surface remained solid to stand on but retained its liquid aspects like the ripples and droplets. Now in the same arena as this spirit, she circled along the edge while her eyes fixated on the otherworldly entity. She can’t put her reason into words, it was more of a feeling.
“You have allowed so much of the darkness to take you… that you can’t even see who you truly are,” Nomara lectured coldly.
The walking vision had provoked the child, Jidné had lost the remaining ounces of control she had within her and came charging at the Togruta. Two blades of nearly the same shade clashed and growled against one another. Nomara retained her erect, poised posture while the young Jidné had her back arched as she put all of her strength on the strike.
“Is this the resolve you’ve settled with? Is this how you honor my teachings!?” Nomara hissed, truly sounding like an unsatisfied mentor. “You have truly forgotten the ways of the Force!”
“That’s not true! You don’t know that! You are not her!!”
The young Jedi continued to send a flurry of attacks against this sentient delusion, but for every move she knew and used against the ghost, it always had a way to deny her of a strike; her anger bestowed her a false and hollow strength that bore no blows. Jidné’s body flared with a recklessness that was determined to strike down that spirit. But the next thing she knew, Nomara’s ghost stopped the Jedi girl in her tracks.
“You can’t save him—the same way you can’t save yourself from the past, the present, and even in the future. You will always run away from your fate like the weak coward that you are!”
“NO!!!”
Another clash of blades, a sphere of light formed at the center of the intercrossed beams. Something between the lines of Nomara’s words struck something within Jidné, and then she sought for the strength inside her again… but found nothing. The Togruta bore all her weight on her attack, gradually bringing down the former apprentice until she’d fumble.
“You are not the Padawan I trained!!”
Jidné struggled to push away Nomara—even for a few paces at least—to regain her composure. This time, it was the Togruta who went into the offensive. With the distance shrinking between them, Jidné paced her breathing and timed the right moment to counter.
A shockwave of the Force sourced from the collision of their sabers, it was a wave so strong that it threw Jidné meters away from their arena. The girl couldn’t pinpoint where the phenomenon originated—though it didn’t matter. She found herself tumbling back into the clearing where she had singlehandedly eradicated the Haxion Brood hunters, her head jerked in all directions to survey her bearings.
“Jidné!”
The girl jolted upon another call of her name, Cal ran up to her and slowly lifted her up.
“Are you okay?”
“I… I don’t know…”
Cal felt the immense tremor across Jidné’s entire body; puzzled, he looked at the direction of the forest where Jidné came out of and had an inkling of what just happened. He escorted her into the Mantis and offered her to a place to rest there.
"Espero que entenda isso Leia.” A jovem mulher a olhou de forma intensa “ ninguém realmente se vai” Ela terminou a frase com um sorriso doce “ você tem um dom, Leia. Um poder dentro de si, muito além de sua compreensão...”
