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Chapter Text

Cal’s boots hit the cold, metallic floor of the Fortress Inquisitorius hangar, the sound swallowed by the clatter of tools, the hiss of welding torches, and the distant bark of shouted orders. The scent of scorched metal and burned-out circuitry hung thick in the air, a reminder of the chaos he’d left behind just days earlier.

Repair crews still worked along the edges, spitting out wild sparks into the air as they tried to patch the fortress back together. His time in the hangar had been brief, but it had left its marks.

The Second Sister led the way ahead, and he walked a step behind silently. His presence a shadow stitched to her path, with just the same chance of escape.

They stepped into the turbolift. It hummed to life and began its descent, each second pulling them deeper into Nur’s cold heart. The lights grew dimmer, the air colder, the pressure more suffocating.

Cal backed himself against the corner, keeping Trilla within sight, gaze fixed ahead but eyes unfocused. He should have been afraid. After everything he’d done, fear would have made sense. But that sharp edge had dulled. He wasn’t sure what he felt now.

Whatever had broken in him on Kashyyyk had stayed broken.

He glanced sideways at Trilla, at the black visor, the stillness of her posture, but found nothing he could read. Maybe that was for the best. His own thoughts didn’t make much sense, without the input of someone like her. There was no plan, no destination, just this slow spiral down into the fortress itself.

He had to keep moving forward. Whatever that meant now.

He was so consumed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed they had reached their destination. A large set of doors stood before him, reinforced and imposing. The Second Sister stopped, turning to him with a warning in her voice.

“Behave yourself, Kestis. Your behaviour reflects on me too.” There was a hint of something beneath her tone, annoyance, or maybe a trace of uncertainty.

Cal didn’t respond, but he shot her a wary look as she motioned for him to enter. He stepped forward, and the doors hissed shut behind him and sealed with a resounding clang. The sound reverberated through the chamber, and Cal glanced back, a shiver running down his spine as he realised he was truly trapped. There would be no leaving this room until they allowed it.

He turned back around and took in his surroundings. The chamber was dark, the air cold. Dim red lights lined the walls, casting eerie shadows that seemed to distort and shift. And at the far end of the room stood a tall, imposing figure. Cal had never met him before but he knew who it was.

The Grand Inquisitor rose from behind a stark metal desk, his hands clasped behind his back. His red-ringed eyes glinted with a predatory interest as he regarded Cal, stepping forward with slow, deliberate strides.

“Welcome back to the Fortress Inquisitorius,” the Grand Inquisitor intoned, his voice smooth but edged with a chilling undertone. “Cal Kestis.”

Cal stiffened at the use of his full name, his shoulders tensing. He fought to keep his expression neutral, to conceal the turmoil roiling inside him. He had to be cautious; he couldn’t afford to show his cards too soon.

The Grand Inquisitor studied him, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a ghost of a smile. “You’ve done well, Kestis. Opening the holocron, surviving what you have... It is no small feat. And for that, you will be rewarded.”

Cal’s jaw tightened. The words felt like a mockery. “I’m still a prisoner, though,” he said evenly, though the bitterness slipped through.

Amusement flickered across the Grand Inquisitor’s pale face, his eyes gleaming with a cold, predatory satisfaction. “If that’s what you wish to call yourself, you are welcome to. We can even arrange for you to return to your previous lodgings. But It would be a shame to let such potential go to waste.”

Cal couldn’t hold back the shiver of cold fear that trickled through his spine at the mention of his cell. His lungs tightened, and phantom pressure returned to his wrists. It took all he had to not rub his wrist unconsciously. To not physically react to the threat of a return to the chair. Then something else joined the fear; a quiet fury coiled beneath his skin . That’s what they wanted, for him to fall into line under threats and taunts. But he’d survived that place once. He wouldn’t crawl back into it.

The Grand Inquisitor studied him closely, as if reading the thoughts that worked behind his eyes. Despite his outward calm, Cal felt a knot of anger twist in his chest. He had to find a way through this, but he couldn’t allow himself to be manipulated so easily.

“You hesitate,” the Grand Inquisitor noted, his voice dropping to a soft, insidious murmur. “I can see it in you, Kestis, the defiance, the conflict. You haven’t crumbled yet, haven’t surrendered to despair like so many others. That’s good. It means there’s still fire in you. And fire, when controlled, can forge something far stronger than the brittle ideals of the Jedi. We offer you more than mere chains, Kestis. We offer you purpose, training, and power.” 

Cal’s fingers twitched; the lure of power wasn’t really something that interested him. For all the Grand Inquisitors posturing, he clearly knew nothing about him. 

Cal only wanted power over himself. 

He squared his shoulders, trying to project confidence he didn’t fully feel. “Maybe I just don’t like being toyed with,” he shot back, allowing a hint of defiance to creep into his voice. “You talk about potential, fire, purpose, but we both know I’m just another tool to you. A means to an end.”

The Grand Inquisitor’s smile tightened, and he took a step closer, now standing almost toe to toe with Cal, looming over him with a casual menace.

“You misunderstand, Kestis. I do not play games with you, I assess. I measure your worth, your weaknesses. And I decide whether you have a place in what we are building... or whether you belong in the refuse pile with the rest of the Jedi scum.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a blade. “But then you’re not really a Jedi are you? Despite your efforts to continue your training with the traitor Junda, you were never truly one of them.” 

Cal knew that there was truth in those words, as much as he hated to admit it. From the Jedi, to the Scrappers Guild, to Cere, he had always been following someone else’s orders, walking a path set by others. But this was different. The Grand Inquisitor’s offer was a trap, almost so transparent to be insulting, but what were his alternatives? He had tried those, and they had left him being shot at by both sides.

"You are more than that, Kestis," the Grand Inquisitor said, seemingly content to keep speaking whether Cal responded or not. "But only if you prove yourself."

Cal forced himself to hold that gaze, even as the weight of those words pressed down on him. His mind scrambled to keep up, to find some way to turn this conversation, to pry some hint of exactly what the Grand Inquisitor wanted from him.

“I think by ‘prove yourself’ you mean to blindly obey, and clearly you have doubts that I’m gonna do that. I’m only half a Jedi as you say” He tried to sound challenging, but there was a thin edge of caution beneath it. He had to be careful not to push too far.

The Grand Inquisitor's eyes narrowed slightly, but the cold smile remained. 

“Doubt is a luxury I can afford, Kestis. But I see beyond it. You have survived where others have perished, escaped this fortress once before, in fact. And with the help of that droid, no less.” His gaze flicked pointedly to BD-1, who chirped a nervous, high-pitched trill from Cal’s shoulder, his small legs shifting uneasily.

Cal's jaw tightened, but he forced his expression to remain neutral, trying to keep BD’s unease from seeping into his own voice. 

“BD’s good with tech,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “That’s all. A tool, like any other.”

“I’ve no doubt he’s been... useful. But I’m afraid that ends here. The droid cannot stay.”

For a heartbeat, Cal froze, his mind racing. A sharp flash of fear coursed through him, followed by a surge of protective instinct. Before he could stop himself, he took a step forward, his hand drifting toward the clip on his belt where his lightsaber usually sat. His other hand rose slightly ready to use the Force, to push back physically and stop him moving any further towards BD. 

“No.” The word slipped out, unbidden and filled with a raw edge.

The Grand Inquisitor’s smile widened, revealing sharp teeth. He eyed the movement, a satisfied gleam in his crimson-ringed eyes. For a moment, the room seemed to grow even colder, the shadows lengthening as the Grand Inquisitor considered the possibility of a confrontation. He took a half-step closer, his hand twitching near his own weapon, but then he stilled.

“Careful, Kestis,” the Grand Inquisitor drawled, letting the threat linger in the air between them. “That would be unwise, don’t you think?”

Cal swallowed hard, realising too late that he’d allowed his panic to show. He forced himself to stand straighter, squaring his shoulders as he tried to regain his composure. His mind scrambled for an excuse, something that wouldn’t sound so... desperate.

“It’s just that... he’s useful to me,” Cal said, trying to keep his voice steady, forcing a casual note into his words. “An extra pair of hands, someone to keep track of data. Makes things more efficient.” Even to his own ears it sounded pathetic.

The Grand Inquisitor studied him in silence, the pause dragging just long enough to unsettle. Heat prickled under Cal’s skin from the sheer weight of that gaze. He reached out through the Force, testing for a read, but the mental barriers he met were unyielding, layered, sharp, impossible to slip past. He probed, careful and deliberate, but couldn’t risk pushing harder. Not without opening himself up in return.

The Grand Inquisitor let the silence stretch, seemingly savouring the way it frayed at the edges of Cal’s bravado. Finally, he inclined his head slightly, as if making a grand concession. 

The Grand Inquisitor studied him with something like amusement, cold and measured, the kind that made Cal’s skin crawl, as if he enjoyed the discomfort in Cal’s eyes. “He can stay with you, Kestis. Consider it a gesture of good will. But he will not join you in your training. We can’t have distractions. And you will not be using any healing stims.”

Cal bit back the angry retort that rose in his throat, nodding stiffly. He had to play along, at least for now. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He felt like a caged animal, pacing behind invisible bars, but he couldn’t let them see the extent of his anger or his desperation.

The Grand Inquisitor straightened, his tone becoming business like once more. “You may go. But remember, Kestis, I demand obedience, and I do not tolerate defiance. Should I sense even a hint of the latter, you will find yourself back in your old cell before you can draw your next breath. And the same goes for your droid.”

With a final, measured nod, the Grand Inquisitor lifted a hand toward the door, and it slid open behind Cal. He didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and walked out of the chamber, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, fear, and determination.

The purge troopers flanked him again as he was escorted through the fortress, their blank masks giving away nothing. But Cal felt a new chill in the air as he walked, as if the walls themselves were watching him, waiting for him to stumble.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d just agreed to. But he had a horrible feeling that he might have given up more ground than he realised.

Chapter Text

The troopers brought him to a new room, a real one, with a bed, a refresher, and a small console built into the wall beside a desk. It wasn’t much, but it was far better than the cold cell he had stayed in before. He stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind him, but it didn’t lock.

That small, strange freedom felt more unnerving than comforting, like being let off a leash while still feeling the collar tight around his neck. Like a threat.

The bed was a flat slab dressed in standard-issue sheets, too crisp and tucked too tightly to feel like his. The walls were that blank matte grey the Empire loved, uniform and unyielding, and the console beside the desk blinked with a single, patient red light. No windows. No decorations. Just enough to suggest comfort but not enough to offer it.

He sat down heavily on the bed, his mind spinning. BD-1 immediately jumped down and started investigating the space; scanning the door, checking the vents, inspecting every nook and cranny he could reach.

Cal let the silence settle heavily around him. The room was larger than his cell had been, it reminded him, faintly, of the room he’d once had aboard the Albedo Brave. A lifetime ago.

But the air still felt suffocating, as if the fortress itself was waiting to close in around him at the first sign of rebellion. He had traded the raw, biting cold of a cell for marginal comfort, but it was still a cage, just dressed up to look like something else.

The Grand Inquisitor’s voice echoed in his mind, replaying over and over.

"Should I sense even a hint of disobedience, you will find yourself back in your old cell before you can draw your next breath."

He knew the threats weren’t empty. The Grand Inquisitor had read him too well, prodding at every crack he’d tried to seal. And even the Second Sister, ruthless and calculating as she was, had shown even a flicker of fear toward her superior.

Cal would have to tread carefully.

His gaze drifted back to BD-1, who still buzzed quietly around the room, scanning every corner and cataloguing every detail. The droid’s beeps and whirs broke the silence, offering a thread of normalcy in a place that felt like anything but.

Cal couldn’t ignore the mistake he’d made in letting his attachment show so clearly. The Grand Inquisitor had noticed, Cal had seen it in the way those yellow eyes lingered on BD, cold and calculating. A weakness identified. A vulnerability logged.

Now BD was a liability. A tool waiting to be used against him.

The thought twisted in his chest, a knot of dread tightening beneath his ribs. But he wasn’t going to let BD go. Not after everything. He’d already lost too much. He wasn’t about to lose the one thing that had stayed with him through it all.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, watching BD zip across the room. The droid paused, turning toward him with an inquisitive beep, head tilted, sensors pulsing softly.

Cal managed a faint, tired smile. “It’s okay. Just… stay close, alright?”

BD chirped back; the concerned tone unmistakable but then returned to his methodical inspection of the room.

It was a small comfort. A reminder that he wasn’t completely alone.

But it wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts spiralling through his head. He was still a prisoner, no matter how the Grand Inquisitor dressed it up with promises of power and purpose. Then again, when had he ever been anything but a prisoner?

He thought of the Jedi. Always watching, always guiding, always shaping him into something he never had much say in becoming.

Then Bracca, years spent buried in wreckage, scrapping old ships for the Guild, always under someone’s boot.

And Cere. Cere, with her grief and guilt, asking him to carry the weight of a mission that was never truly his.

He exhaled slowly and shut his eyes. Easier not to think about any of it. Easier to stay in the now.

If he joined the Inquisitors, he’d still be serving someone else. But at least this time, he’d know exactly where he stood. No ideals. No blurred lines. Just power or weakness. And the choice between them. Clarity at the cost of his convictions. 

He glanced around the room again. It felt strangely empty, not in the physical sense, but in the Force. There were no traces of echoes, no lingering impressions, no sign that anyone had ever lived here before. Certainly not long enough to leave a mark.

He stood and moved slowly along the edges of the room, letting his fingers brush over the surfaces, reaching out with more than just touch. But there was nothing. A blank slate.

It was nothing like the cell. That place had been saturated in pain. The walls held it, echoed it. It clung to him, got into his lungs, under his skin. Maybe no one else had ever been there. Maybe it had all just been his own pain, folding in on itself, over and over, until he couldn't tell where it began or ended. Just noise.

He drew back from the memory and sat again on the bed. If he refused the Grand Inquisitor’s offer, he would go back to that place, to the darkness, the pain. And to what end? What did he have left to prove?

Protecting the children had given him purpose once. It had kept him strong and carried him through the worst of it.

But now?

The children were gone. Just names and faces, lost in the past.

As if in response to the thought, BD-1 finished his assessment of the room. He hopped up onto the bed beside Cal, chirping confidently and declaring the room unbugged and unmonitored.

Then he stilled.

Silent, unmoving and watching Cal with an intensity that felt almost too human. Like he was waiting.

Cal looked up slowly, meeting his gaze. Waiting too.

BD broke the silence first and let out a few short light and inquisitive beeps.

Cal’s shoulders sagged. “Umm... I don’t know.”

BD jostled a little as he replied with another series of sounds, this time sharper, more pointed.

“It means I don’t know, BD,” Cal replied, frustration edging into his voice. “I can barely think beyond the next minute right now.” As he spoke, he returned his head into his hands and scrunched his eyes shut behind them.

BD answered with a confused warble. A low, anxious hum followed, undercutting his earlier energy.

Cal clenched his fists and lowered them back into his lap. He needed to tell BD but couldn’t muster the energy to work out how to say it delicately.

“I didn’t pretend,” Cal said flatly.

There was a brief moment where BD seemed to be processing the answer. Trying to find some way of aligning it with his own data files but after a second BD exploded into noise and angry gestures, whistles and stuttering clicks rising in a chaotic, outraged flurry.

The noise took Cal aback.

“Please, listen.” Holding his hands up in a placating gesture as he said it. Trying to calm the furious droid down.

BD didn’t stop his tirade and only continued, his tone fierce and hurt.

Cal couldn’t listen to this. His own thoughts were loud enough, tangled and fraying at the edges, and BD’s frantic outburst was only making it worse.

“I know what I promised, BD. Force knows I know. But sometimes we make promises we can’t keep.” His rising to be heard over the din. His voice cracked, just slightly. “What I did, I did to protect them. Yes, they’ll die. But death isn’t the worst thing that could happen to those kids.” The words came out before he could soften them.

A disbelieving chirp. Then another, more urgent, more desperate.

“BD, please try to understand,” Cal said, his voice quieter now, but no less raw. “We don’t live in a galaxy that’s safe for them and nothing I can do will change that.”

BD made a small, sharp noise, high-pitched and accusing.

“I’m not giving up!” Cal snapped, louder than he meant to. “I’m picking my battles. I’m not going to die trying to save someone who would end up dead or worse anyway.”

A long pause

BD whirred quietly, processing. Then came a short burst of beeps as he turned away, limbs shifting with purpose as he made to jump down off the bed and make towards the door.

“No,” Cal said quickly. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

He reached out with the Force, holding BD in place mid jump. The droid whistled and beeped in protest, his limbs working frantically and uselessly in mid-air as he was held in place.

“They don’t trust me. They don’t believe me. You were there. They tried to kill me,” Cal said. His voice was quieter now, but it cut deeper. “You can’t contact them”

The droid froze. A low, glitched-sounding beep escaped him, followed by another softer stammering.

“I know this doesn’t make sense to you,” Cal went on. “But you see things too simply. Right and wrong. Ones and zeroes. It’s messier than that. I made the best choice I could.”

He exhaled; eyes locked on BD.

“Please. You trust me, don’t you?”

He couldn’t do this without BD. He needed him to understand. He couldn’t lose BD too

BD chirped low and long, tilting his head. Not quite agreement, but not rejection either.

Then a hesitant warble. What now?

“I don’t know,” Cal admitted. “I don’t even know what I’m dealing with yet. I... I need to work it out. Then we can figure out what to do next.”

A beat.

BD gave a soft chirp, uncertain but not unwilling. Then he climbed up beside Cal on the bed, nudging his little head against his side.

Another gentle sound.

Cal reached down, fingers curling lightly around the edge of BD’s frame.

“This isn’t forever.”

A confirming beep. Quiet. Sad

“No,” Cal whispered. “I’m not giving up.”

The memory of his first conversation with Trilla in that cell flashed through his mind, her voice, cold and unyielding.

“It’s only a matter of how much it will hurt before you do.”

Maybe this was his chance to pull himself out of the cycle of suffering. To be on top, for once.

What was he punishing himself for? He was just one person against an impossibly large and unyielding power. What did he owe the galaxy? Why should he keep bleeding for it?

Maybe he could survive here. Maybe he could even find something more than survival, some kind of purpose that wasn’t wrapped in the ideals of a dead order or the guilt of past failures. Maybe, for once, he could stop looking over his shoulder. Stop fighting just to stay alive.

It wouldn’t be freedom, but then again, when had it ever been?

He took a deep breath, the decision settling in his mind like a stone sinking into dark water.

It wasn’t surrender. Not yet.

It was survival. Plain and simple.

He would take what he could from the Inquisitors. Learn their tricks. Understand their methods. Keep his plans buried deep beneath the surface like a blade hidden in the dark.

He’d find his own way through this; he was done being on the backfoot. Done with retreat.

Whatever came next, he’d face it on his own terms.

It was time to take what he wanted.

Even if he had to step into the shadows to do it.

Trilla’s boots echoed sharply down the corridor, each step crisp against the cold metal floor. The air was always warm and stale, but she barely noticed anymore. Her path was automatic, she could navigate this fortress blind. So could Kestis, soon enough.

She savoured that thought. This moment. Her victory.

There had been a falter, a moment when she’d thought it might all fall apart. But her plan had held. She had known Cere. Known how her old master thought. A single whisper of doubt, one tremor of fear for what Cal might become... and she’d let him go.

Whatever had happened on that tree-choked world didn’t matter now. The outcome was all that counted.

The Grand Inquisitor’s fury at Cal’s escape had left scorch marks, metaphorically and otherwise. But she had endured it. Delivered the holocron and returned Cal to the fortress.  

Prickly anger rose in her as she thought about what she had sacrificed to get Cal and the Holocron. The Mantis had slipped away, again. And Trilla had let it happen for the sake of what she knew was expected of her.

Another sacrifice for the sake of the mission. Needs to be clear that she blames Cal for her having to give up the chase of Cere. It’s not actually his fault but she wasn’t going to let him or his childish nonsense get in her way again.

She deserved to be rewarded. And she would be.

She paused outside the door to her quarters and opened it with her code cylinder. The room beyond was exactly as she had left it. All the furnishings of high-ranking imperial quarters, but it was just the room she slept in, nothing more. Comfortless. Like everything here.

Cal wasn’t an Inquisitor. Not yet. Letting the droid stay had been a mistake. She had argued against it, pointed out how it had helped him escape once already. The creature was loyal. Dangerous in its own way. It clouded Kestis’s judgment. Gave him something to hold onto.

But the Grand Inquisitor had insisted. He wanted to watch.

Fine. Let him.

She had one more task to perform. One more part to this. 

She had been handed Cal’s training for now.

But then, once it was done, she could return to what mattered.

Hopefully Kestis was a fast learner.

Chapter Text

With his newfound focus Cal eventually settled down to sleep.

Even at the best of times he found it difficult to get comfortable before going to sleep, every overriding instinct told him that taking off his boots and getting into sleeping clothes would leave him overwhelmingly vulnerable. Here, the feeling was multiplied tenfold. Despite BDs scan of the room, he felt watched, like every movement put him at risk.

He wedged himself as far into the corner of the bed as he could , angled up so he could still see the door of the room and only then did he close his eyes.

He found the exhaustion overtook him quickly and despite the tension in his chest, he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

He drifted in and out, never quite sure if he was awake or not. Time slipped sideways, minutes felt like hours, hours felt like minutes. Every so often he would jolt awake, heart pounding and with no memory of what had startled him. The darkness around him felt heavy, as if just beyond it hungry eyes stood waiting and watching.

He lay still willing himself to sleep, but his thoughts never let go. Everything was quiet but nothing felt safe.

He was no stranger to insomnia. A veteran of not being able to sleep. BD knew that insomnia was an often occurrence for Cal and usually stayed quiet during those long nights, respecting Cal’s request to deal with it himself.

No this time though. After another jerk awake that left Cal propping himself up by his elbows while he heaved heavy breaths. BD-1 jumped up to his side and scanned him. Informing him with concern that he had an elevated heart rate.

“Sounds about right” Ca swung his feet around so they were on the floor and decided that this wasn’t going to work.

He slipped into what had become a habit for him when the insomnia came for him like this and moved to the middle of the room and knelt, closing his eyes, letting the familiar motions of meditation take over.

To his surprise, it was easier than the last time he had tried to meditate at the fortress, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, leaving his mind less clouded. The calm he usually sought was there, but it carried an edge, a newfound sense of strength that settled in his core. It wasn’t the soothing balm he was used to; it was a kind of determination, a certainty.

When he rose later he felt a newfound focus and his attention moved elsewhere.

He explored the room properly for the first time, taking stock of his new surroundings.

He peeked into the refresher and pressed some buttons to watch a stream of steaming water splash onto the cold floor. A real shower. No sonic.

“Not exactly short on water here, are we, BD?” he said with a smirk. Still trying his best to keep upbeat. The argument from yesterday was still heavy on his mind.

He rifled through the storage compartments, most of them empty, except for a medkit in one and in another he found a few neatly folded Imperial uniforms in another.

Cal’s jaw clenched, and he quickly shut the compartment door, refusing to linger on that particular sight. He wasn’t ready to put those on, not yet.

A low mechanical alert from the door interrupted his thoughts, followed by the mechanical chime of a security droid’s voice. It stood waiting outside, directing him to follow. 

He shot a look back at BD, moved to follow, but Cal held up a hand. “Stay here, BD. I’ll be back soon.” He couldn't risk pushing his luck with the droid, not yet. BD jingled softly; a tinge of disappointment unmistakeable.

“Yeah, good idea BD. I’ll make sure I’ll boot you back up when I get back”

The walk was a mix of dread and anticipation. As the doors slid open, Cal stepped into the wide-open room, its design eerily reminiscent of the training dojos on the Venator-class ship he grew up on. But instead of a Jedi insignia, the Imperial cog stared back at him, stamped on the walls as a reminder of everything that had changed. Steam hissed up from vents in the floor, heat radiating from the volcanic depths below. 

He took a few cautious steps into the dojo, senses straining for any hint of a trap. The air was thick with heat from the vents below, steam curling along the floor like serpents. He saw his lightsaber lying on the floor in the centre of the room right in front of him.

His instinct bristled before his mind caught up, he turned to look to his left just in time to see a purge trooper lunge at him, followed quickly by another from his right, their electrostaffs crackling with purple energy.

Cal immediately rolled out of the way further into the centre of the room and pulled his lightsaber towards him. It snapped into his hands and the Force sang as he ignited his lightsaber just in time to meet the first strike.

His blue blade clashed with the crackling energy of the staff, sending sparks flying. He twisted his body, barely sidestepping a thrust aimed for his chest, and brought his sabre around in a wide arc.

The troopers were fast, though, faster than he remembered. One side stepped the slash and countered with a sweeping blow that nearly caught his legs. Cal leapt back, his heels skidding on the smooth floor, heart pounding in his ears.

Their strikes came hard and fast, forcing him to constantly shift between blocking and countering. He lit the second side of his sabre to keep up. Every clash sent a shudder up his arms, his muscles already burning from the effort.

He deflected one staff strike to the side and followed up with a kick to the trooper’s midsection, but the impact felt like hitting a wall. The trooper staggered, but not nearly as much as he’d hoped. Its partner was on him before he could follow up, driving him back with a flurry of precise, heavy blows.

Cal gritted his teeth, spinning his lightsaber in a tight parry to knock the staff aside. He managed to shove one trooper back with the Force, but the move was clumsy, draining more energy than it should have.

His focus wavered, and a sharp crack across his ribs sent pain lancing through his side. He gasped, stumbling back, barely managing to keep his guard up as both troopers pressed their advantage. His ribs had barely recovered from his last encounter with purge troopers. He realised with a surge of anger that they were probably deliberately targeting the weakness

More shadows shifted at the edges of the room. Two, then three, then four more Purge Troopers emerged, forming a loose ring around him. Cal's pulse quickened as the circle tightened.

Desperate to buy himself some time he reached out with the force and slowed the approach of one of them, but as he tried to keep going to extend the field to the others one of them lurched forward and caught him on the shoulder.

Yelling in pain, he whipped his lightsaber around, both ends humming with dangerous power. He deflected another strike aimed at his head, but his movements were slowing, each swing heavier than the last. He tried to use the Force again, reaching out to stagger the newcomers, but only managed to push one back a few steps. The rest closed in.

He pulled them close using the Force, hoping to strike fast and hard, but they moved as one, coordinated and relentless. All he had succeeded in doing was pulling the danger closer to him. He jumped up and flipped over their head to break their enclosure and turned quickly to attack from behind. 

He slashed low at one trooper’s legs, then pivoted to drive the next one back with a shoulder barge. He aimed a Force push at a third, but the effort was sloppy, only managing to unbalance the trooper for a second before they recovered.

He had to keep moving, slipping between them, trying to break through their defences, but they adapted to his rhythm, their teamwork impeccable. Before he knew it, he was encircled again. He was unable to get a good hit in, so preoccupied with making sure none of theirs landed. 

They began to drive him into the centre of the room, leaving him less space to manoeuvre. Every time he tried to break free, another trooper cut off his path, forcing him back into the fray. Their staffs struck in tandem, a relentless barrage that rattled his bones with each block. He dropped into a roll under a wide sweep, slicing upward at a trooper’s exposed shoulder, but his lightsaber barely glanced off the armour, his desperate slash not having enough power behind it. He cursed under his breath, sweat dripping into his eyes, blurring his vision.

Cal felt his frustration building, turning to desperation as he pivoted to deflect another barrage of strikes. He drove his sabre down in a powerful overhead slash, but one of the troopers caught the blow on their staff, pushing back with surprising strength. His muscles screamed in protest as he tried to press down, but the trooper shoved him off-balance, forcing him back. A staff swept in, catching him in the thigh. Pain flared through his leg, nearly dropping him to one knee.

He twisted desperately, his sabre carving an arc in front of him to ward off the assault, but the troopers pressed in, their taunts seeping into the space between breaths.

“Getting tired, Jedi?”

Cal gritted his teeth against the mocking voices, his frustration boiling over.

He felt like he was drowning, surrounded, every movement coming just a fraction too late.

He ducked a swing aimed for his head, then thrust his sabre into the gap between a trooper’s armour plates. The blade sank in, and the trooper dropped, but even before he could pull free, another took his place. He spun to face them, but a staff cracked against his shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through his arm.

The room spun around him, steam hissing from the vents beneath his feet, heat rising like a wave. He tried to focus, to regain his rhythm, but every muscle screamed at him, every breath burned in his chest. He’d been fighting defensively for so long, trying to outlast, trying to endure, but it wasn’t enough. Not this time. They were wearing him down, chipping away at him, and he could feel the glee in their masked faces as they realised it too.

“Is this it, Jedi?” one taunted, his voice harsh through the helmet. 

No.

He had come too far. He had survived too much. He wasn’t going to be beaten here, in some Imperial pit, by faceless troopers who didn’t even know his name. His hands ached from the impact of every block, his arms screamed under the weight of their relentless assault.

Then the anger surged. The burning, raw, untamed energy swelled inside him, so much stronger than the fragile patience of the Jedi. He could hear his heart hammering against his ribs, could feel the blood roaring in his ears, drowning out the taunts.

Why am I still holding back?

And as quickly as he thought it, he stopped holding back. The air shook as the Force exploded outward, slamming into the troopers with the force of a wave. They stumbled, their movements slowing as if wading through thick syrup. Cal leapt forward, a whirlwind of motion. He was no longer content to defend, he went on the attack, his lightsaber a blur of blue light as he cut through them with brutal efficiency.

He darted past a slowed trooper, slicing through its leg with a savage precision. The next trooper barely managed to raise their staff before he drove one sabre through their chest. He felt the rush of power thrumming in his veins, fuelling every strike, every leap. He ran along the wall, coming down with a slash that bisected a trooper cleanly, landing amidst their confused ranks like a bolt of lightning.

Time snapped back into place, but the confusion in the troopers’ ranks left them scrambling. Cal tore through them like a storm, giving no quarter, no mercy. He hurled one trooper into the wall with a Force push, revelling in the sound of their spine snapping on impact. Another he sent tumbling over the edge into the fiery depths below, their scream swallowed by the roar of steam.

He cut through the last of them with a final, vicious swing, panting hard as the echoes of the battle faded. He stood alone amidst the bodies, the silence almost deafening. His chest heaved with each breath, sweat dripping down his face, but no more troopers emerged from the shadows.

For the moment, he was safe, but the realisation brought little relief.

Cal slumped against the cold metal wall of his room, his hands still shaking as he tried to catch his breath. His lightsaber hilt felt heavy on his belt, a reminder of what he’d just done. Maybe that’s why they let him keep it.

A wave of revulsion consumed him as he fought with the urge to throw it. To get it away from him.

He pressed his palms against his face, feeling the heat still radiating from his skin, but the touch only made him more aware of how exposed he felt. He couldn’t scrub it away; it was inside him now.

It was quiet in his room, just the steady buzz of the overhead lights.

His gaze fell on BD-1, perched on the shelf where he’d left him earlier. The droid’s lights were dim, his frame still and lifeless in low-power mode. Cal had told him he’d turn him back on as soon as he got back, but really, he couldn’t stand the thought of BD seeing him like this.

BD meant everything to Cal in ways he couldn’t quite put into words. But BD was a droid, logical, methodical. He saw the world in terms of problems to solve, things to fix.

Trying to explain what churned inside Cal felt impossible. BD would analyse, rationalise, and offer solutions that sounded simple but cut too close. Those “solutions” didn’t feel like help; they felt like accusations, reprimands for not doing more. He wasn’t ready for that, not now. He didn’t want to do the right thing, or maybe he couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure anymore. But trying to explain that, even to BD, would mean confronting the mess in his own head.

He curled his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground himself in the rough texture, but it wasn’t working. His mind kept drifting back to the dojo. He knew enough of how the Inquisitors operated.

What if he had just handed them everything they wanted just by joining the fight?

The thought made his chest tighten with panic. He could almost hear the Grand Inquisitor’s voice, calm and cutting, picking apart his actions, analysing every lapse in focus. Cal's fingers twitched, he ran his hands through his hair, just for something to do with them.

He tried to reassure himself that he was safe here, relatively, at least. He had earned some measure of trust after he had opened the holocron, but it felt like a precarious balance, like he was one wrong move away from everything collapsing. The pressure was suffocating, and every time he felt even a little bit of the old Cal, the one who still believed in hope, clawing back to the surface, he felt the fear claw at him too.

“Keep it together,” he muttered under his breath, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead until it ached. His voice wavered, even though there was no one here to hear it.

But even as he spoke the words, he knew it wasn’t that simple. He’d always been good at compartmentalising, at pushing the fear down, but now it felt like it was seeping into everything.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing, trying to calm the storm inside him, but all he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat, the fear that he was losing his grip.

You’re alone, the thought whispered through his mind, as insidious as the darkness that lingered at the edge of his senses. And they’ll use that. They always do. 

Cal pressed his forehead against his knees, trying to stifle the shuddering breath that slipped past his lips. For a moment, he wished he could just let go, let the darkness swallow him whole, anything to stop the torment. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready to give up the last pieces of himself yet, even if it hurt more to hold onto them.

When he finally looked up, BD-1’s still form caught his eye, he considered getting up and switching him back on, wanting the comfort of the droid’s familiar presence. But he hesitated.

“Just... give me a second, BD,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Just... I need a minute.”

He let his hand drop back into his lap, curling his fingers back into fists. He was still shaking.

BD remained silent. 

He closed his eyes and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t alone. He stayed like that for a moment almost waiting for someone to say something, to interrupt his dark thoughts, to talk him down.

But there was only the hum of the overhead lights.

Chapter Text

“You're responsible for yourself” Trilla said as she stalked down a hallway, Cal keeping step beside her. “If you lose too badly in the dojo, the medbay’s down this hall.” She didn’t bother slowing to point it out.

BD was curled quietly on his back, silent but alert, and certainly logging. Cal could feel the droid’s worry in the faint clicks and hums against his spine. A few passing troopers glanced at them but said nothing. No one stopped them. No alarms, no cuffs. Just him, walking freely beside Trilla. It felt wrong.

She reached into her pocket and handed him a set of code cylinders. He slowed, staring at them in his palm, fingers curled tight around the unfamiliar weight. Not stolen, not hacked or pried off a dead body. His. They meant access. Permission. Trust maybe, or surveillance.

Trilla turned halfway down the corridor, her voice dry. “When you’re done having an existential crisis about your keycard.”

He pocketed it, wordless and quickened his step to catch up with her.

She showed him the mess hall next. “This is where we eat,” she said. The word ‘we’ scraped against him like grit in a wound. He hated how it just seemed to be decided that he was a part of this now and he especially hated that he seemed to be going along with it.

The mess hall was smaller than he would have expected. Featureless, boxy, built with the same dull steel as everything else in the Fortress. The lighting was cold and even, the gloomy depths beyond the transparisteel walls filled the room with a green light at odds with the shiny black tables. A few narrow tables welded to the floor, stood in rigid lines. There were no chairs, just attached benches, and no smell of food. No movement. No sound. Just a room.

It was… boring.

He wasn’t sure what he'd expected. Some kind of evil lair, maybe, red lighting, bones in the corner, something grotesque to match the reputation. But it was just… this. 

He found that more unsettling than bloodstains might’ve been.

BD made a faint, noncommittal beep. Cal had no answer for it. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping to see, maybe something that would at least feel honest about what this place was.

He broke from his thoughts and peered around a bit more, walking back over to the door and poking his head out to the corridor.

“Where are all the other Inquisitors?” he asked, scanning the empty corridor as they moved on.

It was something he’d noticed as he had left his room that he never saw other inquisitors around. There were no other quarters near his. It felt distinctly like he had been isolated out, kept separate. 

“Elsewhere.”

“Where’s elsewhere?”

“That’s not for you to be concerned about” Trilla stopped, turned to face him fully. Her voice was still calm, but the edge had returned. “Ask again, and I’ll revoke your access and you can eat with the troopers.”

He didn’t push it. 

He hadn’t seen many troopers since his first time in the dojo, but he wasn't keen to start having to rub shoulders with them constantly. They didn't seem the forgiving type. 

As the mess hall doors hissed shut behind him, he kept his gaze forward but the weight of the code cylinders in his pockets reminded him again: this was a test. Everything here was. 

Cal’s life at the Fortress settled into a grim routine after those first few days.

He would wake up, force himself to eat something from the tasteless rations provided, and then make his way to the dojo. The sterile halls of the fortress had a way of stripping away any sense of time, each day blurring into the next, but Cal clung to the rhythm as best he could. It was better than letting the uncertainty get to him.

It hadn’t taken long for him to give in to wearing the Imperial uniform. After one gruelling training session, followed by a night spent waking up in a cold sweat, he’d decided he needed to change. When he returned to his quarters later that day, his old clothes were gone. The choice had been made for him.

He told himself it didn’t matter. Besides, he had to admit, having a constant supply of clean, perfectly laundered clothes was convenient. It wasn’t the comfort itself that unsettled him, but how easily he accepted it once he stopped resisting. Small concessions were easy to make. Too easy.

The dojo itself was a different story. It was a place that demanded focus. He would stand in the centre of the room, waiting for the next opponent, while the hot air prickled at his skin. Sometimes, it was purge troopers, their stun batons crackling as they charged him. Other times, droids with vibroblades or blasters. Occasionally, another Inquisitor would be waiting, eager to test themselves against him. Those days were the hardest.

Cal barely brought his sabre up to deflect the blow in time.

Any thought that Trilla might go easier on him if it was just a training session were long gone. Cal caught it in time, his blade screeching against hers as he stepped back to create distance. 

“Too slow,” Trilla sneered, pressing forward with relentless momentum. Her sabre came down in rapid, calculated swings, forcing him to block each one, his arms trembling from the force of her strikes

Cal could feel a dark presence lingering at the edges of his mind, like a shadow creeping closer with every swing of his blade. It whispered to him, tempting him to stop hesitating, to strike harder and faster. He tried to ignore it at first, focusing on his breathing and the flow of combat. But it was always there, urging him to push through the pain and fear, to use his anger and frustration to fuel his strikes.

It got easier and easier each time. But he refused to give in immediately. Like with the questions and the chair. He knew it was an inevitability but couldn't quite bring himself to run straight to it. He had to hold the line somehow. 

He jumped backwards and ran back to the other side of the room grabbing the wall as he ran along it to clear the large gap in the floor. The distance gave him small respite from the attacks as she slowly stalked towards him.

You know what this is. He told himself, panting and sore, his knuckles white from his grip on his hilt. He pushed the voice away though. It didn’t matter now.

He turned to face her and took a run up before flipping into the air to strike downwards from above. It was a desperate move that was unlikely to catch her off guard, but it had served him well in fights with her before. At the very least it took effort on her part to parry the blow.

“The same old tricks” she said, punctuating her words with a powerful downward slash. Cal parried it and darted to the side, his boots skidding slightly on the smooth floor.

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” he shot back, twisting to avoid a thrust aimed at his ribs. 

Her laughter was sharp and cruel. “For now.”

Trust only in the Force. The words echoed in his mind as he struggled to control his emotions. They had taken on a sinister new meaning for him; trust only in the Force, all of the Force, both sides of it. But what was he trusting anymore? The Force didn’t feel like it once had. It pulled at him with a violence he didn’t recognise, urged him to strike, to dominate. Maybe it hadn't changed.

Maybe he had.

Cal adjusted his grip, splitting his sabre into two. The change seemed to catch Trilla off guard for a moment, her step faltering as he lunged forward. His twin blades danced in quick succession, one angled toward her midsection while the other aimed for her shoulder. She blocked them both with a flourish of her own weapon, the force of the clash sending sparks flying.

“And here I thought you might finally commit to a style,” she taunted, pushing him back with a sudden, ferocious swing. “But you’re still fumbling between stances like a padawan trying to impress his Master.”

Cal growled, the tension in his chest tightening like a coiled spring. He spun his dual blades in a defensive arc, using the momentum to steady himself. 

“It’s called adaptability,” he countered.

“It’s called indecision,” she snapped, stepping into his guard. Her blade locked against his, and with a brutal twist of her wrists, she began to drive one of his own sabres down toward his chest. “Do you even know what you’re doing, or are you just making it up as you go?”

She disengaged and pivoted, slamming her knee into his stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs, and he staggered back, gasping for breath. She didn’t give him time to recover, pressing forward with a series of vicious strikes that forced him onto the defensive. 

On the back foot and with every certainty that she wouldn’t relent, he finally let the dark energy flood him, guiding his hands and sharpening his senses to a razor’s edge. It was like stepping into an icy stream, shocking at first, but then… clarity. Certainty. The fog of his hesitation cleared, and his thoughts were sharp and unwavering

Cal’s movements were a blur of precision and ferocity, his blade slashing through the air with a power that felt almost unnatural, but he didn’t care, it felt right. 

When Trilla tried to counter, lunging low in an attempt to regain control, Cal slammed one of his hilts into her wrist with bone-crunching force. Her sabre fell, the crimson glow sputtering as she stumbled, but he gave her no chance to recover. He surged forward, kicking her hard in the chest and sending her sprawling across the floor.

The anger coursing through him was electric, fuelling every movement with precision and purpose. The doubt that so often crept into his mind was gone, this was clarity, this was freedom. He felt invincible.

Trilla raised her blade again, her form more defensive now. He feinted high, forcing her guard up, before twisting his wrist and slashing low, the edge of his blade grazing her armour with a hiss. The smell of scorched plastoid filled the air as she recoiled, and he followed, relentless, his strikes raining down like a storm.

Why would anyone fight against it. Why hold back when this power was right there, making him more formidable, letting him strike down his enemies without hesitation? What good was inner peace when you were constantly on the brink of death? 

The dark side whispered to him, urging him to finish it, to end her, and for a fleeting moment, he meant to. He had an opening while she reeled from the hit, but he hesitated. Suddenly she seemed so very human, and he caught a glimmer of fear in her eyes. 

She saw his hesitation and jumped on it. Summoning her sabre back into her hand and jumping forward at him with eye watering speed. But as Trilla’s blade came down again, forcing him to drop to one knee to block it, a spark of anger ignited in his chest. 

He threw out his hand and yelled as he pushed out at her with the Force. She did the same and they were both sent reeling backwards.

Cal slid along the dojo floor towards the steaming pits in the floor. One of his sabres had gone flying out of his hand but the other he dug into the floor to stop him flying off the edge. His momentum swung him around and in one movement he jumped back up charging at Trilla with one sabre and summoning the other to his hand as he sprinted forward. She charged forward and met his attack with her own sabre leaving them in a blade lock.

Their eyes met for just a moment as a smile crossed her face and, in his fury, he did exactly what she was goading him to do and pushed forward using the Force. She took the opportunity and yanked him forward with her own connection and stepped to the side leaving him to be thrown into the floor with a sickening crunch.

His breath left him as his sabres flew out of his hands and slid across the room, she swung her blade down and held it at his chest, just below his chin as he stilled.

“Only you could take on more power and have it make you a worse fighter,” she sneered, her tone dripping with condescension. He didn’t answer. No comeback came to him, just a tight silence that lingered even after she was gone.

The other Inquisitors were no easier to deal with.

He crossed paths with the Seventh Sister first. She fought with her cold precision, using an array of droids as backup.

A stab of annoyance hit him when he saw that she was using them, he was told that he couldn’t have BD but she could use droids. Cal couldn’t help but wonder if she had chosen those particular droids to unsettle him, a reminder of BD’s absence at his side. He shoved the thought away, focusing on the fight, but it nagged at him all the same.

The Fifth Brother, by contrast, fought with brute force. When it was his turn to face Cal, the dojo felt suffocating, the walls seeming to close in with every heavy swing of the Fifth Brother’s sabre. Each strike was relentless, meant to overpower rather than outmanoeuvre. Cal’s ached with the effort of blocking and parrying, his muscles straining under the sheer weight of the onslaught.

“Still standing?” the Fifth Brother growled, his voice laced with grudging respect. “Maybe you’re not as weak as you look.”

Cal didn’t bother with a retort. Instead, he spun low, slicing at the Fifth Brother’s legs and forcing him to leap back. The move bought Cal a moment’s reprieve, but it was fleeting. The Fifth Brother charged again, his strikes growing more reckless. Cal’s own attacks became sharper, more brutal, fuelled by a dark clarity that cut through his exhaustion. He could feel the dark side guiding his movements, sharpening his instincts. It wasn’t just power, it was survival. And he needed it.

The Eighth Brother brought a different kind of danger. His fighting style was fast, unpredictable, like trying to fight a whirlwind. He danced around Cal with acrobatic precision, his spinning lightsabre creating a deadly blur of red. Cal’s frustration mounted as the Eighth Brother stayed just out of reach, darting in to strike before retreating just as quickly.

“You’re slow, Jedi,” the Eighth Brother sneered, emphasizing the word like an insult.

The jab hit its mark. Cal surged forward with a snarl, his blade cutting through the air in a flurry of attacks that forced the Eighth Brother to retreat. But even as Cal gained the upper hand, he felt the familiar prickle of unease. The Eighth Brother’s grin was too smug, his movements too measured. Was he holding back? Testing him, like the others?

They were training, yes, but it wasn’t about teaching him. It was about assessing him, measuring his worth, or his threat. Cal could see it in their glances, in the way they seemed to communicate without words. They were deciding if he belonged here, if he was one of them, or if he was better off dead.

“What is the plan here?” he asked Trilla one day, after another frustrating session that felt like nothing but relentless attacks.

“Training,” Trilla replied without looking at him.

He frowned. “What kind of training?”

“The kind you need.”

“Right now, it just feels like you’re trying to kill me,” he muttered. “So forgive me for being a little concerned.”

“Sorry it’s not meeting your high expectations,” she replied, dry as sand. After a beat, she stopped walking and turned slightly toward him, as if weighing whether it was worth saying more. “The dark side is easy to tap into. Difficult to control. You need to learn control. The way to do that is practice.”

He grimaced at the mention of the dark side. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer I called it something softer?” She turned fully to face him, expression suddenly sharp. “You already know what this is. You feel it. You just don’t like admitting it.”

He looked away but Trilla continued relentlessly,

“You don’t get to act like you’re better than me just because you feel bad calling it what it is,” she said, her voice low now, deliberate. “You might be content to live in denial. But the rest of us live in the real world. And when you’re ready to join us there, we can talk about ‘other training.’”

He saw the Third Sister once or twice, a human woman who always seemed to keep her distance from the dojo. She would watch the training sessions from the viewing platform, her expression guarded, and he got the sense that she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. He wasn’t about to start questioning her reasons. The last thing he needed was more enemies among the Inquisitors.

BD never came with him to the dojo, but returning to his quarters afterward became the highlight of Cal’s days. BD would be waiting, beeping excitedly as he showed Cal updated sections of the Fortress maps he had been sneaking around to compile. Sometimes, he would manage to swipe a stim or two, and he’d hop back and forth as he explained how he’d outwitted some medical droid to get them. 

Cal found himself laughing despite everything, BD’s antics a brief respite from the weight pressing down on him. Using stims when the Grand Inquisitor had explicitly prohibited them gave him that little rush of conspiratorial rebellion that he craved. But beneath the laughter, a flicker of worry gnawed at him. BD was taking risks, pushing boundaries in a place that didn’t tolerate disobedience. Cal knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell BD to stop. If he didn’t it meant he was still pushing back, not just going along with it all. A part of him was still resisting the fortress’s grip, and it felt good to know that BD was too. 

Yet, as he lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling of his quarters, the unease would creep back in, a cold pit in his stomach. He could feel the dark side growing stronger around him, curling closer like a shadow. He told himself that he could keep it at bay, that he was in control. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. And he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

Trilla usually accompanied him back to his room, offering criticism with every step.

“You need to control yourself,” she said as they exited the dojo, her tone clipped. Their boots echoed in the corridor, a steady rhythm between sharp words. “Blind anger won’t get you anywhere. Stop letting it rule you and start ruling it-”

Cal rolled his eyes and cut her off. “How come the Seventh Sister’s allowed to use droids and I’m not?”

She sighed, barely breaking stride. “You’re not an Inquisitor. So you don’t get Inquisitor privileges.”

He glanced sideways at her. “So when do I become one?”

“When you prove yourself.”

“How do I do that?”

She threw him a look, one brow raised.

“You’re very keen all of a sudden. Funny. I seem to remember someone saying he’d rather die than give me what I wanted.”

“If you want me to become an Inquisitor,” Cal said, voice tight, “then why aren’t you helping me?”

“I am helping you,” she snapped, cold and final. “Far more than you deserve.”

“Doesn’t feel like help.”

She turned to face him with narrowed eyes. “You really are exhausting, you know that?”

He didn’t rise to the bait this time, just kept walking, jaw clenched. “How do I prove myself?”

“That would be telling.”

“So you’re not going to tell me.”

“If I tell you how to prove yourself, then you would just do it. You have to mean it.”

“Mean what?!”

“Temper,” she said flatly, not bothering to look at him. “Control. Remember?”

They turned a corner, and the door to the interrogation chamber loomed ahead, dark, sealed, silent. Cal didn’t break stride, but his stomach twisted. He didn’t want to know if his access included that room.

It all felt like a trap. Every answer. Every silence.

Cal ate alone. When he made his way to the canteen and didn't often see others there. When he did, he usually turned and left before they noticed him and he would determine to come back later.

He sat on his own and tried to think of nothing while he ate. 

Still, every time he took a bite, he couldn’t help but think of Greez’s cooking back on the Mantis. It was a pang he tried to ignore, but the memories slipped through anyway. He could practically smell the spicy stews and see the way Greez would hover over the stove, muttering to himself as he added just the right amount of herbs. But now, those memories were tainted, stained with grief and suspicion. He couldn’t think of those days without the ache of loss, even though he knew, or at least, he was pretty sure, that his old crew wasn’t dead. 

Yet, it was a kind of mourning all the same. He grieved for what he’d thought they had been, for the bond he’d wanted so desperately to believe in. But now, in the cold halls of the fortress, he saw it all more clearly. 

Cal tried to remember the good moments without the bitterness creeping in, but he couldn’t do it. He wanted to remember Greez’s cooking without thinking about how they’d ended up fighting for their lives because of his debts. He wanted to think of Cere’s guidance without the gnawing doubt that she saw him as a means to an end. And Merrin... after he had brought her on board, helped her get rid of Malicos, she had been first in line to throw accusations.

Maybe in another life, they could have been something more, maybe he could have been something more. He had liked her, liked what she had brought to their little group, and there had been a time when he’d hoped she might find a place with them. But that life wasn’t real, and there was no point in imagining it. They were gone. Whether they were alive or not, they were as good as dead to him. And he wasn’t going to let himself be hurt by them any more.

He had the freedom to come and go from his quarters, but that freedom had limits. The fortress was a maze of sealed-off sections and blast doors, restricting him to only a few corridors. Every time he encountered a locked door, the idle threats about BD's safety would echo through his mind, reminding him not to push his luck. He knew he could probably figure out the layout, especially with BD’s help, but that was a risk he wasn’t ready to take.

He grew to confirm what he had suspected quite early that despite the illusion of freedom to come and go as he pleased, there was a very deliberate corner of the fortress that he could access.

He couldn’t operate the lifts that would take him to the surface. BD offered to slice the controls and for a moment Cal did consider it. But what would be the point? He didn’t plan on leaving. He stood frozen for a long time staring at the scomp connection wondering how far they would get before they were stopped.

The disconnection with the rest of the galaxy had crept up on him slowly, and then when he stood at the lift he tried to remember what it was like out there.

Somewhere there was sunshine. He knew that rationally, maybe even right now it was beaming down onto the ocean surface of Nur, glistening on the water and warming the thin surface of the ocean above. Maybe it was the kind of water that he would have wanted to swim in, but the thought didn’t stir anything. It just didn’t seem real, like someone else describing a dream to him.

He wasn’t there anymore. He was down here, deep beneath the surface and it didn’t matter what the weather was above. He could barely remember what it felt like to not be underwater, to not be swallowed by the depths, to feel anything other than the stillness in his chest where the sun used to reach.

Chapter Text

If Cal had been restless since arriving at the fortress, BD had been even more so. The little droid chirped and whirred around the place, scanning the walls, making a map of the space, cataloguing every sensor and surveillance point he could find. It was almost comforting to watch, like old times when they explored new planets together. But it felt different, more desperate. Cal could see BD’s concern, every time Cal would come back from the dojo he would jump down and start scanning. Sometimes he got injured but it was nothing serious, he had had worse.

Cal sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his quarters. BD was perched on his knee, his lens tilted upward, projecting a very thorough map of the fortress onto the far wall.

“You’ve been busy,” Cal said quietly, watching BD’s lights flicker as the droid beeped in reply. “You think you’ll find something we missed?”

BD chirped, the sound insistent and questioning.

Cal let out a hollow laugh. “I know you think we should be trying to get out of here. You think I’ve lost it, don’t you?”

BD emitted a soft warble.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not like we’ve got options. At least here... I know what I’m dealing with.” He rested his head back against the wall. “No more running. No more pretending I can be what I was. Just... focus.”

BD’s pitch rose sharply, like a warning.

“I’m not saying I like it,” Cal said quickly. “But it’s something. It’s... structure.”

BD whistled, clipped and disapproving.

“I get it.” Cal ran a hand through his hair. “But it’s not like I’m turning into one of them. I’m just… learning. That’s all.”

He hesitated.

“It’s like a muscle,” he said finally. “The more I use it, the more it makes sense. The more I need-” He looked at BD. “You know, I'm not half bad at fighting, you've been with me long enough to know that. I'm just expanding what I know how to do”

BD trilled in alarm.

“I’m not saying I want to be an Inquisitor,” Cal snapped. “I just... What other choice do I have?”

 The droid let out a quiet, mournful tone, and Cal looked away.  He rubbed a hand across his face. 

“But what do you want me to do? Fight my way out again? Where would we even go? Back to… them?”

BD beeped softly, almost tentatively, but Cal’s expression soured.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone colder now. “I don’t want to talk about the crew. They’re not part of this anymore. They wouldn’t understand.”

BD let out a low, mournful sound, and Cal closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

“They left me,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “And I don’t… I don’t want to think about it.”

BD’s next series of chirps came slowly, carefully, but the urgency in their tone was unmistakable.

He let out a dry laugh. 

“It’s not what you think. Everyone says it’s supposed to make you angry, hate-filled, consumed with rage or whatever. But it doesn’t feel like that, BD.” He glanced at the little droid, whose lens was fixed on him, unwavering. “It feels… good. Like I can breathe for the first time in years. Like I’m finally strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

BD whistled sharply, almost like a reprimand.

“I know,” Cal said, his voice tight. “I know it’s wrong. But what if the Jedi got it wrong too? What if balance is about both sides? What if…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. You’re programmed to explore, to always look for a way out. But not everything’s a map you can just chart your way through.”

BD trilled a sharp response, his tone almost scolding.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Cal said, his voice softening. “Keep mapping, scanning, whatever helps you feel like we’re still moving forward. I’ll figure out the rest. I just…” He hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. “I need to feel like this, whatever this is, isn’t all bad. Even if it is. I know you want to help,” Cal muttered, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “But it’s not that simple this time.”

BD beeped insistently, the tone rising as if to argue, urging Cal not to give up hope. The droid had always been the optimistic one between them, and Cal couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as he responded.

“Look how well that turned out last time,” he said bitterly, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I ended up back in a cell, BD. I don’t want you getting caught... or worse.”

BD let out a series of clicks that almost sounded like a protest, and Cal sighed, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to forbid BD from exploring the fortress. He knew the little droid too well, BD was stubborn, just like him.  And in the back of his mind, Cal couldn't deny that a part of him clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, BD would find something that could give them an edge.

Days went by like this, BD disappearing for hours during the day, returning with fragments of data, maps of patrol routes, and snippets of encrypted communications. Each time BD returned, he couldn't shake the knot of anxiety in his gut. 

BD only chirped softly in response, nuzzling against Cal's leg before scampering off to another corner of the room. Cal sighed, feeling a strange mixture of pride and dread. He couldn’t help but admire the little droid’s spirit, but he knew it was only a matter of time before BD pushed too far.

The dojo’s sweltering, dark walls closed in around him as he faced off against the Second Sister. Her strikes were brutal and unrelenting, each one aimed with a precision that forced him to react on instinct alone. Sweat slicked his palms as their sabers clashed, the red glow of hers cutting through the shadows.

“You know,” Trilla said, her tone sharp and cutting as her sabre hissed against his, “your little droid has been causing quite the stir.”

Cal’s grip tightened on his lightsaber, his heart plummeting. He forced his face to remain blank, but the panic that seized his chest was harder to suppress.

He pushed back with all his strength, shoving her blade aside and stepping into an aggressive counterattack.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bit out, his voice low and strained.

Trilla parried with ease, her movements almost leisurely compared to his frantic strikes. Her helmet tilted just slightly, and though her face was hidden, he could hear the cruel smirk in her voice.

“Oh, you don’t? Then maybe it’ll come as a surprise to hear that he’s been... detained.”

Her next strike was faster, harder, and Cal barely managed to block in time. Sparks flew as their blades clashed, his arm shaking from the impact. He tried to focus, but her words echoed in his mind, crowding out his thoughts. BD, detained.

Trilla advanced again, driving him back with a relentless series of blows.

“He’s a persistent little thing, isn’t he?” she continued, her voice mocking. “Stealing medical supplies, sneaking into restricted areas. Did you think no one would notice?”

His hearing sounded muffled, like he was suddenly underwater. He had tried to warn BD off being so brazen when he went off to explore.  But when the little droid had returned with supplies Cal hadn’t asked for, he’d laughed. Thanked him. Let it slide.

He’d been worried, sure. But he hadn’t stopped him.

Couldn’t stop him.

BD had only been trying to help.

And now he’d been caught.

“You’re lying,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. There was something in her tone, in the way she relished every word, that felt too deliberate to be a bluff. “He wouldn’t- he couldn’t-”

“Oh, but he did,” Trilla interrupted smoothly, spinning her sabre in a tight arc that forced him back another step. She lunged, her blade slashing low, and Cal barely twisted out of the way in time. “Perhaps the Grand Inquisitor will find a use for him after all.”

His muscles locked before he could stop them, the Grand Inquisitor’s name turning his blood to ice. They wouldn’t destroy him, would they? No, they’d do worse. They’d dissect him, tear him apart for information, all those hours sat talking to BD, sharing some of his deepest fears and thoughts flashed through his mind and his blood ran cold with dread. 

Trillas blade came down in a sharp, diagonal arc, and Cal's lightsaber barely rose in time to meet it. The clash jarred his wrists, vibrating up into his shoulders like a strike against stone, his grip faltering. He staggered back, his balance was precarious and Trilla was relentless. Her blade swung again, a blur of crimson, but this time the blow nearly sent him to the ground. Cal scrambled, his boots slipping against the polished floor as he struggled to keep up.

He tried to focus but his mind was a whirl of panic. He never should have let BD go off alone.

Cal’s chest heaved as he fought to keep up, his movements growing more desperate with each exchange.

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think clearly. Every time he tried to strategize, to find an opening, the image of BD being torn apart filled his mind.

His droid, his companion, his last real connection to who he used to be, it was too much to lose. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find BD.

“You’re distracted,” she taunted, her voice cutting through the sound of clashing sabres. 

“Shut up!” he snarled, swinging wildly. Trilla sidestepped with infuriating ease, her saber cutting a cruel arc that skimmed too close to his shoulder. He stumbled, catching himself just in time to block her next attack. His muscles burned, his vision blurred, but he couldn’t afford to lose. Yielding wasn’t an option, not here. Yielding meant punishment and pain, but he had to find a way to end this, fast.

Trilla wasn’t going to let that happen. She could see his desperation, his fear, and she revelled in it. Every strike came with renewed vigour. She wasn’t just fighting him; she was punishing him.

His mind spiraled, a storm of dread and helpless urgency. His body moved on instinct, blocking and dodging where he could, but it was getting harder to keep up.

“Pathetic,” she spat, her blade crashing into his with enough force to jar his grip loose. “You’re not even trying. This doesn't end until I say it does”

He couldn’t think straight. He could barely breathe. He needed to get out, needed to find BD. Every second he spent here felt like a second closer to losing him. He swung again, a desperate, clumsy attack that she dodged with ease.

“You’re scared,” she said, her voice almost gleeful. “And you seemed to have learnt nothing. You could end this quickly if you just used your fear and anger properly instead of letting it rule you like a child” 

Her words barely registered, muffled and distant, drowned beneath the thundering panic in his mind.

He wasn’t about to take advice from her, not now, not ever. Rational thought was slipping away, overtaken by a primal need for escape. His heart pounded in his ears, his vision narrowing as his mind raced, frantic for a solution.

Desperation clouded his judgment. He let her next strike come too close, miscalculating the distance. The mistake cost him. Trilla’s movement was swift and brutal; she saw the opening and didn’t hesitate. The side of her lightsaber’s hilt slammed into his face with bone-crunching force, the sharp crack echoing in the chamber.

Cal staggered backward, the impact sending him to the ground hard. Pain erupted in his skull, radiating through his face like a supernova. His hands instinctively shot to his nose, but the warm, wet sensation spreading across his fingers told him what he already knew. Blood poured freely, hot and thick, dripping down his lips and chin, staining his shirt and the floor beneath him. The metallic taste filled his mouth, choking him as he gasped for air.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Above him, Trilla loomed, her figure dark and imposing, her crimson blade casting a hellish glow over his bloodied face. The hum of her sabre was deafening, the weapon hovering dangerously close to him, its heat prickling his skin.

For a fleeting second, the thought of surrender crossed his mind. He could drop his sabre, stop fighting, let it end. 

“Get up,” she ordered, her voice cold as ice, slicing through the haze of pain. “Unless you’re giving up. But we both know what happens if you do.”

It was true, he did know what would happen. Yielding wouldn’t bring mercy. It wouldn’t end anything. If anything, it would prolong his suffering, give her more reason to drag this out, to punish him further. The broken nose was only the beginning if he gave in.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Cal’s fingers tightened around his lightsaber, the grip slick with his own blood. He forced himself to his knees, taking a sharp breath as his face smarted, but he didn’t falter.

Trilla’s expression shifted, her lips curling into a cruel smile. 

“That’s better,” she said mockingly, taking a measured step back. “Let’s see how much fight you have left.”

Cal rose shakily to his feet, blood dripping onto the floor with each uneven breath. He’d had worse, he’d fought with worse injuries than this, this was nothing. He could feel the dark tendrils of anger creeping closer, threatening to take hold.

Another swing, another near miss, and he staggered back further, his steps leading him toward the edge of the room. He quickly found himself backed against a wall.

“Done already?” she mocked, her sabre pointed at his chest.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lowered his blade just enough to signal defeat, but not enough to completely yield. Trilla stared at him for a moment, and he saw the flicker of realisation in her stance. She knew exactly what he was doing.

“Coward,” she hissed, lunging at him one last time. He made a slow attempt to knock her hit aside and although it deflected her sabre still slashed across his thigh, and he nearly collapsed under the pain, but he forced himself to stay upright, almost doubled over as he stumbled back into the wall.

She stalked closer towards him, the threat she carried was thick in the air, almost tangible. She slowed to a stop in front of him looming over him as he slumped against the wall, fighting for breath, sucking breath between his teeth as the smell of burnt flesh flooded the room.

“Next time,” she said, her voice dripping with venom, “I won’t stop until you’re crawling.” And with a final look of disgust she deactivated her lightsaber, turned, and walked out of the room. Not affording him a second glance as he fought to stay upright.

Cal didn’t wait for her to change her mind. The second she stepped back, he deactivated his sabre and turned toward the exit, his steps uneven but urgent. His chest was heaving, his body screaming in pain, but none of it mattered.

BD was in danger. That was the only thing that mattered.

The moment he was out of the dojo, he broke into a limping run, every step sending a fresh wave of agony through him. 

He didn’t stop.   He didn’t think.  He had to find BD. 

Now .

Chapter Text

By the time he reached the Grand Inquisitor’s chambers, the tightness in his chest was unbearable. He threw out a hand and wrenched the blast doors open with the Force, the metal groaning before slamming against the walls with a thunderous crack that echoed through the vast room.

The guards flanking the entrance jumped, their hands twitching toward their weapons, but the Grand Inquisitor merely looked up from the holopad in his hand, taking in Cals ragged and injured appearance with apparent indifference, his face calm and unreadable.

“Kestis,” he greeted, his voice a slow, calculated drawl. “What an unexpected visit.”

Cal’s breaths came fast and shallow, his fists clenched at his sides.

“You said I could keep him!”

The Grand Inquisitor placed the holopad down with deliberate care, his piercing eyes locking onto Cal.

“Ah, yes. The droid.” His tone was mild, almost disinterested, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “A gesture of goodwill, if I recall. One that has been... squandered.”

Cal’s voice dropped, shaking with barely suppressed rage.

“Where is he?” His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Now that he had stopped walking the pain in his leg was sinking in, and his leg was starting to shake ever so slightly. He was also vaguely aware that his nose was still bleeding, and he had blood all over his face.

The Grand Inquisitor tilted his head slightly, studying Cal with cold amusement.

“Where he belongs. Out of your reach. Or would you prefer to explain why he was rummaging through medical supplies, stealing the healing stims that you were unconditionally ordered to stop using and accessing restricted security terminals?”

“You had no right!” Cal’s voice cracked, his emotions spilling over.

“No right?” The Grand Inquisitor chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “You are in my Fortress, Kestis. Everything within these walls belongs to me, including your precious droid.”

Cal shook his head, his chest tightening. “He’s mine. You said-”

“I said you could keep him as a privilege,” the Grand Inquisitor cut in smoothly, his voice soft yet firm. “Privileges can be revoked.”

“He’s not some- some thing that you can just take!” Cal snapped; his voice raw with desperation. “He’s my-” He stopped himself, his chest heaving. He couldn’t let the word escape, couldn’t admit how much BD meant to him.

“Your what?” The Grand Inquisitor tilted his head, mock curiosity laced in his tone. “Your ally? Your pet? Your crutch?" the Grand Inquisitor continued, his voice like silk. “I imagine it's stifling... knowing that no matter how strong you are, how skilled, you are always vulnerable. Always exposed. And for what? A machine?”

Cal’s hand twitched toward his lightsaber. “He’s more than that.”

“Of course he is,” the Grand Inquisitor said smoothly, as if conceding the point. “To you. But tell me this, if he’s so important, so valuable to you, why did you let him roam so freely? Surely you must have known the risks. Or are you simply so foolish you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Cal’s chest heaved, his anger boiling over into reckless desperation.

“Where is he?”

“Gone,” the Grand Inquisitor said simply, his tone unbothered. “Removed. It’s better this way.”

“I’m not leaving here without him,” Cal said, his voice shaking but resolute. His hand closed around his sabre.

The Grand Inquisitor was deathly still, his expression unreadable. “And what, precisely, do you intend to do about it?”

Cal’s sabre ignited, the blue glow casting harsh shadows across the room.

The Grand Inquisitor sighed, as though disappointed. “A bold choice, Kestis,” he said softly. “Let’s see if it’s the right one.”

Cal paced toward the Grand Inquisitor, lightsaber humming in his grip, his heart hammering in his chest. His leg throbbed from maliciously, the burn through his thigh making every step painful. But the pain was a distant thing, swept aside by the violent churn of fury and dread. He wasn’t thinking clearly, he couldn’t. If he thought about it for even a second, reality would crush him.

The Grand Inquisitor didn’t move at first, still, calm, waiting for Cal to make the first move. Cal’s grip tightened, knuckles white as he swung first, his blade cutting through the air with an aggressive snap.

In a flash The Grand Inquisitor reached behind him and pulled his own sabre from the clip on his back and parried with ease, his movements measured, fluid, and almost lazy.

He responded with a brutal strike, forcing Cal to stagger back on his wounded leg. A jagged hiss of pain escaped him, but he gritted his teeth, refocusing.

“You’re getting sloppy,” the Grand Inquisitor remarked, his voice devoid of any urgency. “The leg… it’s going to slow you down.” It was as if he wasn’t even trying, just letting Cal wear himself out.

Cal didn’t respond. His mind was screaming at him to end this quickly, to take the Grand Inquisitor down before he collapsed, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His injury was making everything worse. His head throbbed and his leg screamed. It didn’t matter though he could push through the pain. He had done it a thousand times before.

He backed up, trying to create distance, but the Grand Inquisitor pressed in, relentless and unyielding. Another blow came, and Cal barely managed to raise his blade in time to block it. The force of the strike sent him stumbling back, his leg giving out beneath him. He dropped to one knee with a strangled gasp, agony ripping through the torn flesh where the lightsaber had carved a deep, searing gouge into his thigh. The wound throbbed like fire eating into the bone, and for a moment, his vision went white at the edges but he forced himself upright, teeth clenched, barely holding onto consciousness as stars burst behind his eyes.

The Grand Inquisitor tilted his head, eyes glinting with something between amusement and disdain.

“You should have listened,” he taunted, clearly sure this was a foregone conclusion “This could have gone so much easier for you.”

Cal wasn’t listening. He was too focused on getting back up, on trying to force himself into the fight. His breaths were laboured, drawn through clenched teeth, but his resolve remained.

With a roar, he surged forward, lightsaber aimed for the Grand Inquisitor’s chest, hoping for a quick strike that might finally catch him off guard. But the Grand Inquisitor was too quick. With a swift twist of his wrist, he knocked Cal’s blade away, leaving him wide open for the next move.

The Grand Inquisitor didn’t hesitate. His lightsaber came down in a smooth, deliberate arc, too precise to be lethal, but cruel enough to sear flesh and agony in equal measure. The blade sliced shallow across Cal’s chest, burning through fabric and skin with surgical exactness. The pain hit like a shockwave, sharp and consuming, designed not to drop him but to make him wish he had fallen. Cal staggered, breath hitching, vision swimming, but he didn’t go down. He clenched his lightsaber tighter, sweat slicking his grip, refusing to give the satisfaction of collapse.

“You’re weak, Kestis,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his voice cutting through the haze of pain in Cal’s mind. “I expected more.”

“I’m not finished,” Cal spat, though the words felt hollow, even to him.

In a frenzy, he swung wildly, each strike more desperate than the last. His movements were sloppy, uncontrolled, fuelled by sheer panic. He didn’t care if he was injured, didn’t care if he was pushing his body too far, he just needed to end this.

The Grand Inquisitor was a wall, blocking every swing, barely exerting any effort. His strikes were calculated, aimed to wound but never to kill, not yet. He wanted Cal to break, to collapse under the weight of his failure.

And finally, it happened. Cal’s exhaustion caught up with him. His leg gave out again, sending him crashing to the ground. The Grand Inquisitor was on him in an instant, his sabre at Cal’s throat, cold and relentless.

Cal gasped, trying to push himself up, but his body was no longer responding. He could feel the blood pooling beneath him, the world spinning, the pain from his injuries reaching a crescendo as he desperately fought to stay conscious.

“You hold onto your defiance like a drowning man clutching a stone. But defiance will not save you, it will only drag you deeper. You’ve seen that now, haven’t you?”” The Grand Inquisitor’s voice was soft now, almost pitying but with disgust rather than sympathy. 

Cal’s lightsaber fell from his grip, the hilt clattering uselessly against the floor.

“Let this be a lesson,” the Grand Inquisitor continued, his tone cold and uncaring “Fire that is not tempered always burns out. Or else is extinguished”

With a final burst of energy Cal charged forward, not with any kind of plan just, lashing out with everything head, refusing to go down without a fight and finally, with a sharp twist of the Force, the Grand Inquisitor sent Cal crashing into the far wall.

He crumpled to the ground, and the pain slipped away as the darkness swallowed him .

Cal stirred, his consciousness returning in agonising waves.

The first thing he noticed was the cold, sharp, biting, and familiar. It clung to his skin like a cruel memory, seeping into his aching bones. His head throbbed with a dull, relentless pain, and the metallic tang of blood lingered in his mouth. Slowly, he opened his eyes, the dim, sterile light of the cell stabbing into his vision.

His heart sank as realisation dawned. He was back.

The smooth durasteel walls surrounded him, suffocating and oppressive. This cell, this cursed place he had fought so desperately to escape from, had swallowed him again. He shifted slightly, his body protesting every movement, and felt the sticky warmth of dried blood on his face and hands. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his muscles felt like dead weight. Charred gashes streaked across his chest and leg, the pain searing and relentless. The damaged flesh pulsed with a fiery ache, raw nerves screaming beneath blistered, torn skin. Each throb of pain was a fresh wave of torment, radiating outward and pulling him further into misery.

Cal sat up with a groan, the sound echoing in the empty space. His breathing quickened as panic began to take root, his mind racing to piece together how he had ended up back here. The fight with the Grand Inquisitor flashed through his mind, his failure, his humiliation. The memory struck like a hammer blow, and his fury ignited all over again. He pulled himself up onto his feet.

With a guttural yell, he slammed his fist into the wall. The pain shot up his arm, sharp and immediate, bt it wasn’t enough to quell the storm inside him. Again and again, his fists pounded against the unyielding durasteel, his strikes growing more frenzied with each blow. Blood splattered against the cold surface, his knuckles splitting open, but he didn’t stop.

This wasn’t happening. He’d fought tooth and nail, bled and burned for every step forward and now they dragged him back, like it was all some cruel joke.

The fury boiled over, unchecked and wild, radiating off him like heat. He pushed out with the Force, slamming against the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The cell shuddered faintly under the strain but held firm. It was unyielding, just as it had been before.

Gasping for air, Cal staggered back and collapsed back onto the floor, his chest heaving with rage and exhaustion. The silence of the cell closed in around him, heavy and suffocating. His bloodied hands trembled as he pressed them into his face, his thoughts a chaotic mess.

And then, as it had so many times before. As it had in this very cell what felt like a lifetime ago. A voice rang out in the silence of the cell. 

“There is no emotion, there is peace”

The phantom child, the faceless Padwan stood in front of him. There was no comfort in the words. Now they plunged him deeper into the rage that had been building inside him. It felt like an insult. An accusation. 

He screamed, a wordless roar of frustration and grief, channelling his anger into the Force. The energy pulsed outward, slamming into the cell’s barriers and rebounding with a force that rattled his bones. The child was also thrown backwards and disappeared as he impacted against the wall. 

Again and again, he lashed out, throwing his entire weight into the assault. The barriers flickered but held firm, mocking him with their resilience.

Cal paced, his breath heaving, rage radiating off him in waves. His vision swam with the haze of tears he refused to shed. 

They were dead. They were all dead. They were supposed to be gone. He wasn’t supposed to feel them anymore. Their presence was an insult. Their quiet words, as loud as a scream. The thought of them, the memory of what he couldn’t save, ignited a fire in his chest, a fire that threatened to swallow him whole. Anger, yes. But beneath it? Grief. Raw, unyielding sorrow.

He wanted to destroy something. Anything. He wanted to scream, to smash something until the pain went away. But all he had was this cold, empty cell. And it hurt. It hurt so much he could barely breathe.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to push the grief away, but it crept in, relentless and suffocating. All of this. This had all been for nothing. He had sacrificed everything and ended up with nothing. 

He clung to the rage. He clung to the rage because if he let it slip away, if he let it go like he had been told to, all that was left was the agony of what he had lost. And that felt so much worse.

The sound of footsteps outside the cell snapped him out of his spiralling rage. He froze, his blood pounding in his ears as Trilla’s dark silhouette appeared on the other side of the energy barrier.

She stood there, arms crossed, her expression an infuriating blend of smugness and disdain. Her helmet was gone, leaving her face bare, her eyes sharp and cutting as they met his.

“I did warn you,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension.

Cal’s body coiled like a spring, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached.

“I’m not some child you can just put in a time-out,” he spat, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.

Trilla tilted her head, but no smile, not even a fake one reached her face

“Yes, you are,” she said, her tone so calm it made his blood boil hotter. “A petulant, immature child, throwing a tantrum because his favourite toy was taken away. Impetuous. Ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” Cal growled, his voice rising as he stepped closer to the barrier, his fists clenched at his sides.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice hardening into something sharper.

“Yes, ungrateful. You’ve been given an opportunity not afforded to most, and you’ve thrown it away because you didn’t get what you wanted.”

Cal’s chest heaved; his anger momentarily overshadowed by a flicker of disbelief. “An opportunity? You call this an opportunity?”

Trilla’s voice was like ice, her gaze piercing. “Yes. You have potential, Kestis. Potential that you are too blinded by your own stubbornness to realise. You let your anger and fear control you instead of using it to make you stronger. All you need to do is what is expected of you.”

Her words hit like a hammer, but instead of shattering him, they stoked the fire already burning in his chest. He took a step closer to the barrier, his voice low and venomous. “You just can’t stand that I’m stronger than you. That I didn’t roll over and break like you and Cere and the others”

Trilla’s smile returned, cruel and knowing. “Oh, Cal. You will.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her boots clicking against the floor as the shadows swallowed her. Cal stood frozen, his entire body shuddering, his mind caught in a whirlwind.

There was no room for doubt or despair. Only the simmering anger that burned in his chest, a fire that refused to be snuffed out.

He stared at the blood on his hands, his breath ragged. Trilla’s words clung to him like a parasite, burrowing deep, poisoning every thought. He wouldn’t believe her. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear her voice from his mind.

Trilla’s boots faded into silence, and Cal slammed his fist into the wall once more and the pain barely registered.

Chapter Text

Cal didn’t know how long he’d been left in the cold, dark cell. No one else came.

Everything blurred together into an endless haze of pain and fury. The cell seemed smaller than he remembered, the walls pressing in as if mocking him for winding up back where he’d started.

The silence wasn’t the kind that brought peace. It gnawed at him, an oppressive weight pressing against his mind, His thoughts coiled inward, growing more tangled with each moment. He knew he wasn’t the same as when they’d dragged him here the first time. He was better, stronger. 

The rage that burned inside him refused to fade, refusing even to let him sink into despair like he might have before. It grew instead, fanned hotter and higher with every passing second behind these walls.

He moved stiffly, his body battered but functional. Every step sent waves of hot pain through his leg, he didn't stop to inspect it though. There was nothing he could do for it in here. The burns on his chest throbbed in time with his pulse, a dull, insistent reminder of the power they wielded against him. His probably broken nose was a constant, sharp ache, and every breath came shallow, scraping against the rawness of his throat. His hands still ached, swollen and raw from his assault on the wall. 

But the pain wasn’t debilitating, it wasn’t enough to stop him.

He paced the narrow space like a caged animal, his hands flexing into fists and releasing again. His thoughts stormed around one point, circling endlessly back to BD. He couldn’t let them slip off anywhere else. Anything else was complex. This was easy to grab onto and focus on.

The little droid had fought harder for him than anyone else ever had. Even when Cal had been ready to give up, BD had refused. And now?

Gone. Not lost, not missing. Taken.

Cal’s throat tightened as an image forced its way into his mind: cold Imperial hands ripping BD apart, piece by piece. Not just dismantling a machine but destroying his friend.

And it was all his fault.

The thought landed like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath. BD was gone because Cal hadn’t done the one thing that mattered. He hadn’t protected him. His mistakes, his failures, they’d caught up to him. BD had trusted him, and he’d let that trust shatter.

He had failed at every opportunity. He had failed to save his master. He had failed to save Prauf. He had-

Cal clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away before it could go any further.

It wasn't just his own failure that gnawed at him, it was what this gave to the Empire. BD knew him. Really knew him. They’d spent so long together, talking, planning, confiding. BD didn’t record everything word-for-word, but he remembered enough. And if it was in BDs memory it was a series of ones and zeros that could be read by anyone. What had Cal said to him? What truths had he let slip in those quiet moments when he thought they were safe? Doubts crept in, whispering insidious possibilities he couldn’t ignore.

Cal’s hands clenched tighter at the thought, his nails digging into his palms until they hurt.

The Jedi had warned him about this, over and over. 

Attachment leads to fear. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to the dark side. 

It had been drilled into him in every lesson, every meditation. The words played in his mind like a taunt, like the voice of a dead master chiding him from the beyond.

But what did it matter anymore? Those teachings belonged to a broken order, one that preached peace while sending children to war. There were no wise masters left. No sancturary, no temple gardens, no council to turn to. Only Silence. Only absence. When he had needed them most they had just abandoned him.

And still they dared haunt him. 

Cal stopped pacing, staring at the floor. It was their teachings that had left him vulnerable. Their rules that told him to let go, to accept loss, to avoid anger. As if detachment could ever be a shield. As if indifference could save anyone.

What had their rules and balance ever done except leave him broken and alone?

He clenched his fists.

He wasn’t going to let BD go, he wasn’t going to surrender the last piece of himself that still mattered, just to honor some dead philosophy that had never protected him in the first place.

It was protecting others that had landed him here, sacrificing himself to help people who barely even cared.

No more.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to painfully sit on the cold floor. He needed to think, to focus. He couldn’t let his anger control him, not yet. Not until it was useful. He closed his eyes, not to meditate in the way the Jedi taught, not to push his emotions aside and invite peace.

Peace was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Instead, he let the anger fill him, pouring into the cracks in his armour, fortifying him. It was hot and sharp, cutting away the fear and uncertainty. It wasn’t calm, but it was clarity, enough to sharpen his mind. He didn’t try to let go of it. He held onto it; let it churn in his chest and give him the edge he needed.

He looked at the wall that he had been hammering with his fists earlier, the smears of his own blood the only mark on it.

This wasn’t the end.

Not yet.

The fortress hadn’t broken him before, and it wouldn’t break him now. He would wait. He would bide his time, let them think they’d won. When the moment came, he’d strike, and he wouldn’t hesitate. If it meant embracing the darkness, so be it. The Jedi were gone, and he was done trying to live up to their impossible ideals.

BD was still out there somewhere. And Cal would burn the fortress to the ground before he let the Empire take this last piece of him.

Eventually, the shields at the cell door deactivated with a low hum, and two Inquisitors stepped inside. The Fifth Brother and the Eighth Brother loomed over him, their dark armour polished to a cruel shine, reflecting the dim, cold light of the cell.

They said nothing.

Cal’s muscles tensed as he looked up at them, his jaw clenching hard enough to ache. Silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive, he wouldn’t break the quite first. Not for them. Not for anyone.

When the Fifth Brother reached down and grabbed his arm, Cal didn’t flinch. He steeled himself, biting back the surge of anger that threatened to spill out. He couldn’t afford to lose control now. As the other Inquisitor hauled him roughly to his feet and bound his hands in front of him, Cal kept his movements slow, deliberate. He didn’t resist, but the coiled tension in his muscles spoke of barely restrained violence, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike

Pain radiated through his battered body as they forced him to move, but he latched onto it, using the sharp stabs and searing pulses to fuel his focus. Every bruised muscle, every raw ache became a tool, sharpening his senses, forcing him to remain grounded in the moment. The pain was only weakness if he let it be.

He matched his breathing to the rhythm of his pain, slow and deliberate, trying to drown out the rising dread with anger.

His boots scuffed against the floor, his movements growing stiffer with each step. He focused on the faint rhythm of the pain in his wrists and shoulders where the Inquisitors gripped him, forcing his thoughts away from whatever lay ahead. Anger was safer than fear, hotter, sharper. He let it churn in his chest, stoking it higher with every painful step.

He let himself grow stronger because of the pain.

But his efforts weren’t enough. The fortress corridors began to feel like a living thing, a labyrinth tightening its grip around him. Each turn seemed to mock him, to draw him closer to something inevitable. The dread he’d tried so hard to push back clawed its way into his chest, constricting his breath.

He recognized the path now.

His steps faltered, just for a moment, his body stiffening as realisation sank its claws into him. The knot of fear in his chest twisted tighter, making his breathing shallow.

No. Not there. Anywhere but there. His breath hitched despite himself, the memories pressing in, vivid and unavoidable. The shocks, the blinding pain, the feeling of being reduced to nothing but raw nerves and screams.

The falter was not unnoticed by the inquisitors leading him, but it was ignored.

The cold air of the fortress seemed to grow heavier, weighing down his limbs. His glare burned hotter, but even his rage couldn’t push back the wave of terror that flooded him now. His pace slowed further, but the Inquisitors kept moving, their grips like iron shackles around his arms.

When they reached the threshold, the blast door groaned open with a rising whir, then slammed into place with a deep, echoing thunk. The sound reverberated through Cal’s chest like a warning. His breath caught. Muscles tightened. Every instinct screamed at him to run but his legs stayed locked in place.

The torture chamber.

“No! I’m not going back in there! I won’t do it!” His voice cracked, raw and desperate, echoing through the empty hall.

A deep, resonant voice cut through the air like a blade. 

“You knew the cost of defiance, boy.” The Grand Inquisitor stepped into view, his imposing frame backlit by the low red glow of the chamber. His pale, angular face was unreadable, but his yellow eyes burned with calculated malice. “And yet, you chose this path.”

Cal’s breathing quickened. 

“I didn’t choose this!” he spat, but the Inquisitors dragging him forward were unfazed.

The Grand Inquisitor’s lip curled into the faintest mockery of a smile. 

“Oh, but you did. Every scream, every shiver of agony, you earned them. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Cal thrashed, kicking out at his captors with wild desperation. 

“Let me go!” he roared, his voice breaking with the weight of his fear. His bound hands clawed uselessly at the air as he tried to summon the Force, but his focus slipped through his grasp like smoke, intangible and mocking. It was like trying to snatch vapour in a storm, impossible.

The two Inquisitors remained unconcerned by the struggle, their grips unyielding as steel. The Grand Inquisitor tilted his head, a predator savouring its prey’s final struggle.

“You are predictably stubborn,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “But futile.”

They dragged Cal closer to the chair, its metal frame a visceral reminder of everything he’d endured. The memories surged without any need for his psychometry, each bolt of electricity, each scream, each plea ripped from his throat. It was all there, waiting for him.

“No! Stop!” Cal shouted, his heels skidding across the floor. He fought with everything he had, but the hands on him were immovable. His chest heaved, panic twisting his thoughts. “I’ll obey! Please, I’ll do what you want!”

His breathing came in harsh, uneven bursts, his chest tightening as if the very air was tearing him apart inside.. His vision blurred, the harsh lights above streaking across his tear-stung eyes. He wasn’t even sure he meant it, he didn’t know what he was promising, but the words spilled from him in a desperate torrent. Anything to make it stop. Anything to keep from being strapped into that chair again.

The Inquisitors halted, their grip on his arms tightening. Cal sagged slightly, his knees trembling, but he wasn’t allowed a reprieve.

The Grand Inquisitor stepped forward, his imposing form casting a shadow over the room. His yellow eyes gleamed with cold amusement, his face an unyielding mask of authority and cruelty. He tilted his head, as if appraising Cal’s broken state.

“Obedience.” he said as if weighing the word, his voice smooth and cold. “You expect us to trust the word of a cornered animal?”

Cal gritted his teeth, his head snapping up to meet those piercing yellow eyes. The weight of his failure pressed against his chest. Swallowing his pride, he forced the words out, every syllable bitter.

“Yes,” he said, his voice low and shaking. “I’ll do what you want. No more fighting. I swear”

For a moment, hope flickered weakly in his chest, fragile as a candle in a storm. The Grand Inquisitor studied him in silence, his expression unreadable. Cal clung to that silence, hoping against reason that his words had been enough.

Then the Inquisitor’s lips curved into a chilling smile. 

“A promising sentiment. But words are fleeting. Pain, however…” He gestured with one pale thin hand. “Pain lingers. Proceed.”

Before Cal could react, the Inquisitors shoved him forward. He stumbled, hitting the chair with bruising force. Their hands pressed him down with mechanical indifference, restraints snapping into place with a brutal finality.

“No, wait! Please-” The pain hit before the word finished, searing through muscle and bone. His body arched against the restraints as pain lanced through every nerve, his scream torn from him despite his effort to hold it back.

Above the agony, the Grand Inquisitor’s voice rose like a dark hymn.

“Remember this, Cal Kestis,” he intoned, each word deliberate, unyielding. “You do not control your fate. We do.”

The second shockwave came, sharper and more excruciating than the first. Cal’s vision fractured into shards of white-hot agony. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but endure. His screams filled the chamber, raw and unrelenting, until his voice began to fray at the edges.

The pain kept coming, a relentless tide that broke him over and over again. When it finally stopped for a second time, when his body slumped against the restraints and his chest heaved for breath, the Grand Inquisitor leaned in, his eyes glowing with cruel satisfaction.

“Pain has a way of teaching even the most stubborn minds,” he said softly. “And you, Cal Kestis, have proven yourself quite stubborn.”

With another surge Cal’s world dissolved again into blinding, unbearable torment.

Chapter Text

The Grand Inquisitor paced the length of his office, his steps deliberate, measured, each footfall echoing softly in the sterile silence. The security feeds had shown him all he needed to see. Kestis, bloodied and broken, had been dragged back to his quarters, barely coherent but alive. It was a pitiful sight, yet he found himself not displeased with the outcome.

He had anticipated resistance when they took the droid. It was, after all, one of the boy’s few remaining attachments to his former life. What he hadn’t expected was the raw, uncontrolled violence that had followed. Kestis had snapped, abandoning all pretence of restraint. Perhaps their efforts to push him toward anger, to stoke the flames of his frustration, had worked a little too well. No matter. The results were in his favour.

If Kestis could pull himself from the floor after this, it would prove he was ready, ready to do what needed to be done, to let go of the fragile ideals that still chained him.

The boy had already shown he was capable of following orders; his loyalty to Master Junda had been evidence enough of that. It had been blind, unwavering. All that was needed now was to redirect that loyalty, to mould it into something useful. His stubbornness, properly harnessed, would be a tremendous asset. With his psychometric abilities considered as well, he would make a formidable inquisitor.

The Grand Inquisitor paused mid-step, turning his thoughts to the Second Sister. Her methods, while effective in some cases, had proven insufficient here. She had insisted she could bring Kestis to heel, but it was clear now that their history was a hindrance. There was too much baggage, too much raw emotion between them. Normally, he might have encouraged such rivalry, it had its uses, but this situation required something more... refined. Kestis’s loyalty was still fragile, his resolve unsteady. There was no room for petty games.

He pressed a button on his console, summoning a technician. When the door hissed open, the Grand Inquisitor turned sharply, his presence commanding, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Get what you can off the droid, memories, data, particularly anything regarding Kestis. Place a restraining bolt on it and erase any stolen codes. Any information about the Jedi, Cordova or Junda needs to be flagged for review. If you find anything unusual, report it to me directly."

The technician nodded before he hurried off to carry out the orders.

The Grand Inquisitor lingered by the console, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the dim light of his quarters. The droid was more than a tool; it was leverage. A pressure point. A tether keeping Kestis tied to something he feared to lose. But there was a delicate balance to maintain. Push too hard, and the boy would snap like an overstressed wire. He’d seen it already, the way Kestis’s anger could spiral out of control, wild and destructive. If left unchecked, it would burn him out long before he became useful.

No, the boy needed to learn. To feel the consequences of defiance, but also to understand that some things could still be saved, if he obeyed. The droid would serve that purpose for now, a reminder of what was at stake.

His mind shifted to the next steps. Kestis was broken- it had happened as he had begged for a reprieve in the interrogation chamber. But breaking was only the beginning. What came after was far more important.

For the first time in hours, the Grand Inquisitor allowed himself a small, calculated smile. The boy’s despair, his grief, his anger, all of it was raw material, ready to be forged into something greater. All it would take was time and the right hand to shape him.

Control. He needed to learn control, or he will never be anything more than a child flailing in the dark.

He turned back to the console, already planning his next move. The boy had broken and now he would learn. 

Cal lay on the cold floor of his quarters, barely aware of his surroundings. Someone, troopers, he thought distantly, had dragged him back here, to the same room he’d occupied before. He didn’t know why he was here instead of being left to die in his cell. It didn’t matter, it made no difference to him.

He hadn’t moved from where they’d thrown him. Consciousness had returned in fragments, but it brought no clarity, only pain. Broken in body, mind, and spirit, he had no strength left to muster. His injuries felt endless: the burns and bruises from his fights with Trilla and the Grand Inquisitor, the fresh wounds from the latest round of torture, and the raw, bloodied knuckles he'd inflicted on himself in a fit of blind rage. He had pounded the walls until his hands had split, desperate to channel his anger into something, anything, but now even anger felt hollow.

There was a medkit somewhere in the room, he remembered seeing it before, but he didn’t move. The idea of treating himself felt almost absurd, as if his broken body wasn’t worth the effort. There was a medbay somewhere in the fortress with a droid that would treat him, if he dragged himself to the door, would it even open? He thought idly about trying. He even mapped out the path to the medbay in his mind, a reflex that brought an ache to his chest. BD-1 had shown him how to navigate the fortress before, tracing routes with cheerful chirps, always ready to help him out of a tight spot.

His thoughts stopped there, as though slamming into a wall. A familiar grief swelled in his chest, sharp and suffocating. He forced himself to take a shallow breath, but it didn’t help. He had failed. The one thing he had promised himself, the one thing he had to do, was to protect BD. And he’d failed.

The image of BD’s small frame, caught in the grasp of Imperial hands, burned into his mind, and with it came the spiralling thoughts he couldn’t suppress. What were they doing to him? Dismantling him? Reprogramming him? The more he tried to push the thoughts away, the faster they multiplied, twisting into horrific possibilities that turned his stomach and made his head spin.

He closed his eyes, as though shutting out the world could quiet his mind. It didn’t.

All he could feel was the crushing weight of failure. The sharp ache of loss. The overwhelming certainty that this was the end.

So, he stayed where he was, curled on the floor, arms limp at his sides, staring blankly at the ceiling. The faint hum of the fortress’s machinery was the only sound, a dull drone that filled the silence but offered no comfort.

He didn’t cry. There were no tears left. He had numbed himself to it all, drawing the numbness around him like armour. It didn’t protect him, not really, but it was all he had left.

He didn’t call for help. He knew no one would come.

All he could do was lay there, consumed by a despair so deep it felt endless.

The pod was cold. Cal shivered as he sat hunched over on the metal floor, hugging his knees to his chest. He kept his back pressed against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible in the cramped space.

Outside, the wind howled, carrying the harsh screech of machinery grinding away somewhere in the distance. Bracca's rain pelted the pod’s exterior, a relentless drumbeat that was almost enough to drown out his thoughts. Almost.

His master’s body lay across from him, wrapped in a tattered cloak, still and lifeless. Cal couldn’t bear to look at it for too long. The first day, he’d sat beside him, hoping somehow that Master Tapal would wake up, that maybe he had made a mistake. But as the hours dragged on, he couldn’t ignore the truth. His master was gone, leaving him with nothing but questions and a deep, unrelenting fear that gnawed at his insides.

He had activated the pod’s distress beacon as soon as they had crashed, but it had surely been damaged in the botched landing, it hadn’t taken long for him to realise that no help was coming.

Cal swallowed hard, his throat dry and aching. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for someone to come for him. He stood and moved over to the controls. His fingers trembled as he input the encrypted sequence that Master Tapal had taught him, connecting to the secure frequency tied to the Jedi Temple.

Static filled the air, and then a voice crackled through, one of the temple guards, his tone flat and mechanical. “The war is over. All Jedi are to return to the Temple. All Jedi, return to Coruscant.”

Cal swallowed hard, his breath faltering. “Return to Coruscant?” He muttered to himself, leaning closer to the speaker. His heart pounded in his chest, a small flicker of hope kindling within him. “But, why? What happened?” His mind raced with possibilities. Why had the clones attacked him like that? How would he get back to the temple? Did anyone even know he was alive? With the Albedo Brave gone would they just assume that everyone was dead. He wasn't, he was here, he needed help.

He tried to reply, to transmit his own coordinates, but the pod’s communication systems wouldn’t work, he tried everything he knew but the ship was too damaged, and he didn't know how to fix it. He couldn't even get out of the ship because the door was so mangled from the crash. He banged his fist against the console in frustration, his voice breaking as he shouted into the void. “What’s going on!"

The transmission gave no answers, no details. Only that cold, dispassionate command to return, as if they hadn’t even considered the possibility that he couldn’t. It made no sense. The thoughts churned in his mind, each one more desperate than the last. Had the clones somehow realised the Jedi had won and betrayed them at the last moment? But then, why was the message so vague? Why wouldn’t they explain?

He tried to think it through rationally, tried to calm his breathing as he sat back on the floor, but the questions kept coming. His mind twisted in a dizzying cycle, each thought more confused than the last. Clearly, there was something else going on, something that didn’t add up. But he had no way of knowing what it was, not from this pod, not alone.

He stayed there on the floor of the pod for a long time, he wasn’t sure exactly how long. Occasionally he got up to try and send a message again, but the sparking panel refused to cooperate.

He wrapped his robes tighter around himself, his stomach twisting painfully. He hadn’t eaten and the hunger was starting to get to him, there was nothing in the pod. He could feel the weakness in his limbs, the way his hands shook when he tried fruitlessly to reply to the communication again. The sense of desperation was starting to drown out everything else, even his grief.

He decided to try the Force. Cal stood in the cramped space, focusing on the hatch that blocked his way out to the rest of the world. Where he could explain what happened and get help. Bracca was a secure planet, they would help him, get him back to Coruscant and he could finally get some answers.

He stretched out his hand, forcing himself to move it as he had countless times before. But the surge of power never came. Instead, a sudden, stabbing pain tore through his chest, folding him over as breath caught in his throat. His eyes snapped shut as the memories crashed in; blaster fire ringing in his ears, Master Tapal falling, the hollow look in his eyes as life slipped away. Frozen in fear, his body refused to obey.

The Force slipped away like water through his fingers. It hurt, more deeply than anything he’d felt before, as if a part of him had been torn out and left bleeding. He fell to his knees, clutching at his chest, a hoarse sob escaping his lips.

He could barely feel anything through the haze of pain when a new transmission buzzed through the console. He struggled to stand, reaching out with trembling hands to activate the receiver.

It was Obi-Wan Kenobi, his face flickering with static, but Cal could still make out the grim set of his jaw, the haunted look in his eyes. The words that came next were like a death knell.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen. With the dark shadow of the empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in the force. Do not return to the temple, that time has passed. And our future, is uncertain. We will each be challenged, our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere. And in time, a new hope will emerge. May the force be with you.”

The transmission cut out, the silence that followed more deafening than the tempest still raging outside, leaving Cal staring at the empty space. His mind struggled to process the words, to make sense of them. Stay hidden. The Jedi were... gone.

He sank back to the floor, pressing his palms against his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. He thought back to Master Tapals words. He had said to wait for the councils’ signal, that they would contact him. But what is supposed to do when they contact him and tell him to stay away?

He had nothing else. Nowhere to go. No one to call. The Jedi order was all he had ever known; it couldn’t be gone.

His body felt hollow, his mind fogged with exhaustion. He knelt beside Master Tapal’s shrouded form, whispering an apology under his breath. He had promised to keep waiting, to hold out for some sign, but now... he had no choice.

“If what Master Kenobi said is true, then I can’t tell anyone I’m a Jedi. I can’t... trust anyone.” He knew he had to keep it together, he couldn't let his emotions rule him. Now he had to survive. He had to hide. For how long though?

With trembling hands, he reached for a twisted sharp piece of scrap metal. His Padawan braid dangled from his shoulder, his fingers lingered on it, a fragile link he wasn't sure he could sever. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it against his palm, and then, with a swift motion, he sliced through it.

He held it in his hands for a moment and then as if in a trance, the braid fell to the floor, joining the rainwater that seeped into the pod through the cracks.

Accept the past.

He held his masters lightsaber next, his thumb hovering over the activation switch. He considered leaving it behind, with his master, its rightful owner, But Master Tapal’s words rang in his mind “Your weapon is your life.” He couldn’t let go of that completely. Not yet. Master Tapal had given it to him

He clipped the lightsaber onto his belt, and then reconsidered, if the Jedi were truly gone, if this Empire were truly after them, he couldn't be seen with it.

Trust no one.

He instead tucked it inside his robes by his chest, he wouldn't be able to reach it if he needed to fight but he wouldn't need to if he hid properly.

Don’t stand out.

He whispered a goodbye to his master’s body, pressing his hand to the cold metal floor beside him. He would come back, if he could get out, this pod might make decent enough shelter and somewhere to hide. But now he needed food and information. Then, steeling himself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him, he stood up and focused on the hatch, the dented and distorted metal seemingly mocking him. He just needed to push. As he reached out to the force he pushed out and ignored the overwhelming emotion that came with it. Like it had on the Brave it exploded out of him, not in a controlled push that he had practised in the temple or done in training with Master Tapal but an uncontrolled outpouring of grief.

It had worked though, the door was gone, and his way was clear. He took a last look at his master on the floor and then slipped out into the rain.

The air outside was thick with moisture, a cold drizzle that soaked through Cal’s clothes as soon as he stepped out.

They had crashed in a massive field of scrap, it looked like everything here had already been picked over and was just being left here to rust now. He didn't know if it was safe to leave the pod here, or if it was safe for him to leave but he didn't really have a choice. He needed food, water, a plan of some kind.

He kept moving forward, towards the city he could see in the distance climbing over twisted wreckage of ships. Squeezing through gaps and pulling himself along ledges. He tried to keep his mind on that, what he was doing right now, he couldn't let his mind wander. There would be time to grieve later.

He was worried he would stand out in his jedi robes, like someone any second was going to see him and shout "Jedi!". How was it that no one could hear his pain? They just walked past him like there wasn't a howling storm inside him. The fact was that he wasn't special here, the war had ripped plenty of people from their families and friends and now he was just another orphan wandering the streets.

The streets were crowded with workers, scavengers, and refugees, their faces drawn and haggard. No one spared him a second glance, which was exactly what he needed. He needed to fit it, not stand out. He needed to get rid of his robes for something else as soon as possible.

He kept to the shadows, slipping between the crates and piles of scrap that littered the landing pads. Hunger drove him forward. He spotted a group of homeless kids huddled around a rusted barrel, warming their hands over a small fire. Their clothes were tattered, but they had what he needed, spare rags that would make him look like just another orphan on the run.

The new clothes itched against his skin, damp and heavy with the rain. He blended into the crowd, keeping his head down as he searched for food, for anything that might dull the ache in his belly.

It took hours, but he managed to scavenge a few scraps, a small box of stale ration bars from a forgotten crate. 

He pulled the ragged clothes over his worn-out shirt, the fabric rough against his skin. The weight of what he'd done settled heavily in his chest. Stealing wasn’t who he wanted to be. He hadn’t meant to but hunger left him no choice.

Hesitant, he moved toward a cluster of passersby, reaching out his hands with a shaky breath.

"Please," he murmured, voice barely carrying over the clamor, "anything, food, credits, anything."

But most hurried past, eyes fixed on the ground or elsewhere, blind to his desperation. A few cast cold glances, others simply ignored him.

Just as hopelessness began to grip him, a gruff voice cut through. "Here."

A rough hand pressed a small scrap of food and a few credits into his palm.

"Get a job if you want to eat," the stranger added without meeting his eyes, then disappeared into the crowd.

Cal clutched the meager offering, the sting of rejection sharp but the chance to survive, however begrudging, a faint flicker of hope.

It was more than he’d had in what felt like days, and he devoured it quickly. It was enough to keep him going, to keep him moving through the maze of the city.

Cal stumbled through the narrow, rain-slicked alleys, his cloak clinging to him like a shroud. The streets were crowded with workers trudging under the glow of industrial lights, their faces shadowed by the same exhaustion that weighed on him. He tried to retrace his steps, but every turn looked the same. The rain blurred his vision, pooling in the grooves of the duracrete beneath his feet. His boots splashed through the murky water as he pushed forward.

He stopped at an intersection, glancing down one identical alley and then the next. No landmarks. No signs. The pod was his only refuge, his last connection to... anything. And now it felt as distant as the stars above the polluted sky.

A group of workers brushed past him, their shoulders jostling him in their hurry. No one spared him a glance. 

The sound of machinery roared in the distance, drawing his attention. Hope flickered faintly in his chest. He followed the noise, weaving through the crowd until the pit came into view, a gaping wound in the planet’s surface, its depths shrouded in shadow.

He could see it now, it was right in the centre of the area the pod was in. As he watched, his relief turned into horror. Massive cranes and conveyor belts moved endlessly, pushing the abandoned waste into the pit.

And there it was.

His pod dangled above the pit, its battered hull dwarfed by the machinery that surrounded it. Cal’s breath caught as he watched it sway, the final remnant of his escape about to be devoured.

“No,” he whispered, breaking into a run. He slipped on the wet ground, catching himself on a low railing as the crane released its cargo.

The pod fell.

It hit the crushing jaws below, the screech of metal tearing apart filling the air. Cal froze, his hand gripping the railing as he watched the pod, the one place that had sheltered him, that still hid the body of his Master, disappear into the pit.

Gone.

Cal’s legs gave out, and he sank to the ground, the rain masking the tears that streaked down his face. He wanted to scream, to call out for his master, for someone, for anyone. But there was no one left to hear him.

The emptiness settled over him like a physical weight. It wasn’t just his Master that was gone, it was the last piece of his old life. The last shred of hope that someone would come for him.

He was truly, utterly alone.

Chapter Text

Trilla stalked down the cold, dimly lit corridors of the fortress, her boots striking the floor in precise rhythm as she followed the Grand Inquisitor. The Fourth Sister, a Nogratu woman, walked beside her, a smug air about her that made Trilla’s teeth grind. She resisted the urge to glance her way. Doing so would only acknowledge the thorn digging into her pride.

The Grand Inquisitor’s displeasure with Trilla had been unmistakable. He had gone out of his way to make that clear in front of the other Inquisitors, pinning the blame for Kestis's instability squarely on her methods. As if his interference had nothing to do with it. It was he who took the droid away, she reminded herself bitterly. He, who nudged Kestis over the edge. If she had been given the time, the resources, she would have had him exactly where she wanted him, pliant, broken, loyal.

But no. The Grand Inquisitor didn’t care about results, not truly. What he wanted was control. To put her in her place. To remind her that no matter her skills, her victories, she was still beneath him. Her hands clenched behind her back as they walked. She allowed no outward sign of her anger, though the simmering frustration twisted in her gut like a blade.

Eight standard days had passed since Kestis was returned to his quarters. Time enough for his wounds to mend to the point of usefulness, if not full recovery. 

The doors hissed open, and Trilla stepped into the Office of the Inquisitorious, it was an inflated name for what was just a briefing room. The room itself was the same as it always was, sharp angles and dark corners. Red lights lined the rims of the grand windows. The oppressive expanse of green-black ocean pressing in on every side, distorted shadows shifting beyond the glass.

Hey eyes didn’t linger on them though, they landed on Kestis who had been waiting on his own inside. Clearly, he had just been dropped off here and then left to cook in his own anxieties. She wondered if he had been told why he was here or if he was following instructions blindly now. 

When he looked up and saw the group of them, he stood a little straighter, clearly trying to look more confident and put together than he was. She noticed, with a flicker of satisfaction, how he still favoured his right leg, his weight shifted carefully to avoid the injury she had inflicted on his left. Good, she thought, her lips curling in a faint smirk. That wound would remind him who had bested him, even if it wasn’t permanent.

Though, perhaps she should’ve made it so, she mused briefly before letting the thought drift. He had scars enough, mental ones, courtesy of her. That was what truly mattered. Those would haunt him long after the physical pain subsided.

He’d been locked away for days, left mostly to recover on his own. The Empire was nothing if not practical; they needed him alive and functional. His mediocre talents with a sabre were secondary to his use as a psychometric. For better or worse the Empire wasn't just going to let a natural talent like that go to waste. He certainly looked better than the last time she had seen him, but he had been bloody and screaming on an interrogation table. It wasn’t a high bar. 

He’d traded his simple black training outfit for something more imposing, a crisp, dark uniform, armour and gloves that completed the look of a proper Inquisitor. It suited him, she supposed, lending him an air of authority that might have been convincing to anyone else. But to her, the change was superficial, like a child donning an oversized costume and pretending to be something they weren’t. Beneath the polished exterior, she still saw the frightened little boy, flinching at shadows and clutching at borrowed power.

She let her smirk linger as she brushed past him, her presence a deliberate taunt. His reaction was subtle but telling: the faint tightening of his shoulders, the reflexive glance to her lightsabre as if anticipating a strike. 

Good, she thought. Let him flinch. Let him remember.

Trilla took her place at the far side of the room, her arms crossed tightly, exuding an air of indifference. She wasn’t expected to contribute here. No, her role had been neatly sidelined. The Grand Inquisitor’s decision to hand Kestis over to the Fourth Sister wasn’t just an insult; it was a direct jab at her competence.

“You have a mission, Kestis,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “It seems your… unique talents are required.”

Trilla’s gaze stayed fixed on Cal, watching the subtle shift in his posture. His eyes darted between the Grand Inquisitor, herself, and the Fourth Sister, calculating, hesitant. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension.

“Second Sister will not accompany you this time,” the Grand Inquisitor continued, his tone dripping with condescension. He gestured toward the Fourth Sister. “She has proven incapable of controlling you. Perhaps the Fourth Sister will prove more adequate.”

Her jaw clenched imperceptibly, though she forced herself to remain still. His words stabbed at her pride, each syllable a deliberate challenge. Can’t control him? She nearly scoffed. She had broken him, dragged him to this very point. And yet here was the Fourth Sister, poised to snatch the victory.

Her gaze shifted back to Cal. He stood uneasily but not defeated. The faint tension in his frame, the flicker of anger in his eyes, there was still fight in him.

How resilient, she thought, half-amused. Maybe he had finally learnt to keep that anger tamped down. 

The Grand Inquisitor was speaking again, his even voice both commanding and cutting. Trilla barely heard the details, her focus lingering on Cal. He wore the mask of obedience well enough, but she could see the cracks beneath it. He was predictable, too predictable. His silence, his tightly controlled expression, were tells she had come to recognize. He was listening but resenting every word.

The Grand Inquisitor leaned closer to him, lowering his voice to a dangerous growl. 

“I shouldn’t need to explain the stakes to you again, boy. Succeed, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and I will personally see to it that you never see your little droid again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Cal said quietly, his voice even but unmistakably forced.

The Grand Inquisitor straightened, his red-rimmed eyes shifting to the Fourth Sister. 

“He’s your responsibility now. Brief him anything else you think important in transit”

As the Pau’an swept out of the room, Trilla lingered. Her gaze slid to the Fourth Sister, who stood poised and composed, her lips curling into a faint, self-assured smile. Trilla’s annoyance flared again, but she kept it inside, her expression remaining a mask of calm.

“Good luck,” she said, her voice laced with an edge of false politeness. It was a calculated barb, aimed as much at Cal as it was at her new “successor." Let them both interpret it however they pleased. Trilla didn’t need to explain herself.

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and strode after the Grand Inquisitor. She refused to look back.

Her annoyance simmered as she walked, but beneath it was a faint, vindictive satisfaction. Let the Fourth Sister deal with Kestis. Let her struggle to tame him. Trilla had already done the hard work, broken him in ways that mattered most. And when the Fourth Sister failed? Well, then she could relish the vindication that would follow.

For now, she had other ambitions.

The Fourth Sister stepped closer, silent as she regarded him with an unnerving stillness. She was tall and athletic, her posture exuding a quiet confidence that made Cal’s skin prickle under her gaze. Her face was stern and focused, frames by a tightly fitted black helmet that left only her features exposed. Her skin was golden and marked with symmetrical tattoos that accentuated her sharp angular features.

It wasn’t just her appearance that unsettled him, it was the way her dark eyes seemed to see through him, as though dissecting him piece by piece in her mind.

“I hope you’re more useful than you look, Kestis,” she said, her tone cool and clipped. “I don’t have time to babysit.”

She turned on her heel and left the room. Seemingly expecting him to follow. He swallowed his instinct to fire back and instead clenched his fists, forcing his expression to remain neutral. It wasn’t worth the risk to provoke her. Not when every step outside the interrogation chamber felt like a reprieve he couldn’t afford to jeopardise.

The fortress’s corridors stretched before him, cold and lifeless. The cold wide windows into the murky depths beyond leeched all colour from the surroundings, leaving everything dark and grey. Each step sent aches of pain through his battered body, a reminder of his condition, and of where he was. 

The memory of the interrogation chair lingered, vivid and inescapable. The searing pain, the sharp tang of burning flesh. He tried to suppress it, but the thoughts came unbidden, clawing at the edges of his consciousness. If BD wasn’t… He stopped himself. He couldn’t finish the thought.

The isolation of the last few days had been unbearable in its own way. At first, it felt almost like a blessing. He hadn’t wanted to face anyone, not Trilla, not the Grand Inquisitor, not the stormtroopers with their blank stares and empty words. The solitude had been a shield, one that offered relief.

But as the days dragged on, that shield became a cage. The silence stretched too thin, and his restlessness grew. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t move beyond the four walls of his quarters. The lack of control gnawed at him like a slow, steady poison. Even his meals arrived in his absence, left neatly on the desk while he slept. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant or who was watching. 

Cal clenched his fists, forcing the tension into his hands. He couldn’t dwell on it. There were too many unanswered questions and too many ways to fail. Focus on the next step, he told himself. Survive now. Figure out the rest later.

As they walked, Cal’s thoughts churned uneasily. The Fourth Sister’s presence loomed large, filling the space between them with a thick tension. She was an enigma, silent but radiating authority. Where Trilla had been direct and relentless, the Fourth Sister was something else entirely. Her calm, calculated demeanour put him on edge. He couldn’t read her, and that made her dangerous.

The subtle prickling sensation of being watched crawled across his skin. He dared a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and immediately regretted it. Her amber eyes met his, sharp and assessing, like a predator studying prey. Cal looked away quickly, focusing on the corridor ahead, but the feeling lingered.

By the time they reached the hangar, the oppressive silence between them had stretched into something unbearable. The sleek black shuttle waiting for them was an ominous sight, its polished hull gleaming under the overhead lights. The Fourth Sister stopped and turned to him, her business-like tone cutting through the tension.

“Try to keep up, Kestis,” she said, her tone offering no room for argument “I won’t be holding your hand out there.”

Cal’s throat tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he followed her up the ramp, his steps heavy with resentment.

Inside, the shuttle was as sterile and unwelcoming as anything the Empire touched. Cal moved to the co-pilot’s seat without waiting for instruction, hoping it would put some distance between him and the Fourth Sister. The moment he sat down, he felt her gaze settle on him again, appraising, measuring.

The engines roared to life, and the fortress began to shrink in the viewport. Cal stared out at the stars, his thoughts a turbulent mess. He had no illusions about this mission. Whatever it entailed, it wouldn’t be anything good. The Empire didn’t deal in simple tasks or clean outcomes. Whatever they wanted from him, it would undoubtedly be brutal and calculated to push him further into their control.

But he couldn’t let himself think about that now. He would focus on what mattered: staying alive, staying out of the interrogation chamber, and finding a way to get BD back. He focused, he couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him and he certainly couldn’t let them be used against him again. He built up his mental shields and breathed a little easier behind them. 

The Fourth Sister might be impossible to read, but her intentions were clear enough. This wasn’t about trust. It was about domination. About seeing how far they could push him before he pushed back and then, painfully, redefining that boundary until it was where they wanted it. 

Cal had no choice but to play along. But as he stared out into the void of space, his mind raced. If he played their game carefully, maybe he could find a way to turn it to his advantage. He’d do whatever he had to, not just for himself but for BD. The droid was counting on him, and he wouldn’t let him down again.

Chapter Text

The Fourth Sister leaned back in her seat, her arms loosely crossed as the shuttle hummed steadily beneath her. She studied Cal out of the corner of her eye, her expression impassive but her mind active.

She had read everything the Empire had compiled on him: a Padawan survivor of Order 66 who had resurfaced far too recently for the Empire’s liking. Force Sensitives were one thing, but surviving members of the Jedi order were a far more pressing issue. He had eluded capture longer than most, even slipping through the fingers of the Second Sister on multiple occasions. That alone would have piqued her curiosity, but his defeat of the Ninth Sister and escape from the fortress made him a subject of real interest. Even with help that was a feat that not many could lay claim to, even if the second sister had brought him back.

The Second Sister’s triumph, and her ego, had been insufferable since then. The Second Sister prided herself on being the Grand Inquisitor’s favoured tool, but the Fourth Sister had never cared much for being anyone’s tool, favoured or otherwise. It did amuse her though, to think of the Second Sister simmering back at the fortress while someone else worked on her project.

Her gaze flicked to him briefly. Despite his reputation, Cal Kestis wasn’t exactly an intimidating figure, certainly not now, sitting tensely in the co-pilot’s seat, his body stiff and his jaw tight. She could sense his discomfort, the way he deliberately avoided meeting her eyes, as though doing so would give her some sort of power over him.

Still, there was something about him that intrigued her. He wasn’t completely broken, not yet. His mental shields were better than she expected, though that may have been a recent development. She had heard all about the spectacle surrounding his droid. It seemed the loss of the little machine had done wonders for his focus. 

That was promising. If Kestis truly had the makings of an Inquisitor, he’d need a sharp mind and sharper instincts. He hated the Second Sister, that much was obvious. She could use that hate if necessary. 

But this mission wasn’t about her theories on Cal Kestis. It was about results. She would let him take the lead, let him taste what it was like to act on behalf of the Empire. Success or failure didn’t matter so much as the evaluation she would deliver to the Grand Inquisitor afterward. And if it meant deflating the Second Sister's ego in the process, so much the better.

She leaned forward, her voice cutting through the shuttle’s low hum.

“Get comfortable, Kestis,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “This shuttle isn’t built for speed. We’ll be in transit for at least 30 hours. You might as well rest while you can.”

She reached over and keyed a few commands into the panel, letting the nav display scroll lazily as it ran route calculations.

“I’m not tired” He muttered and it was difficult to see anything other than a petulant child sitting in co-pilot seat.

“You will be. Once we get there we will have to move quickly and Nar Shaddaa isn’t a forgiving place”

She noticed his shoulders tense slightly at the mention of their destination.

There was a ping from the nav and without any further delay she reached for the level and pulled them into hyperspace. The stars stretched and twisted into blue streaks in the viewport as they left the Mustafar system behind.

“As for the mission,” she continued, her tone taking on an almost conversational edge, “rumours say a smuggler on Nar Shaddar has been seen with a lightsaber.” She paused, watching his expression carefully but he gave no reaction. “It’s likely they picked it off a dead Jedi. Or maybe, if we’re lucky, it might be something a bit more interesting.”

Cal shifted slightly in his seat, but his face remained a careful mask. Good, he was learning.

She tilted her head, her voice turning almost playful.

“A small challenge, perhaps. But from what I’ve heard you’ve spent a lot of time on the run, you may even enjoy not being on the receiving end for once”

“And what exactly are you expecting me to do?” the question was clearly intended to sound biting, but she caught the worry underneath.

She let a beat pass before replying 

“Your job, the same as the rest of us”

“I’m not like the rest of you”

She had heard the same words from many of the people she had hunted over the years but this wasn’t said with the same bite. It wasn’t an insult or smug superiority, there was a note of resignation to it. She let a silence hang just long enough to let him add whatever he clearly wanted to, but he didn’t. He swallowed whatever he was going to say and continued to stare ahead.

“What you are or aren’t doesn’t matter. You are here now and that’s what matters”

He didn’t answer, but she could feel the tension winding tighter inside him. Resisting the shape being carved from him, maybe even now still trying to worm his way out of what he must do.

“I’m not asking you to enjoy it” she continued, taking a small amount of pity on the boy “I’m just telling you what the job is”

Cal shifted slightly in his seat, just enough for her to catch the movement. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“If there is a Jedi” she said her voice flat but firm “they’re not walking away”

He glanced at her and then back out of the viewport “And if I don’t-“

“Then I will” She cut in, this was the key point that had to get into his head. Regardless of what he does, this is what will happen “And the Grand Inquisitor will know which one of us did”

That seemed to get through. The reality that he seemed to have been circling since they left. She didn’t need him to like it. But he did need to understand it. Or he wasn’t going to last long.

His restraint was impressive. He let out a slow breath, the only sign of what he was holding back, and said nothing.

“Rest up,” she said finally, turning her attention back to the viewport. “You’ll need your strength.”

She didn’t look at him again, but she could feel his unease hanging in the air.

Yes, this wouldn’t be boring at all

The journey to Nar Shaddaa was uneventful, to the Fourth Sister's mild disappointment. Cal kept to himself, his presence little more than a shadow flitting through the ship’s narrow corridors. She had given him space, true to her word that he would need his strength for what was ahead. Needling him further might have been tempting, but it wasn’t necessary, not yet.

For now, she let him simmer in his solitude, sharpening his nerves for the mission. It was almost generous, she mused with a faint smirk, this restraint of hers. After all, she truly did want him to succeed. 

The real fun, she thought, would come later, when she returned to the fortress with a new inquisitor.

The shuttle pierced the dense smog of Nar Shaddaa, its metal hull shaking slightly as they descended into the perpetual chaos of the city-world. Below them stretched a twisted tapestry of neon and grime, the sickly light of countless signs flickering through the haze. Towers of durasteel rose like jagged teeth, and the endless hum of machinery and distant voices hinted at the lawless hive they were about to enter.

Nar Shaddaa: the Smuggler’s Moon. A place where the Empire’s influence often took a backseat to the Hutts’ rule and the tangled web of bounty hunters, criminals, and other undesirables. 

The Fourth Sister leaned back in her seat, her face awash with shifting neon. Her tone was casual, but there was a pointedness beneath it. “This is a fairly straightforward mission, but we need to keep a low profile. We can’t afford to spook whoever we’re looking for.” Her head turned slightly toward him. “You’re supposedly a very talented tracker, but my concern is for the ‘low-profile’ part. Subtlety doesn’t exactly seem to be your strong suit.”

Cal sat stiffly, his gaze fixed out the viewport. 

After a beat, he muttered, “I can keep a low profile.” His tone was tight, defensive. Almost as an afterthought, he added quietly, “I kept off your radar for nearly six years.”

“Ah, yes, blowing up refineries and destroying ancient tombs as you went. That's not what I call 'off the radar'.” The Fourth Sister replied dryly. 

That got a reaction. Cal’s gaze snapped to her, the beginnings of a retort already written on his face, but she cut him off smoothly before he could speak.

“But,” she continued, “five years spent on Bracca. I’ll concede that point. Scrap rat survival skills, I assume?”

Her words hung in the air, but Cal didn’t take the bait. Instead, his fingers flexed, fidgeting in his lap, and he turned back toward the viewport. She could see the tension in his posture, his hands gripping his knees as if to stop himself from reacting. He was angry, that much was clear, but there was more underneath it, fear, unease, and exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

The shuttle jolted slightly as it landed, the hiss of the ramp lowering filling the cabin. The acrid air of Nar Shaddaa crept inside, thick with pollution and the unmistakable stench of desperation. The Fourth Sister stood back, letting Kestis step out first. He didn’t hesitate, though she noted the tightness in his shoulders and the careful way his eyes scanned the environment.

So, the boy wasn’t entirely out of his depth.

She followed, her boots clicking softly on the metal ramp as the chaos of the undercity enveloped them. Nar Shaddaa was loud, filthy, and restless, everything she expected it to be. Neon signs buzzed overhead in an array of colours, advertising vices in Huttese, Basic, Arrubesh and a dozen other scripts that she didn't recognise.

“This moon isn’t exactly a place for the noble and righteous,” she said, her voice cool and sharp, cutting through the noise. “Not the sort of destination you’d have graced in your Jedi days, I imagine.”

Kestis didn’t answer, but she didn’t miss the flicker of tension in his jaw.

She studied him as they walked, letting him move ahead of her, his cautious gaze scanning their surroundings. It wasn’t fear, she realised, but something else, awareness. He wasn’t comfortable here, but neither was he overwhelmed.

The files she’d read on him had painted a clear picture, his early years after the Purge, however, were far less detailed. Bracca’s records were sparse, but what little they showed had intrigued her. Five years spent in the wreckage of warships, surrounded by scrappers and criminals.

“You’ve been in places like this before?” she said, her voice light, almost conversational. “Bracca wasn’t exactly a beacon of civilization. There must’ve been times you strayed into its darker corners.” Her tone carried a faint hint of amusement. “No young man could have kept entirely to the high ground.”

Still, he said nothing. His silence wasn’t only anger, it was there, sharp and undeniable. It was measured. Guarded.

Good. He was learning.

When he finally spoke, it was grudging, his voice low. “No. They’re not so different.”

She allowed herself a small, private smile. The boy was sharper than he looked, more adaptable than she’d expected.

“Good,” she said, letting the word linger. “Then you’ll fit right in.”

She gestured toward the labyrinth of streets ahead, where shadows pooled, and the glow of neon lights barely kept the darkness at bay. The air was alive with noise; shouts and laughter spilling from doorways, vendors hawking in harsh tones, the clatter of boots and machinery grinding overhead. Somewhere deeper in the alleys, music throbbed beneath the din, tangled with the sharp crack of glass breaking and the low rumble of speeders passing too close.

She let him lead for now, keeping her pace measured as she followed. Wondering whether the Second Sister’s prideful theatrics had any merit in this case.

The mission here was simple, but her true task, assessing Kestis, was far more important. The Grand Inquisitor’s orders had been clear: this boy would serve the Empire. The only question was how. Did he have the potential to be shaped into something useful, a true Inquisitor, sharpened into a weapon with purpose? Or was a harsher path required? 

For now, Kestis was an unknown quantity, and she relished the opportunity to test him. Whatever his reasons for cooperating, it was clear that there were cracks.

Nar Shaddaa had always been a place of chaos and opportunity. She had no doubt it would offer both tonight.

Chapter Text

The narrow alleys of Nar Shaddaa seemed endless, their damp walls reflecting the pale glow of distant neon. The air was thick with the mingling stench of fuel, decay, and desperation.

Cal kept his shoulders down but eyes keen as he looked around taking in all the information he could. He followed the Fourth Sister as she navigated the maze with unerring precision.

Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, it felt good to have something to focus on. The nerves twisting in his gut were sharp, but they were manageable, almost grounding. 

They reached their destination: a dingy office crammed into a forgotten corner near a docking station. The sign above the door flickered weakly, its faded letters spelling out something unintelligible to Cal. 

Inside, the room stank of sour spice smoke and recycled air. The ‘trader’ who’d called in the tip was a Devaronian, all sharp angles and bad intentions. His red skin had the slick sheen of someone who spent more time in cantinas than under open sky, and his short horns had been filed to uneven points, likely more for style than function. A patchy goatee clung to his chin, and his teeth, when he grinned, were just a shade too sharp.

He reclined behind a scuffed desk littered with half-burned datapads and drink rings, a half-lit cigarra smouldering in one hand. His coat was long and leathery, cut for someone who liked to be mistaken for more important than he was. When his eyes landed on their sabers, his expression shifted for just a second, wariness maybe but then the smirk returned, broader and oiler than before.

“You the ones lookin’ for the smuggler, huh?” he drawled, his voice gravelly with a trace of slick charm., his gaze moving between them as he seemed to try and weigh up which one of them he should be addressing. 

The Fourth Sister didn’t bother answering. Her silent, towering presence said everything for her.

The chagrian fumbled with a console on his desk, bringing up a grainy holofeed on a battered display. “Got somethin’ here I thought might interest folks like you. Not every day you see one of these babies out in the open, yeah?” He jabbed a finger toward the screen.

The footage was poor and grainy, clearly recorded by a security droid whose primary focus had been monitoring a nearby ship. Cal’s attention, however, was fixed on the two figures in the distance, silhouetted in the haze, their shapes half-obscured by low hoods and layered worn clothes. The faint glow of dim alley lights barely illuminated their forms, making it difficult to make out any defining features. They appeared to be talking when, without warning, one of them drew a lightsaber.

Even through the low resolution, the unmistakable green blade lit up the space between them. Green, not an uncommon colour, but certainly distinctive enough to make Cal’s heart skip a beat. The wielder wasn’t fighting, just passing the weapon back and forth in front of the second figure, as though they were showing it off. The display was clumsy and casual, a strange mix of reverence and carelessness.

Then, without warning, blaster fire erupted from somewhere behind the camera. The second figure drew their own blaster, firing back with wild, imprecise shots. The first figure ducked, clutching the sabre awkwardly. Just as Cal leaned in closer a stray bolt zipped toward the camera, causing the feed to crackle and cut off in a burst of static.

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the display. Cal stared at the now-static screen, his stomach tight. For a moment, he said nothing, simply restarting the footage and watching again.

The poor quality of the recording gave him little to work with, no clear faces, no evident skills. The blade had only been visible for a few seconds, not nearly enough time to determine the wielder’s level of expertise.

Their stance had seemed sloppy, their movements hesitant. Certainly not the seasoned grace of a Jedi Master. A stolen saber seemed the most likely explanation. Or...

Cal’s jaw tensed. A Padawan.

Young. Untrained. Someone who had no idea the danger they’d just stepped into.

His thoughts drifted unbidden and unwanted to those children. The ones without faces. The ones he had-

No.

They hadn’t used the Force. Probably knew better. Who would be reckless enough to use it out in the open, with ears on every corner and a dozen eyes watching for the first sign of it?

He gave a short, humourless breath almost a laugh.

His thoughts converging on his own failings,

He shoved the thought aside, let it slide into the quiet. There were more pressing things to think about.

“Where was this taken?” he asked, his voice steady despite the churn of thoughts in his head.

The Devaronian leaned back in his chair, his smile widening with greed. “Near the old docks. Couple nights ago. I only found the footage when I was tryin' to find out who taken shots at my ship. No one else knows about this yet. If they did it'd be a fight to get to 'im first. Lots of bounties out for Jedi these days.” He chuckled, though the sound was nervous, his bravado barely masking his discomfort.

The Fourth Sister stepped forward, her shadow falling over the desk. “You’ll get paid if this information proves valuable,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. 

The Devaronian raised his hands, his grin faltering. “Hey, no need to get nasty. I’m just tryin’ to help. If you catch ‘em, maybe throw a few creds my way for pointin’ you in the right direction, yeah?”

She didn’t so much as acknowledge the plea, her gaze shifting instead to Cal cool and expectant.

“Well, Kestis?” she said evenly. “Are you ready to take this from here?”

Cal shot her a glance, irritation flickering across his face.

“If this was days ago, they'll probably be long gone. If we move now, we can try and work out where they went,” he muttered, already stepping toward the door.

“Very well,” she said, gesturing for him to take the lead. “Let’s see if your talents live up to the reputation you’ve been given.”

Cal didn’t respond. He just moved ahead, pulse tightening as the city swallowed them again all flickering neon and shifting shadows. He could feel her presence just behind him, silent, watching.

She wasn’t mocking him, not exactly. But there was something in her tone not quite expectation, not quite doubt that left him on edge. Like she was waiting to see how he’d fail.

Or maybe how far he’d go not to.

Cal hated how normal this felt. Following leads, tracking people down. Compared to what he had imagined, this assignment wasn’t as horrible as he’d feared, at least, not yet. Tracking down a single lightsaber wasn’t a bloodbath, and it didn’t require him to do anything too horrifying.

But that gnawing question in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him rest: What if it was a Padawan? A kid, scared and lost, like he had been after the Purge. He clenched his fists at the thought. What would the Empire expect him to do? What would The Fourth Sister expect him to do? He tried not to think about it, pushing the question deeper into the pit of dread already growing inside him.

Normally, in moments like this, he’d talk to BD-1. But BD wasn’t here. Instead, he had the Fourth Sister pacing alongside him, her silence a constant reminder of just how dangerous his situation was. For a fleeting moment of insanity, the thought crossed his mind to ask if she knew any jokes. He imagined the sharp edge of her glare in response and smirked bitterly to himself. Great idea, Cal.

Her presence was suffocating, dark and probing. She didn’t have to say anything; it was the way she walked just behind him, always watching, waiting, like a predator sizing up prey. She wasn’t his companion. She was his jailer. And if he forgot that, even for a second, it would be the end of him.

They found the place easily enough; it wasn’t exactly hidden. Or at least no more hidden than anywhere else. What drew Cal’s eye was a burn mark in one of the walls. He raised his hand to it, removing one of his gloves as he did, trying to get wherever he could from it.

Frustratingly there wasn’t much, some shouting and the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber being drawn and swiping to strike down an opponent. He couldn’t feel a force presence, but that didn’t mean much; the echo was weak and muted. He looked around for something else to use.

“It was definitely a lightsaber. I can’t tell who was wielding it though, or where they were going”

He walked up and down the small alleyway a couple of times, stopping occasionally to touch something else before withdrawing it with a sigh of frustration or a shake of the head.

“Feel free to start helping whenever you like” He shot at the Fourth Sister who was hovering behind him.

The Fourth Sister stood just behind him, arms folded. “You’re the one with the sight. I assume you’ll tell me when there’s something actionable.”

Cal huffed, jaw tight, but didn’t argue. He kept moving, scanning the area in silence.

Eventually he got what he needed. Finally, his fingers brushed a discarded drink canister, and a stronger echo surged through him. The world around him blurred, giving way to pale, glowing light and disembodied voices.

“I really don’t know about this Zecon, it feels like doing business far too close to trouble. What’s Grakkus gonna do when he finds out you’ve been doing this right under his nose-“

“Relax” said a second voice “As far as anyone ever needs to know it’s just an empty warehouse, besides who would dare cross a Jedi like me?”

There was the sound of a lightsaber being drawn and the sounds faded.

The world rematerialized around Cal as he stood up and spoke.

“We’re looking for a warehouse near someone called Grakkus. He’s certainly calling himself a Jedi, but he doesn’t exactly act like one”

“And what does a Jedi act like?” The fourth sister replied, ignoring the important part of his conclusion.

Cal went quiet, weighing up her words, whether this was a test or not, but he genuinely wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He'd spoken without thinking.

His mouth opened, then closed again. Nothing came.

The Jedi were supposed to be wise defenders of peace. That’s what he’d been taught.

But he remembered the stories. A Jedi Master who turned on the Republic. Led his clones to slaughter.

Maybe they all should’ve, a thought whispered, uninvited.

He ignored it but silently agreed. Malicos had turned to the dark to survive, Cal had told himself it was justice when he cut him down. But lately, that story didn’t sit so neatly in his mind. None of them did.

He hadn’t killed Malicos.

And himself…

He didn’t want to count the choices he’d made that a Jedi wouldn’t.

“I guess it depends who you ask,” he said finally, the words heavy with ambiguity.

The Fourth Sister didn’t reply immediately, but the way she stared at him made his skin crawl. It felt like she was dissecting his answer, probing for a weakness. He turned away, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.

“Let’s just find this warehouse,” he said, his voice sharp and brittle. Without waiting for her response, he walked away, his jaw clenched.

Behind him, her boots scraped softly against the ground as she followed.

Chapter Text

The sprawl of Nar Shaddaa stretched endlessly, a chaotic patchwork of towering structures and neon lights. Cal stood at the edge of a grimy overlook, scanning the mess of towers and buildings as if one of them might suddenly jump out as the correct place. He clenched his jaw in frustration, his earlier confidence slowly evaporating as the scope of the task became clear.

“Grakkus owns half the moon, apparently,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “This could take days.”

“Well we don't have days” the Fourth Sister said dryly, leaning against a rusted railing. "We need to find that lightsabre before it and whoever wields it disappears completely into the city"

“So much for peace and order,” he said bitterly, gesturing to the chaotic streets below. “Isn’t that what your Empire is supposed to bring?”

He knew he was probably pushing his luck now, but frustration gnawed at him.

“Because things were so much better during your precious Republic days? Places like this, people like the Hutts, exist no matter who’s in charge.” Her words were calm and level, she seemed uninterested in engaging in the argument that Cal was raring for.

“Isn’t the whole point of you to get rid of places like this?” Cal shot back, turning to face her.

“No,” she replied sharply. “The whole point of us is to eliminate Jedi.”

The word us lingered in the air like a challenge, but Cal didn’t rise to it. Instead, he turned back to the cityscape, his mind racing.

This was exactly the kind of situation where BD would’ve been useful. The little droid could’ve marked all the possible locations and systematically worked through them. They’d have been halfway there by now. 

Cal exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought. BD wasn’t here. He'd had to figure this out himself.

Hours passed as Cal leaned over a commandeered terminal, cross-referencing sparse records. A glowing orange map of Grakkus' holdings sprawled across the screen, each dot representing another possibility. Even with the Empire’s access to local logistics networks, their data was patchy at best. Buildings listed for one purpose could easily be used for another, and Nar Shaddaa’s labyrinthine underworld complicated things further.

“We need to narrow this down” he murmured, trying  to filter locations by size and proximity to known trade routes.

The Fourth Sister lingered nearby, occasionally leaning in to help input a password or grant access to something but she was letting him do all the hard work. He ignored her, his focus on reducing the overwhelming list before them.

It still wasn’t enough. He needed local knowledge, someone who knew the city’s layout and the patterns of its criminal networks. A name surfaced in his mind, not for the first time since Nar Shadaar was first mentioned. 

He paused in tense thought, wondering if there was an easy way to get what he needed without raising suspicion or putting anyone in danger.

“Did you find something?” The Fourth Sister’s voice cut through his thoughts, clearly having noticed him stop.

“No,” Cal said too quickly, his fingers hovering over the controls suddenly aware that he was far too still and started pressing things just to have something to do with his hands. 

She tilted her head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s no one,” Cal insisted, his voice sharper this time.

“No one? Don’t waste my time.” Her voice dropped into a dangerous register. “If there’s someone who can help us find this place, say it.”

Cal’s fingers froze, his mind racing. He hated how easily she could see through him. He stood still for a moment, then nodded, reluctant. “I might know someone,”

The Fourth Sister stepped closer, looming over him. “Who?”

“An old friend,” Cal said quietly, still not meeting her gaze. “Someone from Bracca. He left before... before I did. But he owes me a favour. Last I heard, he moved here. He might be able to help.”

“Then we’ll go to him,” she said simply, the decision already made.

Cal clenched his jaw, weighing his options. 

Tabbers was someone he trusted, but it had been years. He didn’t know what Tabbers even knew, if he’d even heard about what happened to Prauf, what he thought had happened to Cal.

Worse, Tabbers represented more than just a potential lead. He was a part of the life Cal had left behind, to a version of himself that felt irretrievable. The idea of facing him now made Cal’s stomach churn.

He didn’t want to see Tabbers, but the pressure of time gnawed at him. He couldn’t afford delays, and he couldn’t afford to appear uncooperative. She was watching him, assessing him. If he hesitated too long, if he refused to follow up on a lead, it would be marked as failure. And failure meant...

“Fine,” Cal said finally, his voice strained. “But we do this my way.”

The Fourth Sister didn’t respond, but he caught the faintest hint of satisfaction in her posture as she stepped back, giving him room to move.

They navigated the labyrinthine streets in tense silence, the city alive with sound: distant engines, muffled conversations, and the blare of alarms. Shadows danced across durasteel walls under the flickering neon signs, casting an eerie glow over the uneven terrain. Cal stayed close to the Fourth Sister but maintained a deliberate distance.

“You know this man from Bracca?” she asked after a while, her tone casual but probing.

“Yes,” Cal replied curtly.

“Not from... somewhere else?”

“No,” he said, firmer this time. He was already putting Tabbers at risk just by mentioning him, he wasn’t about to let suspicion paint him with anything worse. After a pause, he added, “I knew him for a few years after I crashed there. He was a rigger too, helped me find a place to live.”

“Harbouring a Jedi,” she said, drawing the words out like a blade. “You know what the punishment for that is, right?”

“He didn’t know,” Cal answered flatly, his voice steady. He wasn’t going to rise to her bait.

“If you say so,” she said, her tone tinged with amusement. He could hear the smirk in her voice even without looking.

Whatever retort he might’ve made stayed locked behind clenched teeth.

Tabbers felt strangely detached from the rest of Cal’s life, before or after Bracca. Involving him in any of this felt wrong. He was someone from a world untouched by the Jedi, the Force, or the Empire's war. But Cal had nearly dragged him in once. After saving Prauf, when escape was the only option, he’d planned to swing by his flat, grab a bag, and find Tabbers. He’d thought here would be the perfect place to vanish. But the Empire had been too fast. Far too fast. 

He thought back to that frantic dash, trying desperately to keep a low profile just a bit longer, the tension. Was that how the person they were chasing felt now? If he were even a fraction of quick the second sister was-

"How did you find me on Bracca so quickly?" he said abruptly, finishing the thought out loud.

The Fourth Sister didn’t miss a beat she kept walking, her stride unchanging. “I didn’t,” she said coolly. “That was the Second Sister’s work.”

“How did she do it, then? It was only hours before she found me.” If anything her non-answer made him all the more determined to know what happened.

She stopped walking and turned to face him fully, her expression inscrutable beneath the dark mask. Her voice, however, was sharp with mockery.

“You used the Force. Right in front of a probe droid.”

“But-”

“Where you worked, under your real name, with a barcode on your arm so they could track exactly where you were.”

Cal’s stomach twisted as he fought the urge to self-consciously rub his forearm where his Scrappers Guild tattoo still sat.

“But she didn’t know who I was,” he argued, grasping for some semblance of defence. “She lined us all up. She threatened to execute everyone if the Jedi didn’t step forward.”

“Are you really this hopelessly naive?” Her tone was cutting now, a whip lashing across his pride. “Of course she knew who you were. I’d have thought you, of all people, understood by now that the Second Sister takes pride in mind games.”

Cal slowed his walk to a stop, his mind racing. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. 

He hadn’t stood a chance from the moment he used the Force. She had known exactly who he was, had lined them all up just to make him squirm, letting his fear build to a crescendo before forcing him to act. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the anger that bubbled beneath the surface.

“She could’ve just killed me then and there,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t she?”

“Because killing you would’ve been boring,” the Fourth Sister said matter-of-factly, “Breaking you, that’s the sport. That’s how she works.”

Her words slotted into place, completing the picture he’d been too blind to see before. He remembered the way Trilla, the Second Sister, he corrected himself bitterly, had taunted him, threatened the workers, and then let Prauf step forward to protect him. The duel on the rooftops, the chase…

“She was just toying with me,” he said slowly, the weight of the realization pressing down on him.

The Fourth Sister gave a small nod, her tone flat but pointed. “That was her intention. Don’t let it happen again.”

“I didn’t-” Cal stopped himself mid-sentence. He knew any defence would sound pathetic. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a shrug, her indifference stoking his frustration. “But your moral righteousness, your panic, your fear, they all worked in her favour.”

“It’s not moral righteousness to try and stop people from dying,” Cal snapped, turning to face her fully. His voice echoed down the narrow street.

“It is,” she said “It is when you throw yourself into a fight you’ve already lost. You’ll learn. Survival doesn’t care about right or wrong. Only what’s real.”

Cal’s jaw clenched. “And what’s real, then?”

"The Empire is real. The chair is real. The consequences of your failure are real. Right and wrong is semantics, details that don't matter if you choose them not to"

He looked away, his chest tight. “You think you’re helping me,” he muttered. “You’re not.”

“I’m not trying to help,” she replied, calm and unbothered. “I’m telling you what you need to hear.”

Cal said nothing, forcing himself to focus on the sprawling city ahead, he turned and kept walking determinately not looking back at the Fourth Sister. She turned to follow staying silent for a moment before speaking again.

“You hate the Second Sister, don’t you?” she asked casually.

“Of course I do.” He replied, almost irritated by the question. He had hated her already, weeks being tortured by someone would do that but the realisation about how deep the manipulation had gone from the moment they had first met settled deep inside him. He felt stupid for not realising it sooner.  

“From what I hear, you did most of the work getting that holocron,” the Fourth Sister said, her tone even. “She’s been walking like she owns the fortress ever since.” She glanced at him, studying his reaction. “You know she’s the one who caught your droid, right? I heard she gave you a rough time in the dojo too.”

“I know all this” Was she just trying to rub this in or something. He already felt stupid and childish. He didn’t need reminding about every time she had gotten the better of him. His leg throbbed dully as a reminder of that as he continued to walk.

"Well do you know the whole reason you're here with me, and not getting reacquainted with her teaching methods?” The Fourth Sister didn't wait for an answer  “Grand is furious that you tried to kill him and did so much damage in the process. He sees it as her failure to control you.”

Cal frowned, her words swirling in his mind like smoke he couldn’t grasp. What was she trying to say? He felt slow, thick-headed, like he was struggling to decipher a language he barely knew. It sounded logical, but he couldn’t connect it to the mission they were supposed to be on.

"She had only just managed to redeem herself after you escaped, and she was on thin ice before she brought you in anyway. You were giving her quite the run around." the Fourth Sister continued, watching him closely. "Failing to stop you from running to the Grand Inquisitor and trying to kill him is a black mark against her name. Clearly, she didn’t think you had it in you."

"So... she’s in trouble because of me?" Cal asked slowly. He thought back to Trilla’s fury when she had come to his cell afterward. He’d noticed an edge to her anger, but at the time, he hadn't cared to analyse it. The politics of the Inquisitorius hadn’t exactly been a priority when he was hanging by a thread.

“Exactly,” the Fourth Sister said, her tone smooth and measured. “She claimed you’re unmanageable. Too stubborn. Too reckless. And she’s not entirely wrong. But if you fall in line, if you prove her wrong, then it’s her failure they’ll remember. Not yours.”  

“And you get to look like the one who brought me to heel,” Cal said. The bitterness bled through before he could stop it, leaving the words sour on his tongue.

The Fourth Sister didn’t deny it. “That’s how the game works,” she replied evenly. “But you get something, too. You found the holocron. You opened it. Play this right, and the Grand Inquisitor remembers that. Vader remembers that. You might even earn your number.”

Cal blinked. “Vader?” The name came out before he had time to think.

She arched a brow. “Who do you think the Grand Inquisitor answers to?”

Cal had never really considered it, but the thought lodged like a shard of glass. Someone worse than the Grand Inquisitor? He didn’t like the sound of that.

“You want their favor,” she said, her tone firm now. “Trust me on that, if nothing else.”

Cal clenched his jaw. He hated how reasonable it sounded. Every word felt like a chain tightening around his throat, but he couldn’t pretend the logic wasn’t there.

For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Her words clung to him, heavy and suffocating. He hated how much truth there was in her cynicism. He knew that he was being manipulated but she also wasn’t wrong. 

“So you’re saying you want to be friends?”

“Not friends. But we could be allies. We have a shared goal after all”

Cal studied her, trying to read the game behind her words. She was manipulative, calculating, just like Trilla. But unlike Trilla, she didn’t seem to revel in making him suffer. At least, not yet. 

Finally, Cal exhaled deeply and straightened. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice tight. “We need to find Tabbers.”

The Fourth Sister nodded, her posture casual but her movements deliberate, like a predator sizing up her prey. “Lead the way.”

Cal didn’t answer. He turned and started walking.

He pushed the anger and doubt down, locking them away where they couldn’t get in the way. There’d be time for reckoning later maybe. For now, he had a job to do. A role to play.

And maybe, if he played it well enough, he wouldn’t just survive this.

Maybe he'd start figuring out how to win.

Chapter Text

The farther they walked through Nar Shaddaa’s teeming streets, the heavier Cal felt. He kept his head down, doing his best to vanish into the crowd of smugglers, gamblers, and traders who called the chaos home.

The Fourth Sister still followed behind him like a sinister shadow, but he was doing his best to ignore her. 

Cal didn't like this, not at all, not that feeling of being manipulated by the Fourth Sister, not the fact that he was going to see Tabbers, not the fact he was even here in the first place.

But it seemed he didn’t have a choice.

"There’s always a choice", said a voice in his head, sharp, cold, and mocking. He flinched at the sound of it, though it was only in his mind. 

Sure, he thought bitterly. There’s a choice. Do this… or get dragged back to the Fortress and flayed open again. Some choice.

And then out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A flicker in the crowd. A too-small figure, still and wrong amid the movement.

The child. That faceless child. 

For a moment, the noise of the street dulled to a hum, like his ears had been submerged. He turned sharply, shoving past a pair of gamblers mid-argument, eyes scanning the alley.

Gone.

The figure had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

But it was him. The same shape. The same eerie stillness.

He didn’t mention what he’d seen.

He didn’t look back again.

Just pressed forward, head low, weaving through the chaos of Nar Shaddaa like nothing had changed, like he wasn’t shaken, like his skin wasn’t crawling.

But something had shifted.

His steps felt off-balance now, like the street beneath him had tilted just slightly. Like someone was watching. Like someone knew.

He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to steady himself as the workshop’s drew closer. 

Just in and out. Keep it simple. He didn’t need to explain himself, and he definitely didn’t need Tabbers asking too many questions. The Fourth Sister’s presence at his side ensured that he wouldn't be able to answer any of them anyway. 

His heart sank as they rounded the corner and the workshop’s glow came into view. 

The Inquisitor uniform clung to him like a weight, heavier with every step. His lightsaber wasn’t hidden beneath a scrapper’s poncho this time, it hung openly at his belt, impossible to ignore.

He knew Tabbers well enough to know that time alone wouldn't diminish the favour that he always said he owed Cal but a faint unease lingered about how he’d left Bracca. He had never thought much about it before, but now he couldn’t shake the question: did they all think he was dead, a traitor, a murderer?   The uncertainty pulled at him, quiet but persistent, like a thread he didn’t want to tug.

It would be easier if he could just get Tabbers alone. They could have a quick chat, keep it quiet, and then leave before anything messy could happen. But with the Fourth Sister in tow, watching his every move, keeping things simple was starting to feel impossible.

Cal hesitated on the threshold, “You should wait out here,” he muttered over his shoulder, keeping his voice low.

She didn’t move. 

“Not a chance,” she said smoothly, her voice cutting through the air like a vibroblade.

“Tabbers won’t talk to us if you’re breathing down his neck,” Cal countered, glancing back at her. Her expression was unreadable behind the dark mask she wore, but he could feel her disdain radiating in the way she tilted her head slightly to the side.

“Then convince him” she replied, a faint edge of amusement lacing her words. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

"I thought we were allies now, shouldn't you trust me?" He tried.

She let out a dry huff, not quite a laugh. “Trust is earned. And your track record? Let’s just say I’m not in the habit of betting on unstable assets.”

He huffed in annoyance. Pushing back would only make things worse. Instead, he let out a sharp breath and pressed the button for the door.

The workshop was a chaotic blend of old and new. Piles of scrap parts and half-assembled droids cluttered the floor, their mismatched components a testament to Nar Shaddaa’s patchwork economy. Rusted durasteel panels lined the walls, interspersed with exposed wiring that occasionally crackled faintly, casting brief flashes of light on the disorganized space. A ceiling fan spun sluggishly, doing little to disperse the heavy air thick with grease and burnt out circuits.

Behind the counter, a service droid with a boxy head and a weathered chassis swiveled to face them. Its photoreceptors flickered briefly, scanning them. “Welcome to Dynatex Repairs. How may I assist you?” it asked in a clipped, mechanical tone, its vocabulator crackling on the last syllable.

“I’m looking for Tabbers,” Cal said, his voice firmer than he felt.

The droid paused, its processors clearly working through the request before responding. “One moment, please.” It turned with a faint hiss and shuffled toward the back, its uneven gait sending metallic clunks echoing through the shop.

From the rear of the workshop came a sharp clatter of tools hitting the floor, followed by a muffled curse. A moment later, a man appeared, ducking under a low-hanging wire as he wiped his grease-streaked hands on a filthy rag. His large frame filled the doorway, and despite the grime, there was a glint of recognition in his wide-set eyes.

“Cal? Cal! Is it really you?”

“Tabbers!” A smile broke across Cal’s face, surprising even himself. The sight of his old friend stirred something in him, a faint, fleeting warmth. He hadn’t seen Tabbers since he was sixteen, back when life had been much simpler, even amidst the chaos of Bracca. 

Tabbers didn’t waste a moment. He came around the counter in a few long strides and pulled Cal into a massive hug. It was warm and genuine, the kind of hug that left no doubt how much someone had been missed.

“Stars, I thought you were dead. They said, Prauf-”

“Tabbers,” Cal interrupted sharply, his tone shifting in an instant. The mention of Prauf hit like a blaster bolt to the chest, and he couldn’t afford to go there. He pulled away and held Tabbers at arms length while he met his eyes “I need a favour.” 

Tabbers froze, the sudden change in tone cutting through his joy. He stepped back, really looking at Cal for the first time since he’d walked through the door. His eyes swept over Cal, lingering on the imperial uniform, on the faded scars, the worn look in his eyes.

Then, his gaze flicked to the fourth sister, lingering silently behind Cal. She hadn’t said a word, but her presence was impossible to ignore. Her helmet and dark uniform gave her an eerie, almost spectral quality, and the sharp line of her gaze was enough to unsettle anyone. Tabbers’ expression shifted, a mix of confusion and wariness crossing his face.

“What’s going on, Cal? You’re not in trouble, are you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“Sort of,” Cal admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I need your help finding someone. We could really use some local knowledge.”

Tabbers hesitated, clearly weighing something in his mind. His eyes darted back to the Fourth Sister, who remained still. Then, with a reluctant nod, he seemed to make a decision.

“Sure,” he said. “Come into the back, and we can talk in private. Don’t need to do all this out here.” He gestured for Cal to follow him behind the counter, turning to lead the way.

The Fourth Sister moved to follow without hesitation, the quiet tap of her footsteps cutting through the room’s silence.  

“It’s small back here,” Tabbers said over his shoulder, turning slightly to address her “You can wait out here. We won’t be long.”

“He’s not going anywhere without me,” she said coolly, her voice like ice.

Tabbers stopped in his tracks, turning to face her fully. He crossed his arms, confusion written all over his face. “No offense, lady, but I don’t know you-”

“I’m a friend of Cal’s,” the Fourth Sister cut in, her tone smooth with a peculiar emphasis on friend that made Cal’s jaw tighten.

Tabbers shot him a quick look, confusion flickering in his eyes. Cal caught it immediately. He didn’t blame him. There was no easy way to explain this without dredging up things neither of them wanted to talk about. And yet, it was all there in Tabbers’ face: the wariness, the hesitation, the unspoken question.

Cal met his gaze and forced a steady tone. “She’s with me, Tabs. We can trust her. She’s here to help.”

Even to his own ears, it sounded stiff, like he was reading lines from someone else’s script. Tabbers didn’t look convinced, but after a beat, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

Cal didn’t relax. Neither did Tabbers.

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “But it’s cramped back there. Don’t go knocking over my stuff.”

He led them into the small workshop behind the counter. The room was as cramped as he’d warned, barely more than a narrow hallway lined with shelves and cluttered with parts, tools, and half-finished projects. A small terminal was mounted to the wall, its screen flickering faintly.

With obvious reluctance, Tabbers gestured to a workbench in the corner. The surface was a mess, buried under a chaotic sprawl of schematics, mismatched tools, and the disassembled remains of what looked like a B1 battle droid.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Tabbers muttered, sitting down at the terminal with a creak of the chair. He glanced at the Fourth Sister again, his unease clear in the way his shoulders tensed.

Tabbers cleared a space on the cluttered workbench with a sweeping motion, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as tools clattered to the floor. He retrieved a battered datapad from beneath a pile of schematics, its surface scratched and dulled by years of use.

“All right, what are we looking for?” Tabbers asked, poised to jot down details.

“A warehouse near something owned by Grakku,” Cal said.

Tabbers froze mid-motion, then leaned back in his chair with a sigh that edged dangerously close to a laugh. 

“Cal, Grakku owns half the moon. That could be anywhere.”

“I know.” Cal’s tone was clipped, frustration leaking through. “That’s the problem. I’ve got a list started, but I couldn’t narrow it down much on my own.”

Tabber was watching him now, not just listening but tudying hiss face in a quiet familiar way that made Cal face feel hot. Cal didn't meet his eyes.

“Anything else to go on?" Tabbers asked" Where’d you get the lead? Even small details might help here.”

For a moment, Cal didn’t respond. His gaze dropped, the hesitation stretching long enough to feel noticeable. He could feel the Fourth Sister's presence behind him, silent but heavy. But that isn't what gave him pause. 

Tabbers wanted to believe it was the imposing woman in the helmet standing silently behind them that caused the delay, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing suspicion that it was something else, something more personal.

“It was from an overheard conversation,” Cal said at last. His voice was steady and each word was chosen with care. “The guy we’re after stole something. During the conversation, he mentioned not wanting to do business ‘right under Grakku’s nose.’ The other guy replied that, as far as anyone needed to know, it was just an empty warehouse.”

Tabbers scratched his chin, considering the information. “There are a lot of places that fit that description,” he said slowly. “But if I had to bet, the ‘right under his nose’ part means one of two locations: either his palace or the fighting pits.”

“The fighting pits?”

“Yeah.” Tabbers’ expression soured, disgust flickering across his face. “Big arenas where all sorts of people, or creatures, fight to the death. You know the type.”

“Yeah, I do.”

He didn't mean for it to come out like it did. Sharp at the edges and filled with bitterness, but it did anyway. Something uneasy flickered in Tabbers' face but he didn't press any further. Cal didn't explain any further. He just kept his gaze on the data pad, jaw tight and pretending not to notice the pause that followed. 

“Alright,” Tabbers said, his tone as casual as ever. He leant back on his chair and propped his feet up on the desk considering the list on his battered datapad. “So we can rule out anything around the upper docks. They’re busy, you’d be lucky to find an empty cupboard that’s not known about over there.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “That leaves the lower levels... or the Black Rancor district.”

Cal frowned, leaning over to tap his own datapad.  “The Black Rancor’s not got many options for places owned by Grakuu, it’s also got some of the heaviest Imperial presence. Can’t see anyone trying to run a smuggling ring there ”

Tabbers snorted. 

“You’d think so, but you’d be surprised how sloppy people get when they think they’re untouchable.” He scanned another entry on the list, shaking his head. “Man, this reminds me of Bracca. Only instead of hunting down where the good salvage is, we’re hunting down something you won’t even tell me about.”

Cal didn’t respond, his focus on the datapad in front of him. Tabbers tilted his head, giving him a sidelong glance. “You’re really not gonna tell me, huh?”

“It’s safer if you don’t know,” Cal said, not looking up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tabbers muttered, dropping his feet to the floor with a loud thud. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You always were the quiet type. Quiet, but never boring. I still remember when you helped me out with that busted loadlifter... only for me to find out later you were the one who fried it in the first place.”

Cal smirked faintly, finally glancing up. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault you left it lying about where any clueless scrapper could use it. Besides, I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” Tabbers admitted, grinning. “You always had a knack for getting into trouble and then fixing it before anyone noticed. And to think I thought you’d be an easy flatmate when I took you in”

“You didn’t have to,” Cal said, his voice quieter now. “You barely knew me.”

Tabbers shrugged, waving off the sentiment. “You needed a place, and I needed someone to pay half the rent. Figured we could call it even. Plus, you weren’t half bad company, a little more trouble than I had bargained for maybe, but it worked out.”

“A little?” Cal raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“Alright, a lot,” Tabbers admitted with a laugh. He pointed the stylus he had been twirling in his fingers at Cal. “You’re lucky you were so small, always handy to have a little one like you for getting into those little gaps. Never seen anyone able to climb like you either, especially up to places you weren’t supposed to be.”

Cal’s smile faltered slightly, and his gaze drifted back to the datapad. 

“Guess I was a bit of a pain sometimes,” he murmured. “You’re lucky, you know. Getting off Bracca. It must be nice working for yourself, not having a boss breathing down your neck every second.”

Tabbers shrugged. 

“There’s always someone higher up pulling the strings,” he said. “But yeah, it’s better than living one missed shift away from losing everything. Even if I do have to deal with all the crime and Hutts running the place now.”

“Yeah, guess so. At least you’ve not got some kid to have to look out for anymore though”

Tabbers studied him for a moment before leaning back in his chair again. 

“You’re too hard on yourself, Cal. Always were.” He hesitated, then added, “You know, you look older than I expected. It’s only been, what, three years? You were just sixteen last time I saw you. Now you’re... what, twenty going on forty?”

Cal chuckled dryly. “Feels like it some days. But I uhhh... I might have lied to you about my age”

Tabber gave him a look "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah I was a bit younger than 15 when I moved in"

"A bit?"

"A bit" He held the line there. A smirk starting to pull at his face as he watched Tabbers eyes looking around running silent calculations in his head for exactly how old the kid he took in as a bunkmate might have actually been. He then let out a snort, which turned into an incredulous laugh. Cal couldn't help it and before he knew it he was laughing too. 

It faded quickly into quiet chuckles. Tabbers kept his eyes in Cal for a moment longer, like he was seeing him with fresh clarity, then let the last of his grin slip away.

Tabbers leaned forward again, lowering his voice slightly. 

“Seriously, though. What’s with the Empire, Cal? I never pegged you as someone who’d fall in line with them. You always hated people who threw their weight around. Said it wasn’t fair.”

Cal stiffened, his grip tightening slightly on the datapad and eyes flicking slightly behind him to where the Fourth sister still stood distracted by something on her own datapad but still clearly within earshot. 

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Tabbers pressed, but his tone was gentle, more curious than accusatory. “It’s not like you were ever a fan of the Empire, from what I remember. You always had a way of giving their propaganda posters the side-eye like they personally insulted you.”

Cal let out a short breath, setting the datapad down. 

“Things change Tabs, I didn’t have many options.”

Tabbers watched him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. 

“Alright. If you say so.” He reached for another datapad, scrolling through the entries. “This lead here, Ravenworks, is probably a good bet for something illicit, well more illicit than what’s usual around here. It’s buried deep, no casual traffic.”

Cal nodded, grateful for the change in subject. “Makes sense. We’ll check it out.”

They settled into a steady rhythm after that, combing through records and cross-referencing details. the silence stretched, sometimes broken by a question or comment but it was a companionable quiet rather than uncomfortable silence. 

Tabbers broke the silence again eventually, his voice lighter this time. 

“You still messing around with droids? You always had a bit of a way with them.”

Cal hesitated, the thought of BD flashing through his mind. 

“I, uh... haven’t had much time for that lately.”

“Shame. Bet you’ve still got some wild stories to tell though.” He leaned back, stretching his arms. “Alright, looks like we’ve got a plan. You ready for this, or do you need me to hold your hand like the old days?”

“Pretty sure I was the one holding your hand,” Cal shot back, smirking.

“Keep telling yourself that, kid,” Tabbers said with a laugh, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his neck. “Well, that’s as close as we’re getting without more to go on.”

Cal nodded, standing and preparing to leave. Tabbers followed him toward the door, his gaze flicking uneasily to the Fourth Sister as she stepped out first. Just as Cal was about to follow, Tabbers grabbed his arm, his grip firm but not harsh.

“I don’t pretend to know what you’re wrapped up in here, Cal,” he said quietly, his voice low enough not to carry. “But you were never... I don’t know what she’s holding over you, but it’s something. Let me help.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not-”

“Am I interrupting?” The Fourth Sister’s voice sliced through the air from the doorway. She had turned back, clearly noticing Cal’s absence behind her.

“Thanks, Tabs,” Cal said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine.” 

He stepped away from Tabbers’ grip and walked toward the Fourth Sister, his movements deliberate and composed.

Cal and the Fourth Sister stood in the reception area talking quietly as Cal showed the new list of possibilities to the Fourth Sister. Tabbers returned to the room, lingering in the doorway. He hesitated for a moment, then walked up to Cal, his expression softening.

“It’s good to see you, Cal,” he said, a hint of a laugh breaking through. “I’m glad you’re alive.” Before Cal could respond, Tabbers pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Come back round some time and we can have a proper catch up. We can go for drink together now that you’re actually a legal age now”

As they embraced, Cal felt Tabbers slip something small into his belt with a surprisingly smooth and subtle motion.

“That never stopped you before,” Cal said as he pulled away, his tone lighter now.

Cal turned and followed the Fourth Sister out, but as he walked, he slipped his hand to his waist and retrieved the object. It was a small, tightly folded piece of flimsi. Unfolding it, he saw the rushed scrawl of Tabbers’ handwriting:

“I still owe you. If you’re in trouble and need help, you know where I am.”

Cal read it once, and then again. The words didn't change but something in his chest did. It tightened, curling in on itself with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

He barely breathed, his legs moving forward automatically and without thinking. He glanced up at the Fourth Sister who was still walking ahead of him before looking back down at the note once more.

He finally let out his breath and without breaking his pace he crushed the note in his gloved hand.

Without a second glance, he let the note slip from his fingers. It drifted to the ground, small and insignificant, before settling at his feet.

He didn’t look back. He just kept walking.

Chapter Text

Cal and the Fourth Sister wove through the labyrinthine streets, narrowing down their much-reduced list with each stop. 

Cal tried to push Tabbers’ note from his mind, but it clung to him like a shadow.

He hadn’t thought about trying to leave in a long time, it just didn't register as an option to him. Not once in all the time he’d been on this moon had the idea truly crossed his mind. And maybe that was what unsettled him most, the realization that at some point, without even noticing, he’d stopped trying.

But he hadn’t given up. Had he?

No. He had just readjusted. Adapted. Survived. He had done what he had to do, just like always. Even Tabbers had admitted that someone was always pulling the strings, no matter where you went. Cal had just accepted that truth and learned to work within it.

Then why did anger coil in his gut, hot and sudden?

Who was Tabbers to decide that Cal needed help? That he needed saving? He didn’t know anything about what Cal had been through. The presumption of it stung more than he wanted to admit.

He stared daggers into the back of the Fourth Sister’s head, as if she were the one to blame. But what was she doing, really, that was any different from him? Following orders. Carrying out a mission. Doing as she was told.

Cal exhaled deeply, and ran his hand through his hair pulling at almost it to the point of pain. 

Did it have to be someone’s fault? Or was the galaxy just a terrible place, grinding everyone down in the end?

Several locations turned up empty, the trail growing thinner with each stop. Then, finally, it led them to a dilapidated warehouse crouched in the shadow of a massive Hutt-controlled tower. The neon glow from the upper levels barely reached this far down, leaving the alley bathed in dim, flickering light.

The rusted door ahead of them creaked in the breeze. Cal stepped forward, fingertips grazing the handle, and felt a faint residue in the Force. An echo. Someone had been here recently.

He glanced at the Fourth Sister. She met his eyes, then gave a slight nod, gesturing for him to proceed.

He removed his glove and reached out and touched the handle without turning it yet. 

"Kaela's not an idiot. She'll find out eventually and she cares what-"

"It doesn't matter because she's not going to find out. Now drop it"

It wasn't a particularly strong or useful memory but it was recent, fresh and he recognised the voices as the ones from the docks.

They were in the right place.

The interior of the building was cramped and dimly lit, its walls streaked with grime and lit by a single, flickering glow panel. The air was thick with the smell of stale smoke and cheap lubricant, and the clutter of discarded parts and half-empty crates made it clear the place doubled as both a workshop and a hideout. A low counter dominated the centre of the room, scattered with tools, datapads, and a pile of unidentifiable junk. Behind it sat a wiry man with pockmarked skin and a perpetual sneer etched across his face.

He barely looked up when Cal and the Fourth Sister entered, but the tension in his posture betrayed him.

"If you're here about the ship, it’s not for sale," he drawled, his eyes darting briefly to Cal’s lightsaber hilt before dismissing it.

Cal didn’t waste time. 

“I’m looking for the man with the lightsaber. Where is he?” Cal asked, keeping his voice steady. He tried to channel some of the authority that the other Inquisitors wielded so easily, but it didn’t quite land and the man just snorted, a grin spreading across his face.

The smuggler snorted, leaning back in his chair. 

"Don’t know what you’re talking about, kid. I see a lot of people come through here."

Cal narrowed his eyes, his patience already thinning. 

"Try again. I don’t have time for games."

The smuggler raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. 

“You really think you can just walk in here, and start making demands. The intimidation act doesn’t work when you look about 12”

Cal’s jaw tightened, the insult landing harder than he wanted to admit. 

“I don’t have time for this, Just tell me what I want to know,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even, “and no one has to get hurt.”

The smuggler’s grin turned sly, his confidence growing as he read the cracks in Cal’s composure. 

“Kid, I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive. You think you scare me? You’re trying so hard, but it’s written all over your face, you don’t belong here. You’re faking it, and everyone can see it.”

Frustration coiled tight in Cal’s chest, threatening to snap. He wasn’t good at this, at wielding fear like a weapon, but he forced himself to breathe, to think. If force wouldn’t work, there were other ways. His eyes narrowed as he studied the smuggler, noting the cracks beneath the bluster.

“Kaela,” Cal said abruptly, the name slipping from his mouth like a blade unsheathed.

The smuggler’s mocking expression stuttered, his confidence wavering for a split second. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Cal pressed forward, his voice cool, steady. “I know her name. I know who she is. And I know what she means to you.”

The smuggler’s grin melted into a defensive scowl, his body stiffening. 

“You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he ground out from behind clenched teeth, but the defiance in his voice couldn’t mask the sudden flicker of fear in his eyes.

Cal stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his tone dropping into something cold and sharp. 

“I know enough. Enough to make her a target if you don’t cooperate.” He rested his hand near his lightsaber, letting the weight of his words hang between them. “You think this is a game? How do you think she’d handle a visit from people like us?”

The smuggler hesitated, his hand twitching ever so slightly toward the edge of the counter. Cal’s instincts flared, and before the man could make his move, Cal raised a hand. The blaster hidden beneath the counter flew across the room and clattered to the ground, the Force pulling it from the smuggler’s reach.

The smuggler froze, his bravado draining 

“Alright, alright! No need to get hasty. Maybe I know something, but information doesn’t come cheap. How about we make a deal instead? You got credits, right? I’ll give you the information for the right price-”

“I’m not here to bargain.” Cal’s voice was sharp as he ignited his lightsaber, the blue blade casting harsh light across the smuggler’s pale face. “Where is he?” 

The smuggler froze, his face pale and drawn now, his earlier confidence obliterated. Cal could feel the control shifting, tilting in his favour. 

A rush of cold satisfaction coursed through him, sharp and heady. This is how you win. The smuggler’s fear was almost palpable now, and it stirred something inside him, a dark, quiet pleasure in knowing he could unravel someone so completely with just a few carefully chosen words.

“Where is he?” Cal asked again, his voice a razor-sharp whisper. 

The smuggler’s shoulders sagged in defeat, his voice trembling as he finally spoke. 

“Grakkus' fighting pits,” he stammered. “That’s where he went. We had a spice shipment that he’s trying to sell. That’s all I know, I swear."

Cal’s grip on the situation solidified, a rush of cold satisfaction surging through him. He’d won. 

He turned to leave, victory warming his chest as he released a slow breath.

“You know,” the voice behind him added spitefully, but quietly “you’re not half as scary as you think you are. Just another Imperial lapdog, a thug with a shiny stick shaking down people who can’t fight back.”

The words found their mark. The confidence Cal had been clinging to cracked, and something raw and ugly surged to the surface. Without thinking, without hesitation, his hand shot out and he slammed the man into the desk using the force.

“You know nothing about me!” he snarled.

The man didn’t answer, maybe he couldn’t. But Cal stood there, staring at him trying to let the anger abate but it didn’t.

He had given him the chance to corporate. He hadn’t used violence. He hadn’t retaliated when the man tried to shoot him. And after all that he had the gall to call him a thug?

He had no idea. No idea how much worse he could be. No idea the kind of person that he could be if he just let himself.

Maybe he should show him.

The Force rippled violently through the room as he yanked the smuggler’s arm forward. He lit the lightsaber at his side and swung around and before the smuggler could even react, the blade swept downward, severing his wrist in a single, brutal motion.

The scream tore through the room, raw and ragged, as the smuggler crumpled to the ground, clutching the stump where his hand used to be. Cal stared down at him, the bright blue glow of the lightsaber casting sharp shadows across the man’s face. He stared at the severed hand for a moment too long, his own breathing was heavy, ragged, he could hardly believe what he had just done.

The smuggler writhed on the ground, gasping for breath, and Cal forced himself to focus, to ignore the cold wave of nausea that was creeping up his spine. He turned off the lightsaber with a snap, stepping back, his hands shaking as he tucked the hilt back to his belt. He could feel his pulse racing, could hear the smuggler’s ragged breathing filling the silence. He had what he needed. He had to focus on the mission.

The Fourth Sister stood near the doorway, watching him intently. She hadn't said a word since they had entered and continued to say nothing when Cal brushed past her.

As they left the warehouse, Cal couldn’t shake the buzzing feeling that raced through his veins. His hands still felt the phantom heat of the lightsaber, the smuggler’s screams were ringing in his ears.

He flexed his fingers, trying to steady them, but they wouldn’t stop trembling. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, he wanted to turn back, to help the man he had just mutilated. He turned and then immediately turned back, indecision and confusion feeding him every conflicting instruction as his mind struggled to keep up.  

The Fourth Sister stood still watching him intently and expectantly. Waiting for him to talk first, once again letting him take the lead. 

Cal didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He kept walking, his gaze fixed ahead, but now nausea gnawed had joined the mix. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, a strange terror was dawning on him. He pushed it down; he had what he needed, and that was all that mattered.

Still the Fourth Sister stood there silently. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal snapped finally, stopping to face her. 

"I didn't ask you to"

Cal immediately discarded that information. She didn't directly ask him but she was stood there, clearly waiting for him to say something. 

“What do you care anyway? You’ve probably done worse.” Cal didn't need to justify himself to her. She was a monster too.

“Oh, I have,” she said simply “You think I care about the arm you took?”

He turned back to her, caught off guard. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “It means that you will only get so far letting your emotions use you like that”

His jaw tightened “I thought the whole point was using my emotions”

“Using your emotions. Yes.” She said, her voice smooth “Not letting them use you.”

His hands curled into fists. “I’m not letting them use me”

“Yes, you are.” Her voice suddenly sharpened as if scolding a child “If you can be goaded into doing something like that by some insignificant smuggler, what are you going to do when someone who actually knows what they are doing tries to get under your skin.”

Cal exhaled sharply, meeting her eyes with ease.

“No offense but I’m not about to start taking advice on regulating my emotions from an inquisitor”

“I’ll tell you what happens” She continued, not responding to the barb “You end up back in your cell, your precious droid ends up on a scrap heap, and I end up having to listen to you screaming on the chair for days.” She met his eyes like a challenge, without a spec of amusement in them now. Only cold certainty. “You want power? You want respect? You never let them get to you. You never let them see you sweat”

Cal swallowed hard. Maybe she was right. He had been in situations before when he’d had to hide his emotions but never in such a hostile position where it would be used against him like this.

He let out a slow breath 

“Use my emotions” He repeated letting the words sink in “Don’t let them use me”

The Fourth Sister’s smiled slightly, though her eyes held a strange sincerity. 

“Good. If you want to prove them wrong, you’re going to have to earn it.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Cal alone with the weight of her words and the lingering anger that still simmered in his chest.

For the first time though he didn’t let it go. He didn’t let it consume him either.

He kept it there, steady and controlled, and let them warm him like a fire on a cold night.

Cal’s thoughts were like static, buzzing and incoherent as they moved through the shadowy maze of alleys near the fighting pits. He tried to focus on their path, on the layout of the streets, but his thoughts kept pulling him back to the smuggler, the look of shock, the scream, the way the man clutched his stump as his hand thumped to the ground.

He felt strangely disconnected from it. He knew he should feel guilty, maybe disgusted with what he had done but he didn't. If anything he felt... good. Glad that that man would remember him. Think twice before he threw out insults again. Whatever else it had been, it had been effective.

His hand had moved almost on its own, the decision sharp and absolute, the Force rushing through him with a predatory edge. 

“You’re slowing us down,” the Fourth Sister’s voice cut through his thoughts, cold and clipped. She didn’t even turn to look at him, but her tone grated on him. “Second thoughts about that hand you took?"

Cal tightened his jaw. “I don’t need your commentary.”

They need to be arguing as they walk so engrossed in their conversation that they don't notice they had walked down a dead end. But it hadn't been a dead end, there was something pulled into the way so they can't get past. 

Before Cal could retort, a noise behind them made him tense. He glanced back to see a crate being dragged across the alley’s entrance, sealing them in. A figure emerged from the shadows above, the outline of a rifle visible against the dim light.

“So much for keeping a low profile,” the Fourth Sister muttered dryly, taking a step back to stand beside him.

A voice echoed from above, harsh and triumphant. 

“Your Empire is not welcome here. These streets belong to us”

Cal barely had time to ignite his lightsaber before the first blaster bolt seared through the air, striking the wall beside him. The alley exploded into chaos as more shots followed, the acrid smell of plasma filling the air.

He deflected one, then another, but there were too many, the air crackled with the hum of his blade and the whine of incoming fire.

The Fourth Sister sprang into action, her crimson sabre cutting through the dim light as she closed the distance to their attackers. She moved like a shadow, efficient and brutal.

He lashed out with the Force, shoving a pile of crates toward a few of them. It bought them a moment of reprieve, but his movements felt heavy, clumsy. He couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up his spine, a warning, almost like the Force itself was shouting at him. Or was it guilt? Or doubt?

He couldn't even see their attackers. There were at least two up on the rooftops shooting down. and several on the other side of the blockades at the ends of the the alley. The Fourth Sister and Cal defaulted to standing back to back catching the blaster fire with relative ease. Cal thought nothing of it. 

He glanced up to try and see the origin on the fire coming from above but his distraction cost him. A blaster bolt grazed his shoulder, it hit the shoulder guard but still left a bruising jolt where it had hit, the pain snapping him back to the present. He stumbled, nearly dropping his weapon.

The Fourth Sister turned, her eyes narrowing as she stretched out her hand. One of the attackers had seen the stumble and jumped over the barrier, and was running at them shooting as fast as his blaster would allow. He froze mid-step, lifted into the air as he clawed at his throat.

She slammed the mercenary into the wall, the crack of bones audible even over the din of battle. Cal forced himself to move, deflecting a shot and pushing forward. He was here to prove himself, not let himself get shot by some no-name low life while someone else dealt with the threat for him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the force flow through him and guide his hands to protect him from more shots. He felt out where the shooters on the roof were and without hesitation punched out with the force and froze them in a deadly stasis. With just a moment of extra concentration the Force rippled out even further and the whole alley went still and silent.

Neither of them hesitated, taking immediate advantage of their enemies defencelessness. He pulled the two from the roof down to him and cut them down. As he swung his lightsabre though it felt strange. As if swinging it through thick air. He felt something strange in the force as he did. Despite the quiet now in the alley now, it was like the force screamed at him. But it was gone as quickly as it had started. 

They made quick work of the few that remained and the fight was over as quickly as it had started. The last mercenary crumpled to the ground, the alley littered with bodies and the faint smell of ozone lingering in the air. Cal stood there, his chest heaving, the throbbing pain in his shoulder a sharp reminder of how close the battle had come. He tightened his grip on his lightsaber, the weight of it suddenly feeling foreign in his hand.

The Fourth Sister extinguished her blade, the red glow fading as she turned to him. There was something in her expression that he couldn't quite identify. Approval? Evaluation? As if she were weighing her own next move as her eyes scanned over him. Lingering on his shoulder but then slipping down to the lightsabre still being held at his side. 

“You’re still using your master’s blade?”

The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t what he thought her issue would be with what had just happened. 

“It’s not exactly easy to find lightsaber parts these days,” he replied, a defensive edge in his voice. He added, almost as an afterthought, “It’s my crystal, though.”

That faint hint of pride didn’t seem to impress her. 

“The crystal you found as a Jedi?”

Her words cut deeper than he expected, sparking a flare of irritation. Of course he’d found it as a Jedi, did she think he’d been given time to hunt for crystals between interrogation sessions at the fortress? 

“What are you getting at?” His annoyance bled into his tone. 

“You’re drawing on the dark side,” she said, her voice calm, “but you’re using a Jedi’s weapon. That’s why it feels like it’s resisting you.”

Her words gave him pause. He stared at the sabre in his hand, the weight of it suddenly heavier. He’d felt it before, the imbalance, the way it seemed to fight against him, like trying to carve through thick air. 

“I thought it was just... lack of practice,” he admitted, hesitant.

“It is,” she said with a faint smirk, letting the jab land before softening her tone, “but it’s also the crystal inside. If it’s one you found as a Jedi, it will resist being used for the dark.”

Frustration flared hot in his chest. He hated the way she made him feel, ignorant, unsteady, like a novice fumbling through lessons he should already know. 

“What am I supposed to do about that?” he snapped.

Her answer came without hesitation, as if it were the simplest thing in the galaxy. 

“Either you get a synthetic crystal, they don’t have the same resistance, or... you bleed it.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unsettling. Bleed it. Cal felt a chill creep up his spine. He’d heard of it before, in whispers at the temple, half-remembered stories of how Sith corrupted their crystals, twisting them into something unnatural. A violation.

He shook his head, his grip tightening on the sabre. 

“My sabre is fine. I’m just getting used to it.”

“If you say so,” she said lightly, though the glint in her eyes suggested she didn’t believe him. “I’m just trying to help.”

They walked on in silence. Cal’s thoughts churned like a storm. Beside him, the Fourth Sister moved with easy confidence, unbothered and unshaken. He couldn’t decide what unsettled him more: her words, the truth in them, or the creeping realisation that part of him was starting to listen.

Chapter Text

The shadows of the fighting pits were deep, swallowing what little light spilled from the overhead lamps. Cal moved through the dim alleys and corridors, his boots scuffing against the grimy floor, the Fourth Sister keeping pace at his side.

The unease in his chest had been building since they arrived, a quiet pressure that refused to fade. He still didn’t know if he was hunting a Jedi or a thief, and worse than that, he didn’t know if that made any difference.

This wasn’t so different from his time on the Mantis. Tracking leads, slipping through crowds, blending into places he didn’t belong. The motions were familiar, the steps the same. But the difference was impossible to ignore. The person walking beside him was an Inquisitor. And no matter how casual she seemed, no matter how little she pushed, Cal knew why she was really here.

He wasn’t sure about why he was here though. 

For so long, he’d told himself he had no choice. That he had nowhere else to go. That this was about survival. That he was staying for BD, that he couldn’t leave without him.

But, he thought slowly, if that were really true… if BD were with him right now, would that change anything? Would he still be here?

Cal swallowed; his throat dry.

Probably.

The realisation settled in like a weight pressing on his ribs, quiet and suffocating.

So why was he here? Was there even a reason? Did it even matter?

And then his mind crashed into the inevitable conclusion.

He was here because he wanted to be.

Because it felt good.

Because it was what he was good at.

Because this was where he deserved to be.

The thought should have rattled him. It should have made him stop, should have made him recoil. But it didn’t.

Instead, a strange sort of clarity washed over him, settling in his chest like something long overdue.

He listened to the footsteps echoing beside him, the fourth sister following him like an insidious shadow.

She had let him take the lead, only offering quiet guidance, nothing too forceful. Nothing too direct. She didn’t need to.

Maybe she already knew what he had only just allowed himself to admit.

(*)

The stench of blood, sweat, and desperation hit Cal the moment they entered the lively arena where they hoped to find their Jedi. 

The fighting pits of Nar Shaddaa were as vile as they came, a grotesque testament to the depravity that ran through the veins of this city. The arena was a sunken pit surrounded by makeshift stands where every kind of lowlife gathered. They leaned forward in their seats, jeering, shouting, and slinging credits for a chance to see things die for their amusement.

The fighters were tossed in like animals, battered and bruised from countless brawls. Some were armed, others simply thrown in and left to fend for themselves, all wore a slaver collar around their neck. The roar of the crowd, the gleam of weapons, the way they tore each other apart, it was all too familiar. Unbidden memories of being thrown into a very similar situation at Ordo Eris came to him.

But now, standing at the edge of the pit, watching the carnage unfold, Cal didn’t feel the pang of sympathy he thought he might.

Instead, there was a strange, hollow detachment. He didn't feel pity for these creatures locked in a cycle of violence. He should have, maybe. But now, all he could feel was relief. Relief that it wasn’t him in that ring anymore, struggling for breath as he fought tooth and nail for his life. He had clawed his way out of that pit. No, he wasn’t free from the Empire. But this? This was a victory he didn’t have to fight for anymore. He wasn’t on the bottom of the pile.

There was no anger or pain for whoever ended up here. No need to try and intervene. The hunger in his chest had been replaced by something else, something colder. He didn’t feel sorry for these people; he simply felt… distant from them.

He hated who was running this operation, but he didn’t find himself wanting to run to him and fix this. The fight to change things wasn’t his. All that distraction was gone and he was now focused on one singular goal.

Find the lightsabre.

As if in response to his thoughts, the Fourth Sister called to him,

“Are you done admiring the view? We’ve got a job to do here”

He hated crowds. The press of bodies, the constant shifting and noise, it set his nerves on edge. Every movement felt like a feint, every jostle a threat. And his gift didn’t help. One careless brush of a shoulder, one bump from a passerby, and he risked catching an echo, a shard of someone else’s memory, their feelings bleeding into his own.

The gloves helped. So did the sleeves drawn tight to his wrists. A thin barrier, but enough to keep the world at arm’s length. 

He still didn’t know the face of whoever it was they were looking for. He had the name from the echo “Zecon” but in a place like this it was as good as useless, everyone used and gave fake names especially to strangers like them.

But he knew that their guy was there to sell spice. 

Bracca had been riddled with it, and he had known the kind of places to stay away from, and therefore he knew the kind of places he now needed to look.

And here, in this city of shadows, the same rules applied.

Cal’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the telltale signs: figures lingering in corners, hands exchanging credits with the ease of people who had done this a thousand times. 

Then, through the noise, a phrase cut through like a knife, quickening his pulse. 

“-the one with the lightsaber?”

Cal stilled, instinctively listening closer. A drunken voice, red-faced and swaying slightly, spoke again. 

“Yeah, saw him earlier. Thought he was somethin’ special didn’t he?”

Cal's heart beat faster. This was it. Without a glance at the Fourth Sister, he rose from his seat, moving toward the direction the man had pointed. He could feel her shadowing him, quiet and purposeful.

They moved up towards where the man had nodded his head in a drunken stupor. 

Cal’s attention was drawn towards a man not far from the bar, his eyes darting nervously as he spoke to the man next to him. The way the man fidgeted, casting furtive glances around the room, set off a quiet alarm in Cal’s mind. He wasn’t just making casual conversation; something about him was off.

The man was a little younger than Cal, maybe just a few years older. His features were sharp, his face unshaven, with a patchy stubble that couldn’t quite decide if it was a failed attempt at a beard or simply the result of days spent ignoring shaving. His clothes were mismatched, a mix of worn-out fabrics and threadbare leather. His eyes darted constantly, though he held his body casually. There was something about the way he carried himself, sly and unpredictable, like a cornered animal who’d learned to make the first move before anyone else could.

As Cal continued to watch, he saw the man move smoothly along the wall to someone nearby and reached into his pocket for something that he showed something to the man next to him clearly trying to keep the movement natural and whatever was in his hand hidden from the rest of the crowds.

Cal almost snorted, like he needed to keep hidden in a place like this. But then again this could be their man. Cal scanned him with his eyes looking for the tell-tale glint of a lightsabre at his hip or hidden in a pocket but it was difficult to tell with so many people walking past and the lumpy misshapen clothes the man was wearing.

Cal locked eyes with the Fourth Sister, who was already on alert. Without a word, they moved in unison, cutting through the crowd as they made their way toward the man.

Before they could get much closer, the man’s gaze snapped toward them. His eyes widened, and his face went pale. 

He turned on his heel and bolted, making a break for it.

Cal’s pulse quickened as the man ran, weaving through the throng of patrons with the desperation of someone who knew his time was running out. Cal’s boots slammed against the uneven floor, the sound swallowed by the cacophony of shouting, laughter, and clinking glasses. The Fourth Sister followed, her movements smooth and predatory.

The man shoved past a trio of gamblers near a table, overturning their drinks in a cascade of frothy liquid. One of them cursed loudly, but the man didn’t slow. He ducked under a low-hanging light fixture, nearly knocking it loose, and slid around a corner, disappearing into a dimly lit corridor.

Cal gritted his teeth and surged forward, nearly tripping as he dodged a server carrying a tray of steaming food. 

Ahead, the smuggler pushed over a stack of crates, sending them tumbling into Cal’s path. He jumped over them without breaking stride as if they weren’t even there.

The corridor narrowed, forcing the thief to shoulder his way through a cluster of bystanders. The commotion was enough to give him a momentary lead, but Cal and the Fourth Sister closed the gap quickly. 

The man rounded another corner, knocking over a barrel of scrap metal that clattered noisily to the floor, the echoes bouncing off the walls.

Cal’s heart pounded as he caught a glimpse of their target ahead, He was flagging, his movements losing their earlier precision. He darted toward a side door, but before he could escape, the Fourth Sister extended her hand. With a flick of her wrist, the door slammed shut.

Panicking, the smuggler skidded to a halt, pivoting to change direction, but it was too late. Cal lunged, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him back. The man struggled, his elbow connecting with Cal’s ribs in a desperate attempt to break free. His other hand reached into his pocket to pull out a lightsabre. He fumbled with it for a moment, but the Fourth Sister was already there. She stepped into his path, her crimson lightsaber igniting with a sharp hiss, bathing the narrow space in a menacing red glow.

The man froze, his chest heaving. Trapped between Cal and the Fourth Sister, his wild eyes darted around, searching for an escape that didn’t exist. 

“Enough,” Cal said, his voice low and steady, though his adrenaline still surged. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Wait- wait!” the man pleaded, his voice frantic. “I’m not a Jedi! I swear, I just stole it! Please don’t kill me!”

Cal hesitated, the man’s words breaking through his adrenaline-fueled rush. Using the Force, he shoved the man against the wall, his grip firm, his gaze unwavering. He studied the man up and down, searching for any sign of the Force, any hint of deception. But he felt nothing. 

Still holding him with the Force, Cal pulled the lightsaber from the man’s grasp and held it up. Keeping his eyes on the mans face he pulled off one of his gloves. He looked once more at the lightsabre in his hand and then back to the man now fully shaking in fear as Cal touched his hand and let the echoes flow through him.

A quiet hall. Smooth stone beneath his knees. The hum of distant voices softened by the hush of the Jedi Temple. The lightsaber rested in steady hands. Cal knew he mustn’t light it here. But he couldn’t resist just holding it. A woman’s breath filled his lungs, calm and measured, her heartbeat slow, sure. A name hovered at the edge of knowing, gone before he could catch it. This was her lightsabre, her very own. Built herself. She felt… strong. Whole. A protector of something greater than herself.

The scene unraveled, stone melting to shadow, sanctuary traded for a shipping port corner.

Her hand trembled as she held the saber out, fingers clenching once before letting go. It was just a liability now. It was better to get rid of it. She told herself that over and over.

“I just need the credits,” she said, voice raw. “Just enough to get off-world.”

The buyer didn’t answer. Shadows pooled behind him. A shift. A step forward. A blaster raised.

“No-!” She spun around, but too slowly.

Pain bloomed like fire in her spine. The alley spun. The last thing she saw was the saber vanishing into a coat, already forgotten.

Then another feeling slammed into him, hot, jagged, hungry. 

His fists clenched so tight Cal felt the ache in his own bones. He stuffed relics into a sack; artifacts, trinkets, credits. Anything heavy. Anything that glimmered. His pulse spiked with exhilaration, almost joy at the thought of taking back what he was owed, and more. Then his gaze snagged on a small stand, a lightsaber lying quiet and forgotten. He hesitated, only a breath, before snatching it free. No thought. No reverence. Just want. Just spite. Why the hell not?

The echo faded, dragging Cal out like a wave pulling back from shore. The world rematerialised around him as he took a deep breath pulling the only relevant details from the echo. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Cal said quietly, his voice almost lost among the din of the crowded space. “He’s not a Jedi.”

The Fourth Sister tilted her head slightly, her gaze calculating. She studied the thief for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “So, the trail leads elsewhere, then.”

“Grakkus,” Cal murmured, his mind racing as he pieced the puzzle together. His eyes shifted to the man, then back to the lightsaber in his hands. “This lightsaber, it came from Grakkus’s collection. The Jedi it belonged to is already dead”

The Fourth Sister nodded, almost thoughtfully. 

“How?”

“She tried to sell it for credits after the purge. The buyer shot her rather than paying up.”

“I see. So, we’re dealing with another hoarder of Jedi relics, not a rogue Jedi.” Her eyes flicked to Cal, and for a moment, he thought he saw something like approval in her gaze. “You’ve done well, Kestis.”

Cal tensed at the words, unsure whether they were meant as praise or something more sinister. 

He had worked with her to track down the lead, and they had succeeded, but there was something about the way she said it that made his skin prickle. 

He glanced at the man, still trembling. 

“Get out of here,” Cal muttered, his voice low. “Before we change our minds.”

Cal’s grip tightened on the stolen lightsaber as he watched the man vanish into the shadows. He felt hollow, like he’d been balancing on a precipice and suddenly found himself teetering back to solid ground. Relief and frustration warred in his chest, leaving him uneasy.

The Fourth Sister lingered nearby, her presence a mix of threat and reassurance. She tilted her head, studying him like a hawk sizing up its prey. 

“You shouldn’t have let him go,” she said again, her tone deceptively light, but the sharpness in her gaze cut deep.

Cal exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. 

“He wasn’t a threat,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Killing him would’ve been pointless.”

“Pointless?” she echoed, arching a brow. Her boots clicked softly on the floor as she moved closer, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “It’s about control. Every life you take reminds the galaxy that crossing you has a cost. Mercy is just an invitation for someone to exploit your weakness.”

He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the lightsaber in his hands. Its hilt was scratched and scuffed, evidence of the thief’s carelessness, or his desperation. This wasn’t a Jedi weapon anymore; it was just another trinket stolen from the past, a relic that had lost its meaning.

“I’m not interested in being feared,” Cal said finally, his voice flat but firm.

“No,” she replied, with a quiet chuckle. “Not yet.”

He looked up sharply, catching the faint smirk on her lips. There was something unsettling in her confidence, as if she already knew how this story ended and was simply waiting for him to catch up. 

The Fourth Sister turned, her cape swirling behind her as she started toward the exit. 

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve got what we need. Let’s not waste time.”

Cal hesitated, the lightsaber still in his hand. He turned it over once more, its weight far heavier than it had any right to be. The emptiness in his chest deepened, and he wasn’t sure if it was disappointment in the thief, or in himself. He’d expected something else. Triumph. Satisfaction. At the very least, a grim sense of purpose.

Instead, there was nothing.

He slid the saber into his belt and followed her.

He’d done what he needed to be done..

And deep down, in the place he didn’t dare touch, he knew this much:

If it had been a Jedi, if it had been that naive Padawan selling her saber for passage off-world-

He would have done what needed to be done then, too.

Chapter Text

The journey back stretched over a full day, and at first, Cal almost felt relaxed. The drone of the ship's engines was steady and soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos of the mission. He leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair, staring out into the endless expanse of hyperspace. The mission had gone well, better than he’d expected. He’d done what needed to be done. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt a flicker of accomplishment. He didn’t need to fight the Fourth Sister for control, and for a while, the air between them was surprisingly calm, even bordering on companionable.

But as the hours dragged on and the fortress grew closer, that fleeting sense of ease began to erode. The Fourth Sister had left him alone, retreating to her quarters after setting the ship on autopilot, leaving him to sit in the co-pilot’s chair with nothing but his thoughts for company.

The silence, once welcome, became oppressive. His mind began to churn, pulling apart the mission, scrutinising every word he had said, every action he had taken. Had he done enough? Had he done too much? The absence of a Jedi on the mission gnawed at him. Would they see it as a failure?

As the anxiety crept in, Cal started to fidget, drumming his fingers against the armrest, tapping his foot against the floor. Every passing minute felt heavier than the last, his thoughts spiralling into an ever-tighter knot of worry. The closer they got to Nur, the more his chest tightened, the more his pulse quickened. It wasn’t just the fear of punishment, and of losing BD again. It was the weight of returning to that place, the shadow of the fortress pressing down on him even before it came into view.

When they finally dropped out of hyperspace, the fortress emerged like a jagged wound against the dark waters of Nur. Its black, angular tower rose from the ocean’s surface, framed by the smouldering glow of Mustafar on the horizon. 

A moment of madness gripped him, of sheer panic as he realised what he was doing. Why was he willingly going back? Why wasn't he fighting, shouting, grabbing the control column right in front of him and pulling them away from here? Despite the maelstrom inside him nothing happened. He looked down at his arms almost as if waiting to see if they would move. To see if they knew what they should be doing even if his brain didn't. But nothing happened, he didn't move, he did nothing to stop the path he was on and all the while he was painfully aware that every moment he did nothing, time marched forward, the shutter descended lower and his window to do anything about it shrunk still further...

The door hissed behind him and snapped him out of the panic. Suddenly he was relieved that he hadn't done anything, the fourth sister was still here and BD was still there. 

The Fourth sister settled herself into the pilot's seat and guided the shuttle down. Cal felt a cold sweat break out along his spine. The oppressive silhouette of the citadel grew larger with every passing second, a reminder of the Empire’s unyielding grip and the impossible line he was trying to walk. He sat frozen in the co-pilot’s chair, gripping the armrests as though bracing for impact, as the fortress loomed closer, an inevitable confrontation waiting at its heart.. The Fourth Sister glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before breaking the silence.

“Don’t look so nervous,” she said, her voice edged with a trace of amusement. “The mission was an easy win for us.”

Us. The word lingered in his mind, heavy and alien. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore how it felt to be lumped in with them. He had accepted his role here, but hearing it said so easily and simply put still made his blood run a little cold.

“Is that going to be enough, though?” he asked, keeping his tone casual even as unease bled through. “I don’t get the impression he’s loosening the leash anytime soon.” He didn’t need to say the Grand Inquisitor, they both knew who he was talking about. 

The Fourth Sister tilted her head, considering him. “Probably not, but it’s not about the leash. It’s about whether you’ll learn to walk in step or keep pulling against it.”

Cal swallowed, her words striking a chord. He knew he was letting the mind games get to him, but he was so tired of them, so exhausted he just wanted to let it all go. He had walked in step for now but was that enough. 

He knew he would need to keep proving himself, he wasn’t going to come back and have total trust. Getting through this mission had been his priority but what about the next one and the one after that?

He knew what would have been expected of him if it had turned out to be a Jedi. Maybe it would have been better if it had been. There would have been no doubt of his loyalty then. The way things are now, there’s still something to be held over him. Was it only a Jedi’s death that would finally tip the scales in his favour? Or was this just how things were going to be now, constantly fighting to prove himself, trying to keep his head above water against the rising tide?

The Fourth Sister broke his spiralling thoughts with a measured sigh.

“You helped me out there, so let me give you some advice.”

Cal turned to her, his brow furrowing. Her words felt calculated, just like before. She’d told him how knocking the Second Sister down a peg would work in his favour, but the more he thought about it, the more it felt like manipulation. Sure, he’d done the job for his own survival, but she’d benefited plenty. From the outside, it would look like she’d brought him to heel, a trophy of her loyalty to the Empire.

“The Grand Inquisitor doesn’t want lies,” she continued, her tone casual but firm. “But he doesn’t need the truth either. Just give him what he wants to hear.”

Cal frowned. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirked faintly, as if she couldn't have spoken more clearly. 

“He already knows the truth. What he wants is to see if you’ll say what he expects of you. Do that, and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know what he expects from me,” Cal shot back, frustration leaking into his voice, hand reflexively running through his hair.

Her smile widened, sharp and knowing. 

“Oh, yes, you do. It’s the one thing he’s always been clear about.”

The words echoed in Cal’s mind, as sharp and cold as the first time he’d heard them: “I demand obedience, and I do not tolerate defiance.”

That was it. Obedience. Not trust, not loyalty. Just submission. Toe the line, show he understood what was expected, and it would be enough. For now.

As the shuttle landed with a jarring thud, Cal took a steadying breath. He could get through this. 

The Grand Inquisitor’s chamber was steeped in foreboding, the dim light barely piercing the gloom. Shadows coiled like living things around the edges of the room, and the cold air carried a tension that pressed heavily on Cal’s shoulders. He stood in the centre, back straight, his hands clasped tightly behind him to keep from fidgeting. This wasn’t fear, not exactly, but it was something close, something he couldn’t quite banish.

Last time he had been in here, he had tried to kill the Grand Inquisitor. The memories of how badly wrong this could go played in his mind like a blaring alarm. 

The Grand Inquisitor sat behind his desk, his yellow eyes glinting like twin embers in the low light. His thin lips curved into a faint smile, one that carried no warmth, only cold amusement. He leaned forward slightly, his long fingers steepling as he regarded Cal with an air of languid authority.

“Your mission,” the Grand Inquisitor began, his voice smooth and deliberate, “was a success.”

Cal inclined his head slightly, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Satisfaction warred with unease in his chest, a conflict mirrored in his thoughts. He had done what was asked of him, had followed the orders given. He repeated it like a mantra in his head. And yet...

The Grand Inquisitor studied him for a moment longer.

“Good. Now, your report. Tell me everything.”

Cal was sure that he already knew everything that happened. "He already knows the truth” He had no doubt that she was telling the truth. All too likely that was her telling him that she had reported everything there was to. What he said wasn’t an assessment of his physical abilities. 

Just the fact that the fourth sister wasn’t here with him was evidence enough that she had nothing extra to add to what she had already told him. 

Cal recounted the mission with deliberate detachment, his tone flat and unyielding. Each word was precise, stripped of any unnecessary detail. He spoke of the smuggler and the ambush, of the lightsaber he’d recovered. His account was methodical, each step laid out with care, no more or less than what was necessary

When he got to Tabbers he didn’t hesitate 

“A local helped us narrow down possibilities-”

“You would trust the Empires secrets to a stranger?” The Grand Inquisitor interrupted sharply. It was bait and they both knew it. Cal knew that Grand knew about Tabbers just from the question. This was not something to hide or obscure. 

“Not a stranger, an old acquaintance. He wasn’t told anything important”

Grand weighed Cals words carefully, his eyes searching him to see if he would flinch, but Cal knew more now. He controlled his reactions. Tabbers meant nothing to him, it didn’t matter what was threatened because it made no difference. He could convince himself it was real, he could convince Grand of the same thing. 

Not keen to linger but waiting long enough to show that he had nothing to hide, Cal continued. 

He avoided the finer details of his exchanges with the Fourth Sister with ease, their conversations filed away as irrelevant. It wasn’t a lie, not even by omission, those moments weren’t part of the mission, after all. And yet, as he spoke, a quiet tension underpinned his words, the effort of maintaining his calm veneer heavier than he cared to admit.

When he finished, the Grand Inquisitor nodded, his expression unreadable. 

“You performed adequately,” he said, a faint note of mockery in his tone. “For now.”

Cal bristled but held his tongue. It wasn’t worth challenging him.

The Grand Inquisitor’s smile sharpened. 

“I see that, with the proper motivation, you are capable of being quite... effective.”

Cal’s jaw tightened at the backhanded compliment, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. 

“I did what needed to be done,” he replied, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach.

“Indeed you did,” the Grand Inquisitor agreed, rising slowly to his feet. His presence seemed to fill the room, looming like a dark spectre. “And I imagine the experience was... enlightening. Tell me, Kestis, how did it feel to embrace the power you so often shy away from? To see the fruits of your resolve?”

Cal’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. The image of the smuggler clutching his severed arm flickered through his mind. He had felt anger, no, fury, when the man had accused him of being an imperial lapdog. And when the blade had struck true, part of him had felt... satisfaction.

“The mission came first.” Cal said carefully. He was determined not to give the Grand Inquisitor more to work with than he had to. Just give him what he wants to hear

The Grand Inquisitor’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something, approval, perhaps?, in his gaze. 

“A pragmatic answer,” he murmured. “Good. The Dark Side does not tolerate weakness, Kestis. Nor does the Empire. You are beginning to understand.”

Cal shifted, uneasy under the weight of those words but unwilling to let it show. 

“I followed orders. The mission was a success. I assume that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, it matters,” the Grand Inquisitor replied smoothly. “And I am pleased to see you learning to prioritise results over sentiment. However...” He let the word hang in the air, a blade poised to strike. “One mission does not define you. Success must be consistent, your loyalty unwavering. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Cal said, his voice firm but not defiant. He felt the balance shifting in the room, the dynamic subtly altering. For the first time, he sensed something other than disdain or scepticism in the Grand Inquisitor’s gaze. It wasn’t trust, not even close, but it was acknowledgment.

“And your reward,” the Grand Inquisitor continued, his gaze shifting slightly. “You’ve earned the return of your... companion.”

At his gesture, a trooper stepped forward from the shadows, carrying a small, familiar figure. BD-1’s bright optic swivelled toward Cal as the trooper set him down, and the little droid let out a warbled chirp that sent a pang of relief through Cal’s chest. The sound hit Cal like a spark in the dark, sharp and bright against the hollow in his chest. He scooped BD up before he could stop himself, holding him too tightly, as though his arms alone could keep the Empire from stealing him away again.

“BD,” Cal whispered his heart leapt as he stepped forward, but the Grand Inquisitor’s voice halted him mid-step.

“Remember, Kestis,” he said, his tone deceptively light. “This is a privilege, not a right. Cause any trouble, and I will not hesitate to revoke it.”

Cal’s hand curled into a fist at his side, but he forced himself to nod. 

“Understood.”

Cal swallowed hard, forcing his face to stay still even as BD pressed against his chest with a soft, warbling chirp. He wanted to laugh, to whisper an apology, to tell him he’d never let it happen again but the Grand Inquisitor’s eyes were still on him. 

The Grand Inquisitor’s smile widened, a predator satisfied with its prey’s compliance. 

“Good. Then we shall see how far your understanding takes you.”

Dismissed with a wave of the Grand Inquisitor’s hand, Cal turned sharply and left the chamber, BD-1 held tight in his hands. He could feel the weight of the Grand Inquisitor’s gaze on his back, like a shadow that clung to him even as he stepped into the corridor beyond.

For now, he had what he needed. BD was back. The mission had been a success. And he had proven, to the Grand Inquisitor, to the Second Sister, to himself, that he could follow orders. But the knot in his chest remained, a cold, heavy thing that no amount of victory could dislodge.

Chapter Text

Cal walked stiffly, moving as fast as he dared without breaking into a run. He didn’t want to say anything, not yet. Not until they were alone. His pulse thrummed in his ears, each step charged with barely contained anticipation. He had him. He had him. He had him. The thought beat through his mind like a mantra, every stride bringing him closer to the privacy he needed to confirm it was real.

BD shifted restlessly on his shoulder, struggling to find his usual secure perch against the smooth Imperial fabric. The droid’s movements were light but constant, and Cal couldn’t tell if the unease was BD’s or his own reflected back at him. Either way, it didn't matter. Just a little longer.

They turned another corner, BD’s grip faltering again, forcing Cal to adjust his balance. He made a mental note to fashion some kind of strap or harness later, something to keep BD steady. Something normal. Something to fix.He slipped into his quarters, the heavy door sliding shut behind him with a hiss. Cal exhaled deeply. The impersonal grey walls and sparse furnishings faded from his awareness. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t alone. He’d been surrounded by people for months, jailers, spies, officers, but they weren’t company. They weren’t friends. In their presence, he’d still been utterly alone. But not anymore.

He crossed to the desk and extended his arm. BD hopped down with a bright, excited chirp.

“All right, buddy,” Cal said, his voice softer than it had been in weeks, a wide grin spreading across his face. It felt foreign, but he didn’t care. BD chirped again, his enthusiasm undiminished despite the dents, scratches, and dulled paint that covered his frame. 

“Let’s check you over,” Cal continued. “Run a self-diagnostic for me. Tell me if anything feels off.”  

BD beeped an affirmative, his lights blinking as he processed the command. Cal sat at the chair, leg bouncing up and down while the scan processed. When the scan completed, BD chirped again, a mix of reassurance and mild concern.  

“Minor data corruption?” Cal echoed, frowning. “What’s missing?”  

A soft, uncertain warble followed.  

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know, huh?” Cal muttered, scratching the back of his neck. The idea of something being deleted from BD’s memory felt wrong, violating, even. “I don't like the sound of stuff being deleted from your memories though. You still remember me, though, right buddy?”  

BD-1 gave an enthusiastic whistle, his lights flashing green. But he didn't stop there, BD kept going in a tone that did not match what he was saying. 

“Duties as an Inquisitor?” Cal repeated under his breath. BD’s tone was so cheerful, so earnest, but the Imperial programming seeped through in every word. Cal didn't like the sound of that, the ‘memory corruption’ was sliding into place and he had a pretty good idea of what had been modified.   

“BD…” Cal crouched to meet the droid’s gaze, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you remember Cere? Merrin? Greez?” His throat tightened as he spoke their names for the first time in weeks.  

BD’s lights flickered, then turned red. He let out a fizz of static, his tone sharp with irritation.  

“Right.” Cal swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat down. “We’ll… talk about that later.”  

He reached out, giving BD a gentle pat, trying to reassure both of them. Despite the reprogramming, BD still felt like BD. His familiar movements, the curious head tilts, the eager way he nudged Cal’s arm for attention, remained unchanged. If Cal ignored the binary words for long enough, he could almost believe that nothing had changed at all.

Maybe this was for the best. How could he even begin to explain it all to BD? The finer points of the Force, the endless push and pull of the light and dark, it was hard enough to make sense of it himself, let alone explain it to a droid. BD might have spent most of his life around Jedi, but understanding emotions and choices? That was a challenge even for sentients.

But he couldn’t leave it at that. He needed answers.  

“Let’s get you checked out properly,” Cal said, standing up. “Do you still have the maps of the Fortress?”  

BD beeped affirmatively and projected a detailed map. Cal smiled, his chest warming. 

“Good. There’s a workshop on the lower levels.” He studied the map for a moment, tracing the quickest route with his finger.  

He stood up and offered his arm to BD for him to climb, which he dutifully did as they turned to make their way out. 

When he walked into the workshop, a technician was bent over a workbench, tools scattered everywhere.  

“Out,” Cal snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.  

The tech looked up, startled. “But I’m-”  

“I said out,” Cal repeated, stepping closer. His tone brooked no argument.

The technician hesitated but eventually muttered something under their breath and shuffled out. Cal locked the door behind them, his shoulders relaxing slightly in the newfound privacy. 

“Okay, BD,” he said, setting the droid on the bench and picking up the multi-tool. “Let’s see what they did to you.”  

He began carefully disassembling BD’s outer casing, inspecting each component. The paint was scratched, the frame dented, but nothing seemed dangerously damaged.  

“You put up quite a fight, huh?” Cal murmured, smiling faintly.  

BD chirped in agreement, his tone almost smug.  

Cal let himself fall into the familiar rhythm of repairs. His fingers moved deftly, cleaning and tightening components, replacing what needed replacing. It was meditative, a task that let him focus without the weight of his thoughts bearing down.  

As he worked, BD hummed a little tune, his lights flashing rhythmically. Cal paused when he noticed a brand-new processing unit installed inside BD’s frame. It was sleek, high-quality, clearly an upgrade.  

“Where’d this come from?” Cal muttered, pulling the light closer. He ran his fingers over the part, reaching out with the Force. A faint echo lingered, a memory of the technician who had installed it.  

He sighed, brushing a hand over his stubbled chin as he looked at the battered little droid on his workbench. 

“What did they do to you, little fella?” he murmured, his voice soft. BD-1’s frame was scuffed and dented, his once-bright paint dulled by wear and handling. It was clear he’d been through a lot.

The orders were simple, make him operational now that the software team was done. But as the technician delicately removed the old processing unit, his movements were careful, almost reverent. 

“Let’s get you fixed up, yeah?” he said, his tone warm as he slid the new processor into place.

He adjusted a few connections, tweaking components here and there to ensure everything fit just right. His hands moved with easy precision, but there was a tenderness in the way he worked. Finally, he reached over to the switch, hesitating for a moment before flicking it on

Cal leaned back, exhaling slowly. 

“Guess it wasn’t all bad,” he said quietly.  

There was nothing else new or unfamiliar hidden within BD-1, no transmitters, no beacons, nothing that shouldn’t be there. Cal replaced the panels methodically, his movements steady as he worked. Occasionally, he paused to hammer out a dent or buff out a scratch, taking satisfaction in restoring his companion to his proper state. He oiled BD’s joints carefully, ensuring everything moved freely and easily, just as it should.

When BD was finally back together, Cal let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. The tightness in his chest eased slightly. He’d see what he could do about software soon, run a proper diagnostic to confirm nothing had been tampered with, but for now, he was satisfied. 

BD wasn’t rigged to explode if Cal stepped out of line or failed to follow orders.

He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that this was a kind of peace offering, twisted, maybe, but genuine in its own way. They had told him there would be rewards for his loyalty, for his success. This wasn’t a trick or deception. This was his reward: his friend, whole and with him again.

BD chirped softly, the sound pulling Cal out of his thoughts. He reached out, giving the droid a small pat. 

“Still you” he murmured, more to himself than BD.

The realisation was strangely comforting. This wasn’t just about manipulation or control, it was proof. Proof that he had a place here, that they trusted him to make the right decisions, to stay. He needed to stay vigilant, to keep watching his back, but for now, it was enough to know that BD was here. That he wasn’t alone.

BD chirped happily, his lights flashing green.  

“Let's see if we can find you some new paint and then you'll be good as new” Cal added, opening drawers and cabinets with the Force while BD scampered around to help. They eventually found some, though it was all in Imperial colours.  

Cal hesitated, turning the canister in his hands. 

“New Cal, new BD,” he muttered with a wry smile. It’s probably safer this way anyway. “Let’s make you look the part too”

As he painted, he talked to BD, filling him in on recent events, though he skimmed over the darker details. BD chirped occasionally, tilting his head as if trying to process everything.  

As the paint dried, he kept talking. It was good to have someone to talk to again. 

Cal didn’t know how long he sat there, chatting to BD. The little droid interjected at all the right moments, his whistles and chirps perfectly timed to show wonder or encouragement, like always. It was so natural that Cal almost forgot where they were, almost. 

Then the door slid open behind him, breaking the spell.

The technician from earlier walked in, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Cal still there.

“Oh,” the man stammered. “I didn’t realise you were still here. I’ll come back- ”

“Wait.” Cal stood up, turning to face him. He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Thanks.” he paused for a second before hurriedly adding “for taking care of him” he said looking back at BD who was still standing on the workbench. 

The technician blinked, his eyes flickering between Cal and BD as if trying to decide if this was some kind of trap. 

“Uh, no problem, sir,” he said cautiously. “Just doing my job.”

Cal glanced back at BD, who chirped brightly, clearly unfazed by the tension. 

“You didn’t have to go to all that effort, though,” Cal said, his voice quieter. “I mean it. Not everyone would’ve put that much care into it.”

For a moment, the technician’s confusion softened into something like understanding. 

“Well, before they got ahold of him, it was obvious he’d been looked after,” he said, nodding toward BD. “Figured he deserved the same, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary.”

Cal felt an unexpected warmth at the words. He could still feel the care the man had put into BD’s repairs, even if it wasn’t meant for him personally. 

“Do you… know what programming changes they made?” he asked, his tone guarded but earnest.

The man shook his head. 

“Not my area, I’m afraid. That’s handled by Software. All I did was hardware. But the new processor’s just a better model, more memory, faster processing. If you ever need to add subroutines or functions, he should handle it no problem.

“What about the old one?” Cal pressed. “Where is it?”

“Sent back to Software,” the man admitted, lowering his voice. “Orders came straight from the Grand Inquisitor. Honestly- there wasn’t much tampering, from what I could tell.”

Cal absorbed the information, his jaw tightening slightly. 

“Good to know,” he said, his voice even.

The technician hesitated, then added cautiously, 

“Look, if you want to keep working on him, you’re welcome to use this workshop anytime. Plenty of spare parts and tools down here.” He gestured toward a nearby cabinet. “Actually, here.” He grabbed a small case of precision tools from a shelf and handed it to Cal. “Take these. Save you a trip next time.”

Cal took the case, surprised. 

“Thanks,” he said, the word heavy with sincerity.

The man nodded, glancing at BD again. “He’s a good little droid,” he said, almost to himself. 

BD chirped as if to reassure him, and Cal couldn’t help but smile and as BD took his place back on Cals’ shoulder he turned to leave, new tools held under his arm.

The technician gave a faint, awkward smile in return before returning to what he had been working on before Cal had come in. “If you need anything else… well, you know where to find me.” 

Cal turned back to BD, who was watching him expectantly, his lights flashing green. 

“Looks like you made a new friend,” Cal said, gently patting BD on the head. 

BD beeped in agreement, and Cal let out a quiet laugh, some of the tension in his chest finally easing. 

Cal returned to his room with BD and the new tools the technician had given him, his mind heavy with the Fourth Sister's words. He sat down at his desk, the cool surface of the metal beneath his fingers grounding him. As he pulled out his lightsaber, he couldn't help but run a thumb over the hilt, feeling the familiar weight. It was battered, scarred from countless battles, but it was his.

He set to work disassembling it, carefully finetuning the parts, his hands steady despite the gnawing feeling of uncertainty that lingered in his chest. His thoughts kept circling back to the crystal. The one he had nearly died for on Ilum. The one he had split in two, a piece of his own heart in each blade.

The Fourth Sister’s words played in his mind again: If it’s one you found as a Jedi, it will resist being used for the dark.

He glanced at the two halves of the crystal, the faint blue glow still present, though now it seemed dimmer. His fingers lingered over the fragile pieces, but a weight settled in his chest at the thought of corrupting it. The very idea of bleeding it, of twisting its pure light to serve the dark, made him hesitate. But what if that was what was needed?

He refocused on the task, reassembling the hilt, trying to ignore the voice in his head. He could still feel the echo of the mission, the violence he'd committed, and he knew it wasn't over yet.

"Not yet," he muttered, clipping the sabre to his belt. Not yet...

Suddenly, the comms beeped, interrupting his thoughts. The Grand Inquisitor’s voice cut through the static: 

“Report to the dojo immediately.”

Cal frowned. He had just returned. He was told he had time to rest, but it seemed the Grand Inquisitor’s schedule wasn’t aligned with that.

Sighing, Cal rose from his desk. The weight of the lightsaber at his side was a constant reminder of the choices ahead. 

For now though he just had to take it one thing at a time