#(and trust me when i say that very few ao3 writers outside my mutuals have got me here)

[gumy-shark]

ritsushou for the ship bingo you like those guys right

SAM I FORGOT U HAVENT SEEN MOB PSYCHO S2 YET. YOU DONT EVEN KNOWWWWWWW

^ once again the bingo did not have the infinite nuance that i require from these sorts of things

[kmomof4]

Of Darkness, Vampires and Soulmates Ch. 3 The Family Desmoulins

We’re back y'all! Thank you all so much!! Your response to this fic has brought me such joy! I know we’ve had a lot of pain so far, and we still have a lot of story left to tell, so thank you all for coming on this journey with me and for the trust you’ve gifted me with! I hope that you’ll agree that it was worth it when we reach the end!! I hope that you continue to enjoy!!

All the love and hugs in the world to @profdanglaisstuff​ for her outstanding beta services, @hollyethecurious​ for her encouragement and willingness to listen to me spitball, brainstorm and whine whine and whine some more, the CSSNS and CSMM discords for their encouragement and help with a title, and finally to @spartanguard​ for her INCREDIBLE and PERFECT art!!! I could iterally stare at all of it for HOURS!!!!

Chapter Summary: Over a century has passed and Killian makes his way to Pre-Revolutionary France.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 4.4K of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N: While the chateau is made up, the description is based off of the Chateau de Montsoreau in the Loire Valley of France.

1786 France

Killian was finally making his way toward Paris after an inexplicable longing to come to the city had overtaken him while at sea ten years before. In his day, Paris had been one of the most prominent cities in all of Europe, but due to the religious wars between Catholics and Protestants, he and Liam had never been to the city. Why this compulsion had come upon him so unexpectedly, he had no idea. However, other priorities had prevented him from acting on that desire for many years. As the years passed, and the  preoccupation wouldn’t leave him, he eventually found himself docking in Marseille and turning his face toward Paris. He was about a day’s ride outside the city, when he stopped at a small village in the Loire valley for the night. Once he settled down in his bed, memories he hadn’t thought of in years poured over him.

After discovering his Swan’s death, he stayed with David, doing what he could to help and support his friend in their mutual loss. By the fall, David wanted to leave London to see how the rest of his family had fared during the outbreak. Returning to the family farm, David discovered that his father had passed not long after he and Mary Margaret had left, and that his siblings had not survived the dreaded disease. As much as losing Mary Margaret and Emma had affected him, with the knowledge that the only family he had left in this world were a few nieces and nephews that he had never known and their families, Killian was not at all surprised when he finally came down with and succumbed to the pestilence upon returning to London. With the blood tears in his eyes, Killian laid his friend to rest beside his beloved Mary Margaret, Emma, and Granny. Saying a quiet prayer over the family that he had come to think of as his own, Killian turned away and left London, never to return. Arriving back on the continent, he had wandered aimlessly for a few years, before the call of the sea again drew him back to his beloved Jolly Roger and life on the open water.

Why these memories crashed over him now, Killian couldn’t tell. He fell into dreams with the blood tears in his eyes.

~*~*~

After staying in the village for two weeks waiting on a new wardrobe, Killian awoke to bright sunlight pouring into his room. Rising from his bed, he made his way over to the wash basin near the door and splashed the cool water on his face. After dressing, he came down the stairs of the inn and greeted the proprietor.

“Good morning,” he said, seating himself at a table. A bar wench laid the standard breakfast, consisting of bol de cafe, a large cup of coffee with milk, and pain au lait, a rich breakfast bread, before him and hurried away. He dove into the hearty meal as he planned out his day. Upon arriving in the village, he decided that before heading into the city, it’d be prudent to obtain some new clothes. He may not be a prince anymore, but he thought it’d probably be better to be taken for a member of the nobility rather than a rogue and a scoundrel that his pirate attire attested to. Gold, for a pirate captain, wasn’t a problem, so he had ordered a completely new wardrobe. And today was the day it would be ready. He meandered down the center of the village, simply enjoying the cool spring morning and the sunshine. He could just see beyond the simple buildings in the town to the surrounding green landscape of the valley. The beauty was enough to take his breath away.

As he arrived at the tailor’s, a petite noblewoman, dressed in a gown of burgundy silk that brought out the hints of auburn the sunlight gave her dark hair, was just stepping down from her carriage. He held the door open for her as her eyes took in his appearance.

After a brief nod, she swept past him through the door. He followed her in to see her speaking animatedly to the tailor’s apprentice.

“No, young man,” the condescension dripping from the woman’s lips raised Killian’s ire. There wasn’t much in this world that made him angrier than people thinking themselves above others. “I have no objection to you showing me new fabrics and so on, but I must insist on your master being the one to take my measurements and personally make my dress. This is for a party at Versailles.” Killian may have once been a prince, but from his earliest days, his father had taught him the value of working among and serving the people of their kingdom. That everyone, regardless of station, was made in the image of God and was deserving of honor and respect. The difference between the attitude of the royal family in his kingdom and the nobility of France astounded him.

“Yes, Vicomtesse,” the man acquiesced. “But Monsieur Marco will be occupied for the next hour or so, outfitting the Prince d’Épinoy,” he gestured at Killian, “in the wardrobe that he has prepared.” The woman turned toward him with a more appraising eye this time than what she had bestowed on him earlier.

“Oh, don’t mind me, August,” Killian began, swallowing his anger, “I’m in no hurry. I can wait while Monsieur Marco takes Vicomtesse…” he trailed away, holding his hand out in invitation toward the woman.

“Vicomtesse Desmoulins,” the woman answered, placing her gloved hand into his. He raised it to his lips and brushed them along her knuckles.

“While Monsieur Marco takes Vicomtesse Desmoulins’ measurements,” he repeated.

The woman’s high cheekbones flushed pink with his declaration, and she dropped her eyes. “Prince?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

“Aye,” he replied, “At your service, Madame.”

“Thank you so much for your concession, Monseigneur,” she cooed before turning back toward August. “Well?” she questioned the young man again, “Where is Monsieur Marco? I insist on seeing him at once! I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

“R-R-Right away, Vicomtesse,” he stammered, turning toward the back of the shop. Killian stood stoically, his internal displeasure at the Vicomtesse’s attitude well hidden. As soon as August had departed behind the curtain, she turned toward him again. This time with an appraising glint in her eye that Killian didn’t appreciate one bit.

“So what brings you to our fair village, Monseigneur,” she purred, moving closer to him. Killian prided himself on being a good judge of character, even before his meeting Rumplestilskin. And now, living as long as he had, that skill had only been honed further. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman before him was a siren, beautiful to look at, and yet deadly if you get too close. Not wholly unlike himself.

“I’m on my way to Paris, Vicomtesse,” he answered her, with a small bow of his head, holding his ground. “I’ve never visited and I thought it was time to change that.”

“Oh, yes, Paris,” she exclaimed dreamily,  “Then I must insist on you coming and spending some time at our Chateau Havre-de-brume before joining us at Versailles. I’m sure that I could secure you a place at court.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Killian tried to protest.

She waved away his objection. “Oh, nonsense,” she pooh-poohed. “It’s the least I can do after you so graciously allowed me to see Monsieur Marco first about my measurements. We leave for Versailles in a week’s time and you can join us at the Chateau until then, then travel with us to court.” It was clear that the woman was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and Killian was finding it difficult to contain his amusement at her assumptions. If only she knew exactly WHAT she was inviting into her home, he chuckled under his breath. “We will expect you this afternoon at 4 for tea, Monseigneur. Dinner will be served at 9 precisely.”

Just at that moment, Monsieur Marco came out from behind the curtain. “August informs me that you’re willing to wait for me to measure Vicomtesse Desmoulins before collecting your wardrobe, Sieur.” Killian nodded at the old man. “Very well, I’ll be ready for you after 2.”

“Until then, Monsieur,” he said, with a bow. “Vicomtesse Desmoulins, I’ll be pleased to join you at your home when I’ve concluded my business with Monsieur Marco.” With another bow toward the Vicomtesse, he spun on his heel, and left the shop.

~*~*~

Killian dismounted his horse later that afternoon and handed the reins along with a brief introduction to the lad that waited to attend to him in front of the Chateau Havre-de-brume, not far from the village. After seeing Monsieur Marco about his wardrobe, he had returned to the inn, changed into his new attire, and departed for the Chateau. He had no objection to spending a week with Vicomtesse Desmoulins and her family if it gave him a free place to stay and would make his entrance into Paris and the court of King Louis XVI easier.

A servant wearing the livery of the chateau opened the door. “The Prince d’Épinoy, I presume?” he asked.

“Yes, my good man.” Killian said with a small bow.

“Vicomtesse Desmoulins has been expecting you. Follow me please.” He turned from the door and led the way to a spiral staircase. Killian couldn’t help but notice the excellent stonework and ornamentation that lent an air of beauty and leisure to the chateau as he followed the servant onto the main floor and into the salon where his hostess waited. The salon was extremely large with huge fireplaces on either end of the room to keep the spring chill at bay. The large windows flooded the room with light as he approached the Vicomtesse, flanked by who could only be her husband and daughter.

“Ah, Monseigneur the Prince d’Épinoy,” she began, “allow me to introduce you to my husband, Vicomte Desmoulins and my older daughter, Regina.”

Killian gave a small bow of his head as he reached out his hand to greet the much older man, by appearance anyway, before him. “A pleasure to meet you, Vicomte.” He turned toward the young lady on the other side of his hostess. The beautiful young woman dropped into a curtsey before laying her hand in Killian’s outstretched one as he bowed over it, brushing his lips over the back of her hand.

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure as her eyes skittered away from his piercing blue gaze. The assessing gaze of her mother had a small smile ghosting across his lips as he straightened again before them. He had no doubt that the Vicomtesse was already contemplating a match between him and her daughter. She couldn’t be much younger than what he appeared to be- eighteen, nineteen, twenty at most.

“Please, be seated, Monseigneur,” his hostess invited. “Tea will be served momentarily.”

As Killian settled down where the Vicomtesse indicated and the Vicomte and Regina took their seats, the doors burst open when a girl of about nine or ten came blowing in with the force of a whirlwind, followed by a rather short and rotund woman clucking her tongue at the child.

“Maman, Papa,” she cried, “Johanna said that I couldn’t join you for tea today! Oh,” she exclaimed, as Killian turned toward her. “I- I’m sorry, Maman, I didn’t realize we had company.” She curtsied before him and Killian felt his mouth go dry. It was Emma. It was his golden haired Swan. Obviously younger than she was when he knew her, but the features were the same. The high cheekbones, rosebud mouth, button nose and pert chin, not to mention the long blonde hair and green eyes. But, how? Snapping his jaw shut, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the child. As she rose from her curtsey, her mother motioned the child to her side.

Gathering her in her arms, the Vicomtesse spoke gently to her. “This is Monseigneur the Prince d’Épinoy. You may call him Monseigneur.” Addressing Killian again, she continued, “Allow me to present my younger daughter, Emma.”

Dumbfounded, Killian extended his hand toward Emma. “It is a pleasure, Mademoiselle.”

“Generally, she would not join us for tea when we have visitors,” she gave a slightly disapproving look to her daughter, who looked sheepish in return while cutting her eyes toward her gouvernante, “but since she is already here, she may join us. Just this once.” She smiled indulgently, as Emma’s face broke into a grin to rival the sun.

Killian desperately tried to keep his turbulent thoughts hidden, as the tea was served. Soulmates unbound by time. Since his time in London, he had memorized every word of the prophecy and so easily recalled the line that had baffled him a century ago. He cut his eyes at Emma as she settled herself in her own seat. If he needed any further confirmation, he got it when he spied the birthmark on her neck. The same birthmark she had in her first life back in London. It was a second chance. They could have a second chance. He would have to bide his time until she was of marriageable age, but remembering what happened the last time he left her, he was reluctant to go that route. On the other hand, he had to keep her safe from Rumplestiltskin, too. There was still no doubt in his mind that the monster wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if who she was to Killian was revealed. He would have to keep his distance from the family, but close enough to satisfy himself that he wasn’t leaving her alone. Remaining at Court in Versailles would be perfect.

~*~*~

The week at the chateau passed by for Killian very pleasantly. Mornings were spent touring the estate with either the Vicomtesse or Mademoiselle Regina. Emma was too young to spend most of her day among the adults of the chateau, but when she didn’t join them for tea the next day, he made his desire for her presence known to the Vicomtesse. Since then, Emma was a daily participant in the afternoon ritual after her daily rest. It was a few days after he arrived at the chateau that he realized the compulsion to visit Paris, first felt all those years ago, was the soulmate connection. He was acutely aware of Emma’s presence whenever she was nearby, and when he was actually with her the connection he felt with her filled him with a joy that he hadn’t felt in a century. It must have come upon him shortly after her birth, but as something he’d never felt before, he didn’t recognize it for what it was.

As the days passed, the Vicomtesse found more and more reason to remove herself from Killian’s company and employ her daughter in the entertainment of their guest. Killian had trouble hiding his smirk as for the third day in a row, the Vicomtesse was suddenly pulled away on urgent business at the chateau leaving him to tour the stables with Regina, who couldn’t hide her eye roll and rosy blush as they continued toward the stables.

“Hmmmmm,” mused Killian, leaning in closer to his guide, “Do you think that perhaps your mother might be trying to get us to spend some time alone together?”

Regina’s blush intensified as she rolled her eyes again. “She’s very old fashioned in her thinking and is trying desperately to make me a suitable match. Which she obviously thinks you are.” Killian pulled open the door to the stable for his companion. She ducked her head in embarrassment, but was unable to hide the spark of excitement in her chocolate brown eyes as she proceeded him into the stables. As he entered behind her, they were quickly approached by a young man, about his own apparent age. Brown hair, neatly cut for a stable hand, swooped back over the crown of his head. He was a handsome man with fine, strong features. Arriving by Regina’s side, he had to clear his throat in order for the two young people to snap out of their own little world and acknowledge his presence. He couldn’t help his chuckle as Regina’s blush deepened even further and the young man before her looked startled at the addition of a third to their meeting.

“Daniel, may I present the Prince d’Épinoy. He is a guest at the chateau before we return to Versailles at the end of the week.”

Killian gave a small bow to the man before him. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”

Regina turned back toward him, while keeping her eyes on Daniel. “Daniel is the stable master and will be preparing the horses for us this morning.”

“Ah, yes,” Daniel began, “You must be the owner of Nox. I must say, he is a magnificent animal, Sieur.” He turned away from them and led them toward the far end of the stables. Killian couldn’t help the pride that swelled in him at the high praise the stable master had for the animal. Daniel chuckled to himself. “He wouldn’t let anyone near him except me. Not that I mind. It’s a privilege to work with such an exceptional and beautiful horse.”

“Thank you, monsieur.” Killian looked around the immaculately kept stable and took in the obvious good health and well being of the other animals in their stalls. “That is high praise coming from someone of your obvious expertise.” Killian followed him until Nox poked his head out of his stall and whinnied in greeting. Killian reached into his coat pocket for an apple that he had brought from the kitchens as he began stroking the lustrous midnight black coat of his prized stallion. He nickered in pleasure as he chomped down on the tasty treat as they waited for Daniel to attend to Regina’s horse, Rocinante. Once Regina was mounted and ready, Killian opened the door of the stall and Daniel led Nox out with the lead rope.

Once he was mounted, Killian and Regina left the stable. Killian’s thoughts turned toward the young woman at his side. It was quite obvious to him that Regina loved Daniel. And Daniel certainly seemed to return her affections. But he was perceptive enough to know that the Vicomtesse would never approve of such a match. Not with the way she was doing all in her power to foster affection between himself and her daughter. She obviously loved both of her daughters very much, but she was also shrewd and calculating. A suitable match for Regina would be someone of the nobility with a high status at court. Anyone deemed lesser than their own station would never be considered.

“Tell me, Mademoiselle,” Killian began, hesitantly, “just who is the stable master to you?” He looked over as a soft blush colored her cheeks. He waited patiently as she seemed reluctant to share. After her earlier revelation, he wanted to make sure that she knew that he had no interest in her mother’s machinations to secure a match between them. Thoughts had already begun to tickle the edge of his mind of how he might be able to help the young lovers, if she deigned to trust him.

Regina cleared her throat as they cantered along. “Why do you ask, Monseigneur?”

“I’m simply observant, lass.” Killian clicked his tongue at Nox, changing their direction as Regina led them on a more southeasterly track toward the chateau’s vineyards. “I couldn’t help but notice the way you both looked at each other when we first entered the stable. As if you two were the only ones in the world.” He fell silent for a moment as memories washed over him. “I’ve only seen that kind of look once before. On the faces of dear friends who were very much in love. True Love, if you ask me.”

“Were?” she asked, looking at him.

“Aye, were,” he replied, sadly. “They’ve been gone many years. Taken far too soon.”

“How old were you,” she asked, softly.

Killian immediately realized his mistake. Speaking of the close friendship he had with David and Mary Margaret in the past tense, when he only appeared to be in his very early twenties, would naturally confuse Regina.

Killian scratched behind his ear as he scrambled for what to say. “Ah, let’s just say,” he began, nervously, “that I’m much older than I look.”

Regina laughed. “Well, how old are you then?”

Killian waggled his eyebrows at her. “Older than I look. That’s all you need know.”

Regina huffed. “Okay, fine then.” They continued their ride through the green of the valley. Before they had gone much farther, Killian tried to draw her out again.

“You never answered my question, Mademoiselle. Who is the stable master to you?” He looked at her again as she struggled to hide her thoughts from his perceptive gaze. She glanced toward him, her dark eyes piercing, clearly trying to see if she could trust him. Perhaps he should give her a reason to. “As I said, Mademoiselle, I am much older than I look. I have traveled far, seen and done many things. Dark things. Things that could prove advantageous to your particular situation.”

Shock plainly registered across her features. “What do you mean? What situation?”

Killian stopped his horse and looked directly at the young woman. “A situation where you feel trapped.” She cast her furrowed brow down toward her lap. “I am not far off the mark, am I, when I say that your mother would never approve of a match with your Daniel. That she would forcibly keep you right here, controlling you, making you into a carbon copy of herself, with all her ambitions for a higher station at court resting on your shoulders.” His piercing gaze rested on her as she lifted her gaze to him again. He watched the blood drain from her face.

“How could you possibly know all that?” she whispered.

He reached over and gently took her hand in his own. “I am not of this world, Mademoiselle. Trust me when I say that I can help you. I have the means and the desire. But, you must trust me.”

~*~*~

Regina looked down at their joined hands. The confusion, and yes, fear, she felt at their guest’s revelations were hard to rein in. Not of this world. What did he mean? He had only been at their home for a short time, but in that time, he’d been nothing but a gentleman toward all the members of her family. His clear affection for her beloved younger sister was particularly gratifying. Somehow she knew that she could trust him with this secret, but that didn’t make it any easier to actually tell him.

“Yes,” she whispered, looking up at him again. “I love Daniel. And he loves me. His father died last winter, leaving him as the stable master. He’s been here with me as long as I can remember. He’s the one who taught me to ride.” She lowered her gaze again as she felt her cheeks flush at the memories that now poured from her lips. “We’ve been friends our entire lives. But last spring, that changed. We’ve had to be very discreet in our liaisons so that Mother wouldn’t catch us.”

She looked up at her companion again. His gentle gaze and soft smile prompted one of her own. “We’d love nothing more than to be together, but with Mother trying to force us together, Versailles imminent, and his new position here at the chateau, I don’t know how it would be possible,” she cried.

He released her hands and knickered to his horse to get them moving again. “You leave that to me. I’ll play the dutiful suitor between now and then, culminating with a fake engagement,” he ruminated, waggling his eyebrows at her, prompting a giggle from her. ”When we return to the chateau to plan a wedding, I’ll have all the arrangements made for you and Daniel to be together. Now, how can I help you between now and our journey to court?”

She cantered briskly to catch up with him. “You’d help me? Help us? Why?”

He laughed. A bitter, brittle thing that told of pain and despair beyond measure. “Let’s just say that I have a soft spot for those trapped in circumstances that they have no control over.” She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the storm clouds covering his visage with that statement. It was so desperate, so hopeless, that she felt her own heart go out to him. What kind of circumstances did he feel trapped in? Somehow she knew that she would never be privy to that information.

She caught up with him and gently placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you. But if there’s anything that I can do for you, you need only name it.”

His lips lifted in a soft smile. He patted her hand and looked up into her eyes again. His blue eyes were clear now. Clear as a summer sky. “Thank you, my dear. As we will be spending some time together in the coming months, fake courting and all, I would like for you to call me Killian.”

She could feel her cheeks flush again. “Then I must insist on you calling me Regina. It will make Mother think that we are getting closer. Which can only be good for keeping Daniel a secret from her.”

“Indeed. I’ll arrange for you to be my guide and companion for these last few days before we leave for Versailles, and you can meet Daniel without fear.”

The joy that exploded in her heart at his words could not be contained and a girlish giggle erupted from her lips. She dug her heels into Rocinante’s sides and took off toward the vineyards at a gallop with her new friend galloping behind, laughing along with her.

[heathers-wig]

last kiss oneshot aka a sad heathers-wig making a duncney oneshot at 1AM and getting emotional over the duncney parallels because i’m THAT bitch

listen,,,,, i know. i have no shame. making duncney content in 2020? to old taylor swift songs? my pride has evaporated, so please td tumblr, have mercy. 

also @ my few non-td mutuals and non-writer mutuals: do not judge me more than you already have please i’m begging.

available on ao3 here

I still remember the look on your face

Lit through the darkness at 1:58

The words that you whispered

For just us to know

You told me you loved me

So why did you go away?

A somber reflection of her own face stared back at Courtney as the brown eyed girl stared, saddened, outside one of the jet’s windows. The Jumbo-Jet had been flying for hours, to wherever the show’s next location was, and the rest of her team was fast asleep; even Cody, who was terrified of Sierra rubbing his feet at the dead of the night. Sierra herself had been worn out after hours of cutting out perfectly shaped pieces of paper of a Gwen silhouette and then destroying it — she had taken so much joy out of it, and had done it so flawlessly, that Courtney was sure it had become a routine over the few years Total Drama had been airing on TV. After today, Courtney would gladly join Sierra, if she wasn’t so busy making a list on how much of a back-stabbing, helio-phobic goth-loving liar that Gwen was. 

God, Gwen; just the name made Courtney want to let out one of the most pathetic sobs that had ever been seen on television. She knew it was stupid, she honestly did, that she trusted Gwen — it wasn’t anything she said, or really anything that she did, that deemed Gwen as untrustworthy, it was more like the feeling of being unsettled that came after every time Duncan’s name would worm its way into the conversation, and the way Gwen had tensed and how the goth’s cheeks would become slightly pinker, yet her skin somehow paler; in hindsight, it was so dreadfully and painfully obvious that this would happen, and how inevitable it was that this sad, beautifully breathtaking destruction would crumble down on the fragments of happiness in Courtney’s life, but maybe that’s why Courtney and Gwen were drawn together in the first place. To prove the paparazzi wrong, or maybe because Courtney really believed that Gwen wouldn’t stoop as low and confirm the public’s suspicions. However, time had slowly gone by and Courtney learned the hard, cruel way that they were absolutely right.

Chef, who had never taken any sort of liking or pity on Courtney — except when she had sued Chris, he had begrudgingly admitted that he was impressed — had been nice (or cruel, Courtney couldn’t decide which one was more accurate,) enough to show the brunette the clip herself. Herself hugging Duncan (who she now nicknamed Dumbcan in her own mind — ugh, the jerk!) so lovingly after being separated for what felt like ages, and feeling her heart soar when he said he thought of her while he was gone —

— But that was all a lie. A lie that made Courtney feel secure in her deteriorating relationship, a lie that allowed Duncan an easy way out, a lie that filled Gwen’s stomach to the brim with fluttering butterflies. Courtney had to watch, with something that felt all too familiar to horror, as Duncan and Gwen embraced and slowly leaned towards each other, all while knowing and ignoring the brunette outside who was just so happy that she had her boyfriend back and someone she could call the closest to a best friend was still in the game with her. It was almost ironic how that ended. Almost.

Now, staring out the window, Courtney couldn’t help but wander how this could have possibly happened. Of course, she knew the actual answer; Gwen falling for Duncan after her public and awful breakup with Trent, and Duncan losing interest in her as Courtney thought more and more of their relationship as long-term versus until one of them had gotten a sudden sweep of common sense and dumped the other. Whenever Courtney had tried to construct the words in her head of what she would say to Duncan when she eventually had to actually face him, the thoughts that were so carefully balanced on the tip of her tongue would come tumbling back down to the pit of her stomach. Throwing a pity party and tantrum when breaking up with Duncan would be inevitable — she knew it, as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it — but the feeling of dread she felt when looking back on their initial relationship was too much to bear. 

It was ironic, wasn’t it, how she was the first to lean in, while Duncan had took the final lean out? And how he didn’t even have enough guts to breakup with her to begin with? Sure, it would definitely hurt, but she was almost positive that it would be nowhere near the amount of heartache she felt while watching that clip.

What killed her the most was that she could still remember the electric blue eyes of his that seemed to illuminate the darkness of night that day she rebelled, the very day she would now do anything to erase from history. The look of initial shock on his face when Courtney grabbed his face and smashed their lips together in one electrifying kiss... it was painful to remember such a time. If Courtney tried hard enough, she was sure she could hear the slight chatter of their friends behind them and the crickets around them and maybe even the humming of porch lights next to them. Possibly even pick up on the slight smell of cigarettes that followed Duncan everywhere (like his criminal record, as Courtney would snidely berate him, though those days were left to wither in the past), or unfortunately the resting puddle of vomit next to the porch. 

“Enjoy a peanut butter-less life,” he had remarked, the words still ringing in Courtney’s head almost two years later.

“Thanks,” Courtney herself had quipped, leaning up against him. “Enjoy prison,”

“I will,” the juvenile smirked. It all felt like such a long time ago. Had it all meant nothing? Maybe it had been broadcasted around the world, but it was such a private and intimate moment between them that felt like it was for them and them alone — and yet he cheated? He turned around and kissed up her best friend with little to no remorse? Did it mean anything to him? She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. 

If it did, wouldn’t he had stayed? Wouldn’t he had wanted to talk things out, instead of hurting her in the worst way possible? Wouldn’t he have meant every ‘I love you,’ he said while they were still dating with no second thought? Did he even mean every ‘I love you’? Or were they just lies that tasted as sweet as honey on his tongue, that he spoon-fed to Courtney every now and then to keep her from leaving him.

She wasn’t sure what haunted her more; knowing that Duncan felt no regret for what he did or having a last kiss with no knowledge of its significance. 

I do recall now

The smell of the rain

Fresh on the pavement

I ran off the plane

That July ninth

The beat of your heart

It jumps through your skin

I can still feel your arms

As odd as it felt, a few weeks have gone by since her nasty breakup with Duncan. She finally got to shove Gwen (who was swelling up from her allergic reaction at a concerning rate, but Courtney had no pity left for Gwen in her heart that the goth and Duncan were responsible for breaking) off of Chris’s jet, but to her disappointment it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she hoped it would be. Sure, seeing Gwen’s falling figure struggle to open the parachute brought a smile to her face and earned a chuckle from Heather (and a maniacal laugh from Sierra), but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to personally shove Duncan off the plane herself, but she wouldn’t be as kind to him as she was with Gwen; she’d be taking the parachute right before she shoved the fatal push.

The feeling that came after Gwen’s elimination was hard to describe — of course, sheer joy immediately after, but after the cameras stopped rolling and Chris instructed them all to head to bed, panic took its place. Courtney knew she was a target from her fellow teammates — Heather probably wanted to chop all her hair off for flirting with her dear Alejandro; Courtney almost wished the two would get together and save Courtney the heartbreak she’d have to face that there was no one left for her. Duncan would of course crave Courtney’s elimination, and Alejandro and Sierra would probably agree to anything so as long as it wasn’t them, or Cody, in Sierra’s case. Just about everything seemed to be going her way, wasn’t it? 

Courtney wasn’t even sure if she cared at this point. Should she? Of course, winning would be a great payment for everything she’s had to put up with on Total Drama, this season in particular, but at the same time, with Gwen officially out of the running, following her and going back home would feel even better. 

Home. Courtney hadn’t been there in ages, and at this point she wasn’t sure what she considered home to be. There was the pristine mansion she was raised in by her lawyer parents, and while that place might have looked like the front of a magazine cover, it felt like an empty ghost of a home. Not a single thing was out of place — not a throw pillow or piece of silverware. Her parents were either always at work, travelling for a case, or holed up in their respective offices; there was rarely “family time”. Courtney was fine with this, though; that’s just how things were for the Castillo family. 

There was Camp Wawanakwa, as evil and ironic as it was. For a few weeks, she lived with teenagers, not the reality stars they were now. When her friends from debate club sometimes dragged her to a rewatch of the first season, it was odd to see how different they were all back then, but at the same time, they really hadn’t changed at all. Though Courtney was unsure if she would ever step foot on that island ever again, it would always hold a place in her heart — good or bad? She hadn’t decided yet — for the beginning of whatever her life was now. 

Her apartment was an option, as well. It wasn’t as much home as just the place she so happened to live in. No emotional attachment whatsoever; some boxes were still stacked in a spare coat closet, all neatly labeled in a thick Sharpie. It wasn’t that Courtney was disorganized or lazy, more like there was no use in unpacking all of her belongings in a temporary home. She moved out of her parents’ mansion as college crept closer and closer, and she hadn’t lived with her parents since last summer. 

That summer felt alien at this point, looking at old photographs that were neatly organized on her cellphone. She remembered her family went on a month-long vacation in Europe, and Duncan had come to pick her up from the airport, much to her parents’ displeasure. The Castillos and Duncan did not get along, but tried to be civil for Courtney’s sake — they knew how much it could upset her when they were constantly at odds. Being civil was nowhere easy for either parties, but seeing Courtney’s happiness and hope that there was just maybe a hope that she and Duncan would be able to have a future together made it worth it.

However, seeing his arm around her waist with easy smiles on both of their lips made Courtney’s stomach lurch, just knowing what he would do a little more than a year later. It brought back too many memories that were painful to recall, and came all at once with no warning, much like a band-aid being harshly torn off the surface of a child’s knee.

That day it had been raining all afternoon, and there was still a slight drizzle and mist in the air when Courtney’s family had landed. Duncan was there, at the pickup area, with brunch for herself and her entire family from some local cafe — as much as he would deny it, deep down she just knew he was a sweetheart — and as soon as he could, he wrapped his arms around Courtney, which Courtney had gladly returned. 

The smell of rose and cigarettes, a smell that had become the twisted combination of the aromas surrounding Courtney and Duncan, filled Courtney’s nose, and she couldn’t help but bask in how glorious it felt, to simply be embraced by Duncan. No bickering, no making out, just a simple sign of affection was all it took for Courtney to feel at peace. They were so close, she could’ve swore she could feel the faint beat of his heart underneath his t-shirt.

It was such a quick, and rather insignificant moment, of their relationship, that Courtney couldn’t figure out, for the life of her, why it stuck with her. Maybe because it was insignificant in the long run it was so cherishable to her — a quick, stolen moment of sweet nothings that was caught in the middle of the timeline of her rather messy and confusing relationship with Duncan. 

Did Duncan still remember that July ninth? Probably not. Realistically, not. In fact, he was probably busy daydreaming making out with his new girlfriend in another all new spot on Gwen’s neck that made them feel something new that they never felt with Trent or Courtney. Not at all reminiscing on Courtney unwillingly falling in love with Duncan that July ninth in front of her parents, not at all remembering the imprint he left on her heart (though it did give her a sense of satisfaction that all Duncan could do was wish, as Courtney could gladly say she heard Gwen’s shrieks of terror as she plummeted towards the Earth at a rapid pace with a broken parachute).

Feeling a sudden chill in the air, Courtney runs her hands up and down her upper arms. As much as she hated him for it, she could still feel Duncan’s arms wrapping themselves around her, and she felt less colder. 

She doubted Duncan remembered the smell of lingering rain on the pavement that July ninth, or the hand squeeze and smile she gave him, or her parents finally warming up to him when he remembered their favorite brunch meal. 

She doubted he would even want to remember any of it.

But now I’ll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is

I don’t know how to be something you missed

Never thought we’d have a last kiss

Never imagined we’d end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Courtney wasn’t sure what to feel; upset? Angered? Humiliated? Robbed of winning, yet again? Maybe even a little relieved? They were all emotions she had felt before on the previous times she had been eliminated from Total Drama, but considering the circumstances... Courtney decided a combination of all would be the most appropriate. 

She was upset she allowed herself to cheat for Alejandro, who she was only really using to spite Duncan (not like Duncan had even batted an eye, which admittedly really stung), and she was fully aware Alejandro didn’t return her feelings, but God, she hadn’t felt any joy in what felt like ages, maybe she felt Alejandro would, what, reward her? All she got was a kiss after she freshened up, and it wasn’t even that good to begin with — too much tongue for her liking. 

Duncan knew how to kiss me just right. Crossed her mind, but as soon as it surfaces, she shoves it far, far down.

And she was angry, so angry that she had allowed herself to be used and manipulated, on International TV no less! She looked like exactly what she was, and she did not like it in any way, whatsoever — weak. And with that, humiliation; being cheated on, blanked, used and then sent packing with that trashy, gossip-craving Blaineley of all people was such a huge hit to her pride, Courtney was unsure if her pride would ever be able to recover, even five years from now. God, that was pathetic, the thought of still being sensitive to her Total Drama World Tour experience as a full-on adult. Definition of embarrassing. Her ego was massively bruised, and had taken such a fall that Courtney was sure she would never allow herself to get close to anyone ever again. Was it selfish? Maybe. But a businesswoman has to do what she has to do to be successful and strong, and if that meant ghosting everyone and plunging herself into her work — so be it. 

However... a small, incredibly fragile fraction of herself was so relieved. Of course, she wanted to win, to show to her ex-friend and boyfriend she was more than capable of destroying them, but she had already endured so much humiliation during that season that she felt her shoulders relax a little rather than tense up before she jumped off the plane. Though the cameras didn’t show it, Courtney found herself smiling like a lunatic — like Izzy, as she had now come to realize, not that she enjoyed acknowledging it one bit — as she dived off the jet, finally free from Chris, the cameras and most of all, Duncan. 

But now that she was back at her bleak apartment, she realized that cruelly ironically enough that he was more present in her own dorm even when he was across the world, with no thought or emotion to spare in her direction. The couch reeked of him, where he had spent New Years’ Eve and where they ended up falling asleep at 4 in the morning; the coffee table underneath her bare fingers felt like him, where an engraving of D+C was proudly displayed on the corner; the fridge seemed to still have him traced all over it, where she and Duncan had a huge argument in front of before he had slipped out the words “I love you” for the first time, and even the coat racket was imprinted with Duncan, where one of his jackets still hung, firm from months of not being used. Though a part of her wanted to reach out for it and wrap it around herself for some source of comfort, Courtney knew she shouldn’t — she couldn’t. But... 

It was ridiculous. A stupid, humiliating and reckless idea that would take the mere shreds left of her ego, dignity and pride and bury them six feet under. But right now, nobody would know... there was no paparazzi or roommate around to expose her, and she did feel awfully cold....

Grabbing the collar of the jacket, Courtney wrapped it around her shoulders and (shamefully, she couldn’t believe she was allowing her pride to stoop even lower than it already had) dashed in her pristine bedroom and immediately opened one of her drawers; Duncan’s drawer, which was filled with even more memories, both good and bad. To be fair, they were once all good, but now they left a sour sting on Courtney’s tongue. She tore through the drawer, before fixating on one item and pulling it out — one of Duncan’s many copies of his infamous skull t-shirt.

Without even meaning to, Courtney found herself crumbling like a piece of wet gingerbread. How pathetic are you? She mentally scolded herself, but at that moment she found herself realizing she simply didn’t care. After a lifetime of being as cold and emotionless as she could be, a boy of all things is what broke her down. After being rid of Total Drama — for now, Courtney had to remind herself — and the travel, the cameras and the clothes, and now just in her pajamas and dreadfully Duncan’s jacket, Courtney couldn’t help but unleash the full power of the sobs that had been building up in Courtney since the breakup. 

How was she going to get past this? Would she always be remembered as the bitch that a criminal cheated on on TV? What about her future? Would this all affect her chances in office? How could her ego possibly come back from this? Most of all, how would she cope knowing that Duncan, the nuisance criminal she’s despised for around two or three years, was gone for good and was never, ever coming back, no matter how much Courtney craved for it? 

Would Duncan even miss her? Would he ever, someday in the future, when things with Gwen were rocky? Would he remember Courtney, and think of her as something he missed? Was that even a title Courtney had the chance of claiming?

Courtney craved Duncan. She wanted his presence in her apartment, she wanted his arms around her, his lips pressed on her own; she hadn’t, didn’t and probably would never have wanted a last kiss, and knowing that they were as good as done with no chance of having another stolen kiss — it was too much. How could she have let them end like this?

“D... Duncan,” The name forces itself out of Courtney’s throat and through her lips, crumpling his shirt in her hands and bringing her knees to the ground, where she continues to sob. Tossing one more item from the drawer — the wooden skull, with D+C engraved on it, looking as new as it did years ago — she hurls it at the mirror in the corner of her room, its impact cracking the glass. 

Maybe in the morning Courtney would care, but at that moment, all she wanted was to be comforted by the one person who couldn’t, wouldn’t and would never comfort her ever again. All she knew was that she would never stop craving Duncan, no matter who was by her side or made her smile and laugh and shower her with kisses — the whole time she would be wishing it was Duncan instead, sharing a kiss that would be far from their last. 

I do remember

The swing in your step

The life of the party, you’re showing off again

And I roll my eyes and then

You pull me in

I’m not much for dancing

But for you I did

Because I love your handshake

Meetin’ my father

I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets

How you kissed me when I was in the middle of saying something

There’s not a day that I don’t miss those rude interruptions

Courtney despised the nights that followed post-World Tour elimination; they were filled with nightmares of happier times that mocked Courtney, nightmares that were dressed like perfect, safe and welcoming dreams. Nightmares that felt like incredible dreams at first, until Courtney woke up and remembered how alone she truly was. 

That night it was a random, and rather insignificant, memory of a wild party that Duncan had dragged her to. It was hosted by the cousin of a friend of Geoff’s friend, and of course Geoff and Duncan insisted that Bridgette, Courtney and DJ to come with, as much as Courtney was opposed to the idea. Duncan always made impacts, for lack of better word, on the guests, that would usually result in him adding a hundred followers to his Instagram, starting a riot and Courtney having to bail him out of jail or being kicked out by the host; it was a gamble each time. 

That night, Duncan had chosen to boast in front of a group of guests on all the laws he had broken and tattoos he had gotten — just Duncan’s usual load of shit. 

Courtney had rolled her eyes and sneered in disgust — just Courtney’s typical reaction to said load of shit. “God, Duncan, those tattoos are disgusting, I don’t see how you put up with them,” She had scowled. Duncan shrugged and wrapped his arm around her, leaning into Courtney, intently watching her incredibly dark and hypnotizing (at least, they were to him) eyes widen in surprise. 

“You’re just no fun,” Duncan lamely insulted, poking his tongue out at her and showcasing his tongue piercing that made Courtney’s nose scrunch up.

“I am plenty of fun!” Courtney snapped.

“Really? Prove it,” Duncan challenged, jerking his head toward the dance floor. Courtney gave him a withering glare that would have turned anyone else to a mere pile of dust, before gripping his wrist and dragging her with him, determined to prove him wrong. Unbeknownst to her, he was grinning like an enamored puppy behind her. 

As a slow song came on, Courtney wrapped her arms around Duncan’s neck while her wrapped his around her waist as they slowly swayed around to the beat of the song. Just as Duncan dipped her down, and Courtney felt a glamorous sensation as they both leaned toward each other and —

— suddenly, Duncan impaled a hook through Courtney (that looked all too familiar to the one he had spooked her with a long time ago) that Courtney hadn’t even noticed he had, before dropping her on the dance floor, her white dress staining with red blood like wine, as everyone else continued dancing to the romantic melody, paying no glance to Courtney.

She felt light headed while her eyelids felt like three tons, and as she fell on her knees, hunched over from the wound, she couldn’t help but notice as her eyes began to flutter shut no one spared a glance at her way; not even Duncan, who was back with his friends, showcasing the book like it was a trophy. As Courtney knew she was breathing her last breath, Duncan glanced her way and gave a crooked smirk, his eyes flashing hot with satisfaction at her pain. The ocean blue in his eyes had become a ferocious storm.

Courtney had jarred awake, hot, sweaty, emotional and desperate with the time of 2:34 staring back at her from her alarm clock. Courtney sighed with relief upon the realization it was just another nightmare about her ex-boyfriend, one that was rather cheesy anyway — what she would give to not be haunted by him as she still was. Unfortunately, as much as she hated the fact, she knew he still roamed her consciousness, subconsciousness and unconsciousness because of the fact she still loved him, even after everything, and a fraction of that love would probably live on for years to come until Courtney was on her deathbed.

With that comforting thought, Courtney groaned and turned away from her clock and towards the wall, studying the plaster like her life depended on it; anything to get her away from the angry electric blue that followed her even when her eyes were sealed shut.

It was plain annoying how she knew that she still loved Duncan, no matter how many times she was forced to re-live the brutal truth that he no longer loved her whenever she came face-to-face with a tabloid at the checkout line when she would occasionally get groceries, or search his name on the Internet to see how he was coping; maybe Courtney couldn’t face the truth, couldn’t face that maybe she was no longer in love with Duncan but instead with the memories of him that were scattered about her life.

It felt odd going to her parents’ and not having to deal with her father staring Duncan down, and for Duncan to stare right back, passive-aggressively. Not to watch both men clench each other’s hands firmly while looking at the other dead in the eye when Courtney introduced them. Now whenever she went to her parents’, all she felt was the sore reminder that in the end, the Castillos were right — Duncan was nothing but trouble and pain in the end.

It was painful going to the mall without Duncan to lean on, or his hand to clutch as they would lazily walk around the shops. Or how Courtney no longer had to unfold each of Duncan’s clothes from being inside-out in the laundry or hand a mountain of objects found in Duncan’s pockets to him before stuffing his pants in the washer. Duncan used to (or maybe he still did, Courtney would have no idea,) stuff anything and everything he possibly could into his pockets — keys, empty wrappers of gum, cigarettes or small things he’d pick pocketed, even spare change (though Courtney used to mock him for still carrying pennies around — who does that? She’d tease).

“That’s what you get for always walking with your hands in your pockets,” Courtney used to barate. “Someday, you’re going to end up washing your wallet if it isn’t for me,”

“Yeah, well, you’ll always be here, so that’s not a concern,” Duncan had winked back.

All Courtney could do now was scowl at how that had aged.

Hell, Courtney found herself missing their arguments — mostly over the small and rather unimportant things, they were ironically some of her fondest memories. Half the time their arguments would end up with the two making out after Duncan had silenced her with a kiss, and Courtney was now well-aware no one would ever interrupt her in such a way ever again.

Duncan was the only person who Courtney would allow to interrupt her, though now he wouldn’t want to even listen to her, let alone care enough to plant a kiss on her lips when she was in the middle of talking. Courtney had never wanted someone to interrupt her more than she wanted Duncan to.

And I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is that

I don't know how to be something you miss

Never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe

And I'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are

Hope it's nice where you are

( TIME JUMP: 4 Months after TDAS )

Two months after coming home, Courtney found herself slowly healing from the damage that Duncan had caused on her heart. Two more months after that, Courtney found herself genuinely able to smile after that without the desire for Duncan and Gwen to be by her side; a year after that, Total Drama All Stars has been done for four months and Courtney lived day-to-day life without thinking of either Duncan or Gwen.

Courtney had been laying low for that time; obnoxious, gossip-hungry tabloids had asked for a “statement” from her whenever Gwen or Duncan or one of her ex-contestants found themselves on a headline, but Courtney shot them down every time — her ego might have taken a huge hit from World Tour and that episode from All Stars, but she wasn’t desperate enough to willingly make an appearance and be interviewed by Celebrity Manhunt.

The questions for “statements” seemed to blur over time; do you have any words of advice for Heather, who suspects Alejandro of cheating? Have you heard Trent’s new single? Rumor has it it’s about Gwen and Duncan! Speaking of Gwen and Duncan, if they were reading this, what would you say to them?

It was an endless and rather tiring cycle of the paparazzi trying to lure a reaction out of her, which Courtney refused to give into.

However, one day as Courtney was loading her groceries on a conveyor belt at the local grocery store, a headline from a tabloid caught her eye. All Courtney read were the words Totally Dramatic, and Courtney knew she should look away — they were the same magazine that publicly called Courtney a bitch a few months ago, which she would never forget. Though she had self-control in public, she found that at 11PM on a Friday night she had little to no self-control and found herself pulling open her laptop and typing Totally Dramatic in the search bar on Safari.

Almost immediately, the faces of her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend take over her screen, with the text underneath that’s all too hard to miss — Gwuncan Engagement Rumors Confirmed!?

Courtney could feel her the pit of her stomach drop and her heart shatter as it crashed to the ground below her.

It wasn’t that she missed Duncan — she didn’t! It was just that she so good at her job of avoiding Gwen and Duncan’s names like the plague she was blissfully unaware that they had gotten back together.

She would be lying if Courtney said she hadn’t thought of reaching out to Gwen — and shamefully, it would be a lie if Courtney swore she never considered sending a drunk text to Duncan (thankfully, she never had; it was a nightmare just thinking of the embarrassment that would cause) — but always decided against it because of three reasonings; there was no way either would want to hear from her, they hated her guts and Courtney would never allow her dignity to stoop as low as it had during the third season ever again.

But now — now Courtney was sure she would never reach out. Not even a quick Congratulations! text, not a gift basket, not even show up to Gwen’s bachelorette party if she felt bold enough. Courtney was positive that she was reduced to the stalking ex, browsing through both of their Instagrams, watching them mature and fall back in love through their own photographs. It was... strange, to say the least.

What was this feeling that was erupting inside her? It wasn’t jealousy, she had gotten over Duncan months ago, but it wasn’t sadness, resentment or anger, either. It was like the feeling of realizing that, as ironically and unbelievable as it was, the two had grown up without Courtney, and all she could do was watch from a distance. Watch them slowly move on from their memories of Courtney — both bad and good — until the mention of her left both indifferent; Courtney was almost positive that being hated by the two would be less painful than knowing that at one point, they were the closest and best people in her life and now they couldn’t care less on how Courtney was.

Courtney used to watch Gwen paint and draw with such concentration that she was sure she would be held accountable for messing her art up if she just so much as breathed too loudly. The furrow between her brows would deepen and the stormy gray of her eyes would be clouded over with concentration and care, and Courtney found herself wishing that she was as passionate about something as Gwen was of her art. Sure, she had her studies in law, but Gwen’s skills — they were truly beautiful. She used to watch Gwen’s head very thrown back a little when she laughed a little too hard, and how tears would leak from the corner of her eyes from laughter so easily. Or how whenever Gwen dyed her hair again, she would unintentionally run her fingers through it all of the time, leaving Courtney wandering just how soft her hair could possibly be with her double-conditioning. But now she would witness all of Gwen’s happiness through her phone’s screen when she would look up her name on Instagram.

Courtney also used to watch Duncan do so many miscellaneous things that it would be impossible to list them all; like how his eyes would glint with joy whenever he would successfully break a law, a small shot of success and pride to keep him going. Or how, as much as he stated he hated them, always showing great amounts of concern when his friends or family were stressed and immediately began brainstorming how to make them feel better. Or how no matter how tough he pretended to be, when he slept, he just looked so peaceful that it was impossible to find yourself able to avoid falling for him. But now all she’d be seeing of him was his face plastered on a tabloid, probably with his arms around Gwen’s waist.

Maybe she was being overdramatic, but it really was ironic how at one point, she had held them both so close she could feel them breathe but now all she felt was herself slowly becoming more and more insignificant to the two of them, until she was nothing more than just a blurry memory and a face that was hard to recall among others.

Someday in the future, she could already picture herself casually asking Bridgette how Duncan was, since he was still friends with Geoff and DJ, afterall — what would she be expecting? For him to be struggling to make a living and pay rent? For Duncan to be unhappy with his life and relationship? For Gwen and Duncan to experience as much pain as they inflicted on her?

Deep down, she knew the real answer; no matter how many times they’d backstab the other, Courtney just wanted Gwen and Duncan to have the best, even if it killed her to admit it.

A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if they felt the same about her, too.

And I hope the sun shines

And it's a beautiful day

And something reminds you

You wish you had stayed

You can plan for a change in weather and time

But I never planned on you changing your mind

Maybe one day Duncan would look back on their relationship like Courtney had been doing for months — or maybe, a small part of her hoped, he had been.

All Courtney could hope for was that someday in the future, when Courtney had found peace and Gwen and Duncan were happily moving on to whatever chapter of their lives lied ahead of them, something small would catch Duncan’s eye — a picture of her on the news, a box that reeked of memories of her, even the mere mention of her name — would send him back in time to when they were sixteen and still in love and clueless to the cruel world around them, and maybe a small part of him that he thought died when he was a teenager would blossom again with the wish that he had stayed; they would always be their own biggest what-ifs.

Courtney had planned anything and everything in her life ahead of time; one thing she hadn’t ever expected? Duncan to give up on her and leave her with a last kiss while she still craved for more. And while he had moved on, Courtney was stuck in the past, but that was okay — if he could move on, so could she, and her while that may take time, she was fully prepared to wait it out; she may have been painted as the villain of the story, but she also deserved her happily ever after.

So I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is that

I don’t know how to be something you miss

Never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Just like our last kiss

Forever the name on my lips

Forever the name on my lips

Just like our last

[rainofaugustsith]

Five Questions for Writers

Thank you for the tag @tishinada! ^_^ Tagging @miss-spooky-eyes @jlsigman and @a-muirehen if you want! :)

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?   Viri, of course. :) She is a bit of an alter ego and even when I'm playing her game character she will pop up with commentary in my head sometimes.   I also really love writing Viri with certain other characters because of their dynamic. I often try to find plausible places for Viri and Vette , or Viri and Somminick Timmns to talk because they bounce off each other really nicely and usually end up having a lot of funny back and forth. And I also really love getting Viri and Lana to talk to each other because they are so intimate and trust and love each other so much, it's very intense to write their scenes.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?   The two themes that spring to mind that I like to write a lot, and I don't know that they count as tropes, are 'angst with a happy ending' and 'enthusiastic consent.' For the first, my characters might be tossed around a lot but they will eventually find their way to shore and be happy. Lana and Viri get a happy ending. I don't know that I will be writing their ending (I can't imagine not writing about them) but they really do end up with happiness before they die. And then after they die they're together in the afterlife, reunited with their beloved friends, relatives and pets who went before them, and have a happy eternity. HAPPY, damn it.

In terms of enthusiastic consent it's important to me that Lana and Viri are shown loving each other, respecting each other's boundaries and being fully enthusiastic participants in any intimacy they have. They have safewords and use colors, and I've written scenes where one of them does say 'no' and isn't up to it, and that is fully and immediately respected without debate. They ask permission, they check in with each other, they talk and they work within each other's boundaries. Even though they have a Force bond and can communicate in their minds and feel each other's emotions, I also have it established that they don't go digging - they only see what is in the other's mind when it's actively being shared with them.   3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

This one, from An Open Affinity. It's from the second cantina scene where Lana and Viri admit they have feelings for each other and hold hands. Lana and Viri's lines about warming up are from the game, and one of the reasons I realized that I could actually probably justify Viri's demisexuality as being canon, since this dialogue choice allows your character to have an attraction only after they have gotten to know and with Lana over time. ***

Lana inwardly shivers. Her name, in the Wrath’s voice, sounds like a kiss. Her eyes lock on the Wrath’s, and her stomach warms as she sees that they’re holding what appears to be a mixture of hope, longing…and complete uncertainty. And as Lana gently dips into the bond, she realizes, all at once, that the Wrath is just as terrified as she is.

She was brave. I will be, too. ”It’s mutual. I didn’t know if I should bring it up, but…I’ve missed you,” Lana says. Relief. Hope.

Lana doesn’t even realize she’s drawing close to the Wrath…no, Viri…until their hands are clasped. Electricity. Want. Need. She’s shaking, and Viri is, too. Neither of them can speak.  Lana looks at their joined hands, and something breaks within her. Viri’s Force signature is spinning more emotions than she can even count, and a thousand thoughts race through her own mind and soul.

I want it's too much too much too much I don’t understand yes no keep touching her but…

*** 4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?   I love some of the Sith poetry I've written that Lana and Viri recite from time to time, like Viri's favorite verse, which is tattooed on her shoulder:  Shadow-born and strong, dreaming lucid.  You feel the sun and rise to victory.  Do not despair, little demon.  You are made to burn like the stars  And light your path in passion.     And these, written in the story by Lana:   - I will see you in the stars and feel you in the sun until we are us again. - I shall hold you until the dawn has risen, until the stars are alive in your eyes. Do not fear the shadows; they guide you to sanctuary.

Probably this too, from An Open Affinity, during a scene where Vette is comforting Viri after her separation from Lana after Yavin 4.

*** ”Yes or no question: if you had to do it again, knowing how it would turn out…would you still want to meet her, and let her know you liked her, and all the rest? Was it worth it?”

”Yes. When you put it that way, I would. She’s worth it.” Viri smiles slightly at Lana’s flickering hologram.

”Not everyone can stay forever,” Vette says quietly. “And even when they can, they might still have to leave for a while, before the ‘forever’ part. Maybe right now, all you can do is remember what you had, and how special it was, and look forward to it maybe returning one day.”

Viri begins to cry again.

”You have to stop this. Blazes, almost nothing makes you cry, but since we left Yavin, you seem to be making up for lost time. They’re going to take away your Wrath title, if you keep this up,” Vette says. “We’ll have to choose a new name for you. Sobbing Sith? Sith So Sorrowful? Darth Tearful? That one has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

”Stop it, Vette. You’re making me laugh.” Viri chuckles, even as more tears escape her eyes.

”Are your tears specially imbued with the Force? They can make someone melt, right? That’s your new attack strategy, you’ll cry on people!”

”Vette!” Viri throws a pillow at her.

“She’s hit me with the Pillow of Death. I’m down.” Vette pretends to keel over, putting one hand to her forehead. “I think you should carry that, instead of your lightsaber. Think of it, you could have just smacked Revan around with a pillow until he gave up.”

Viri bursts out laughing.

“That’s the Viri I know and love,” Vette smiles. “The one who laughs even when everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket. I know you’re hurting right now. But you’ll get  through this.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?   There are a few pieces I'm stalling on, and badly - I have a half-finished story about my dark ex-Jedi, Ror, and  @vespertine-legacy  's Zuvi. There's The Two, which is about platonic friendship about Viri and Suvia (Darth Nox) when they knew each other during their Wrath/Dark Council days. And I have some Viri and Lana pieces that are absolute smut, but half-completed. There's a very explicit scene that's probably going to be taken out of The Eternal Wrath and moved to its own fic because it's way above the story's current rating (Viri and Lana pay tribute to the Goddess of Love and Set & Vere on Naboo...).   There's also one smut piece I'm very proud of that follows the footprint laid out by An Open Affinity: Trust, which was about Lana and Viri's first time. It basically revisits the same setting but shows just how comfortable they are with each other, in every way. It’s not done.

Part of me worries I'm looking like a weirdo for posting so much smut about them, but on the other hand there aren't as many F/F fics on Ao3 as there are M/F and M/M, so I'm adding to that collection, so to speak. :) Outside of fanfic with the other writing I do (classified) don’t even get  me started. So. Much.

[anoray]

Spectre One Rising

So many kickbutt writers out there have come up with engrossing and emotionally involving AU versions of SWR to deal with the heartbreak that is Season 4 concerning Cowboy Jedi Kanan and the good ship Kanera. Thank you and please don’t stop!  

You inspired me to come up with a (I hope) fun way to bring back Kanan while keeping it as canon-y as I can and trying not to cheapen the beautiful things about the sacrifice Kanan made.

It’s a little long (12,000+), sorry, but that’s what it took to get all my fixits in ;) It starts with Kanan on his ever famous exploding fuel pod, then picks up from there. Features lots of Ezra, too, and appearances by Thrawn, with a quasi-epilogue featuring Hera, Jacen and Sabine.

I’ve written other stuff, but confess this is my first attempt at fanfic. My appreciation in advance to any who make it through. I read on AO3, but don’t have my own account (yet?) so just posting this baby here.  Did not have a beta reader, so when you catch quibbles, thanks for sharing!

I do hope we’ll get a canon story with Kanan coming back one day very soon!

Kanan 1 BBY 

Kanan braced himself on the shuddering metal of the exploding fuel pod, allowing the Force to flow through him as never before.  The engulfing flames raged, slamming into the immense shield of energy Kanan wielded to protect the Imperial gunship hovering behind him. That gunship carried everyone that mattered most to him in the galaxy.  Hera. Ezra. Sabine. You will live. 

Kanan filled with an almost ecstatic certainty that eradicated the last shreds of self-doubt he’d harbored for so long.  He felt no pain. No fear. This is my moment.  This is where I am needed most.  Kanan pushed even harder at the relentless inferno, wringing out precious seconds to ensure his family’s escape to safety. 

“Kanan!” His focus split as Hera rushed up behind him.  Kanan instinctively reached back, lifting Hera into a Force embrace. Turning slowly to face the woman he would die for, Kanan realized his only regret was the shock and horror she radiated, the grief she and the others would suffer.  If only Hera knew what was crystal clear to him.  His death had a greater purpose. Lothal’s rising sun would illuminate irreparable damage to Thrawn’s TIE Defender program.  Hera’s mission would be complete. 

Holding Hera aloft, Kanan reveled in her unique Force signature.  Her inner and outer beauty had always shone brightest to him no matter the source of his vision. Kanan hoped she’d finally come to understand she had been his life’s mission from the moment they’d met on Gorse. All he could do was envelop her with the love he felt, grateful for the years they’d shared.  In that moment, Kanan sensed a second, subtle Force signature pulsing within Hera’s body. Hera will bear our child!    

Indescribable joy ignited Kanan from the inside out.  Oh, if only he could stay! Every part of him longed to be a father, a husband, to protect his entire Ghost family for their future to come.  But his future…that remained to be seen. Ignoring his thudding heart, Kanan hurled Hera into the safety of Ezra’s arms. 

Now the Force crested within him, a rising tidal wave.  As the energy surged ever higher, Kanan felt thirty years of body aches and old scars diminish.  At the same time, the miracle of sight returned to his formerly blinded eyes, an unexpected gift of color and light from the Force. 

Kanan’s eyes drank in Hera’s loveliness like sweet nectar.  Her eyes widened farther in stunned surprise—she’d realized Kanan could see her! I love you, Hera.  Kanan’s gaze shifted to include Ezra. You’ve got this from here, kid. I know you can do it.  So much more to say to them both, but his time had run out.  With a final look at Hera, Kanan Force-shoved the gunship away with all his might.   

Kanan projected his consciousness outward milliseconds before the fireball engulfed his body.  Soaring upward, Kanan saw the gunship zoom safely away as the fuel pods ignited in a chain reaction of bright, white Light— 

Ezra 4 ABY

 A knock. “Master Ezra, are you all right?” A louder knock. 

Ezra rose groggily from the none too cozy floor of his cabin aboard the Chimaera.  His mind was still emblazoned with the image of Kanan’s milky, blinded eyes brightening to vivid teal.  My master saw me in the end.  

“Master Ezra?” His droid, PZ-5 stepped through the now open doorway.  Her reflective visor and droning voice somehow emulated concern.  “I heard your cries outside in the corridor.” 

“I’m fine, PeeZee. It was…another one of those visions.” Ezra shakily waved her outstretched hand away, wondering not for the first time how a tactical droid who looked so much like AP-5 could possess such a different demeanor.  Maybe it was a lucky combination of the droid parts he’d salvaged on Thrawn’s purrgil-wrecked Star Destroyer to repair her.  Ezra doubted Chopper would have been impressed with his handiwork, but he might have gotten a thumbs up from Sabine. Ezra’s heart thumped wistfully.  

“The one about your former master, Kanan Jarrus?”  

Ezra tucked away thoughts of Sabine and his Ghost family as he shuffled unsteadily toward his bunk. It did him no good to wallow in homesickness like a puffer pig. “Yeah, and the images get clearer each time. But I feel like I’m missing some important detail.”   

PZ cocked her head. “But, if I may say so, what is the point of revisiting your master’s demise after these many years? Surely that is only painful and changes nothing you both endured.”   

Ezra’s knees buckled right before he slumped onto the stiff mattress.  He had no answer for the droid.  Yet. What he did know was the visions about Kanan began tormenting him shortly after he’d sensed the death of the Emperor in the Force.  That stunning revelation struck Ezra about five years after the purrgil joined Ezra in his determined battle to liberate Lothal by demolishing Thrawn’s blockade.  

While aboard the Chimaera as Thrawn’s now escaped prisoner, Ezra silently asked the Force sensitive creatures for one last favor. Take me where I’m needed most, a place where I no longer endanger my family.  The purrgil lit up for hyperspace flight—and transported the entire Star Destroyer to the farthest reaches of Wild Space.  Setting the badly damaged vessel adrift in the atmosphere of an uncharted planet, the purrgil vanished.   

Ezra felt abandoned, a lone, injured Jedi among enraged Imperials without even his lightsaber by his side.  He struggled to understand why the purrgil dumped him at the farthest edge of the galaxy, forced into an alliance with an equally reluctant and disadvantaged Thrawn for mutual survival.  Ezra reached out to the Force with a heavy heart.  Was my sacrifice made in vain?  As if in answer, things immediately got worse. 

The scouting parties sent to the scattering of planetary communities in search of aid found only the remains of tens of thousands of inhabitants, all massacred over a standard year ago.  Any survivors must have abandoned their world. Or--more likely—been taken as slaves.  Shivers ran up Ezra’s spine as he explored war torn streets and realized any structure or object that could be associated with a spiritual, artistic or cultural purpose lay in savage ruins.  In contrast, technological and industrial elements stood untouched, as if they were beneath the notice of those who had decimated the population.  Ezra shared in the Imperials’ constant apprehension.  Was something far worse following behind, on its way to swoop in and claim its tribute? 

Thrawn strategically used the precarious situation to his starship’s advantage.  For several months, Ezra and the crew scavenged supplies and materials to make the Chimaera space worthy again.  Very early on, Ezra and the others became too exhausted and overworked to spare much thought on the potential of impending doom.   Once the Star Destroyer was finally space bound, progress was painfully slow. Without star maps to navigate the maze of destructive anomalies—and lacking reliable sources of food and fuel--the Chimaera limped forward system by system toward the Unknown Regions. 

By necessity, the ship’s course settings also became more furtive.  The few habitable worlds they encountered all had the same thing in common: the annihilation of their population, and demolition of all religious and cultural artifacts.  Ezra’s heart twisted for the innocent dead, and harbored concern for the vulnerable Chimaera.  Every time Ezra attempted to gain some sense of the mysterious attackers through the Force, he hit a blank wall.  The Grand Admiral seemed to find Ezra’s lack of perceptive success intriguing. 

Meanwhile, Thrawn’s cold red eyes missed nothing as his crew collected grim evidence of a new and significant threat to the known galaxy. Ezra loathed Thrawn for all the suffering he’d inflicted on his Ghost family and the Rebellion.  Yet, Ezra developed a grudging respect for the way Thrawn galvanized his initially shell-shocked crew to restore and maintain Imperial order and discipline.  Ezra covertly gleaned much about the Grand Admiral, who was systematically transforming his purrgil-induced defeat into a surveillance mission vital to the Empire.   Ezra had no doubt Thrawn envisioned a triumphant return with priceless data on the hostiles and star maps of the Wild regions to bestow upon Palpatine.  Although…Ezra increasingly sensed Thrawn’s loyalty belonged to the Chiss Ascendancy alone. 

Ever practical, Thrawn elevated Ezra to spearhead missions to scavenge supplies and fuel from each corpse-filled settlement to sustain the Chimaera.  Unlike the Imperials, Ezra was hardened by extreme and lean conditions under the Rebellion. Ezra found himself even relishing the dangerous work at times.  He knew full well his success in bringing back his scouting parties alive earned him Thrawn’s increasing trust as well as greater tolerance from the crew.  But with PZ-5 his only genuine friend on the Chimaera, Ezra’s loneliness and homesickness for his Ghost family remained a daily battle.   

About three months after the Chimaera was again space bound, Ezra’s Jedi abilities earned him something more than trust from the Grand Admiral.  During a mission debriefing in Thrawn’s office, Ezra’s jaw almost dropped when the Chiss opened a locked drawer and withdrew…a lightsaber?  No—Ezra’s heart lurched.  From what little Kanan had shared of being made a Knight during his Jedi Temple vision, this was a Temple Guard’s lightsaber pike.   

“You did especially well today, Commander Bridger. Your…communication with the reptilian creatures prevented several troopers from being devoured.” Thrawn calmly held the beautifully designed hilt out toward Ezra. 

“All those big lizards wanted was a fair share of grain in the silos.” Ezra did not reach for the pike. He eyed Thrawn accusingly. “You’ve had this all along?” 

Thrawn nodded. “It is one of the many Jedi artifacts I’ve collected, along with the mask that accompanied it.” 

“And you’re giving it to me now?” Ezra resisted the urge to snatch the pike from Thrawn’s blue hand and bash him over the head with it.  

“You once advised me that the Force is not a weapon. That it is something I would never understand. Perhaps you are right, Commander. However, what I have come to understand is that a Jedi like you without his lightsaber is…far less efficient in the field.” 

Eyes narrowed, Ezra took the hilt away. He immediately felt the minute vibration from the crystal within.  Igniting the pike, Ezra’s whole sense of being lit up with the bright, yellow blades. I’s been so long since I’ve held a lightsaber. Recalling the red blades of Maul and the Inquisitors, Ezra gently twirled the humming pike, careful not to slice Thrawn’s desk—or Thrawn--in half. “I’ve never trained with a double-bladed weapon.” 

“Then there is no time like the present.” With an aloof gesture, Thrawn dismissed Ezra. Ezra rotated the blades a few times on his way to the door, then switched the pike off to hang it on his belt. 

“I’ll put this to good use.” Ezra was not about to thank Thrawn.  The Temple Guard’s pike never belonged with the arrogant Chiss in the first place.  Thrawn’s crimson eyes gleamed back at him, clearly neither expecting--nor wanting--gratitude. 

“Indeed you will, Commander.” 

For this moment and countless reasons, Ezra never told Thrawn the Emperor was dead. He’d kept the news even from PZ-5. The day the Force had shifted profoundly, Ezra and PZ-5 were using one of the Chimaera’s remaining Lambda class shuttles to orbit the latest decimated planet.  As usual, Ezra reached out with the Force to sense any dangers before landing. Ezra felt himself abruptly sucked into an abnormally deep trance. His skin beaded with sweat as if a fever had broken within him.  The Emperor has fallen. Astonished, Ezra probed harder for details--and gagged, recoiling from what burned like ichor spewing from a ruptured, deeply infected wound. 

Ezra felt caught in an ocean of Force energy settling itself after the passage of a raging storm.  As the Dark receded, Ezra found himself encountering a subtle ripple of Light.  Who is that?   The Force signature felt vaguely familiar, but it was not Ahsoka Tano or Obi-wan Kenobi. It felt nothing like Kanan.  His former master’s Force signature carried undertones of an elemental, primal energy.  Whoever this sparkling ripple was, their Force signature pulsed as a faint beacon to the known galaxy.  Ezra’s heart bounded. He’d rushed through the mission, countering PZ-5’s inquiries and concerns with rote responses.  Back in his cabin, one thought flared over and over. 

With the Emperor dead, I can safely reach out to Sabine! It’s time for her to find me!  To Ezra’s surprise, the Force met this thought with firm resistance. You are not done here.  Too eager for home to be easily deterred, Ezra called out furtively to the purrgil for hours.  Silence. Apparently, they agreed with the Force. That night, visions of Kanan’s death started ripping Ezra’s heart open again and again. PZ-5 had found Ezra passed out in the corner of his cabin and refused to leave until he told her what happened. 

“Master Ezra?” 

Dragged from his river of past thoughts, Ezra opened his eyes--to find PZ-5’s gleaming visor looming over his face. “Agh!”  The equally startled droid staggered back. 

“I’m sorry, sir.  I’ve been relaying details concerning our mission to Ja’Ghar and it appeared you fell asleep.”  PZ-5’s head angled in a frustrated pose. “Did you hear a single word I said?”  

“Uh, no. Could you repeat, please?” Ezra rubbed his aching forehead. Was the droid shaking her finger at him? 

“I must first express how increasingly debilitating these episodes have become.  In fact, I should escort you to the—” 

“You know what would really clear my head, PeeZee? A strong cup of caf.”  This was their longstanding code for:  I need you to go spy on what’s going on out there.  PZ-5 shifted into an anticipatory stance. 

“Oh. Of course, Master Ezra. Would you care for any additives?” How nosy would you like me to be?  If droids had dreams, Ezra had a strong suspicion PZ’s would consist of her running amok as an intimidating KX-security unit.   

“Just an extra shot, please.”  Check on the Big Blue Guy if you can.  “Oh, and inventory the shuttle, make sure those supplies I asked for are on board. We should be coming up on the Ja’Ghar system anytime now.” 

“That’s precisely what I was attempting to tell you.” With an exasperated gesture, the droid stepped out, the door shutting behind her. Ezra rubbed his chin, smiling.  My goatee could sure use a trim.  His smile faltered; Hera had loved to tweak Kanan’s beard.   

Is your master truly dead?  

Ezra stiffened.  That voice had resonated through what Ezra half-jokingly referred to as his “nature channel,” the Force frequency he used most often to commune with wildlife. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Hearing nothing more, Ezra sighed out a shaky breath. Why is all this happening? What does it mean?  Maybe PZ-5 was right.  The visions were digging up Ezra’s long buried feelings of guilt.  Yes, Ezra had let Kanan go…but some core part of himself still felt a vitally important task regarding his master remained undone.   

Interwoven with all his emotional baggage, Ezra sensed an underlying, expanding imbalance in the Force. With the Emperor gone, new evils were undoubtedly emerging from their shadows to fill the vacuum.  Already here in Wild Space, they faced a merciless horde butchering its way into the galaxy.  The Light desperately needed every Jedi it could muster against the encroaching Dark. If only Kanan was still alive to help Ezra tip the scales. But Kanan was gone. 

Thrawn 4 ABY 

Grand Admiral Thrawn paced the Chimaera’s bridge, overseeing his skeletal crew, each member grown long accustomed to working multiple positions efficiently.  His red eyes turned to the viewscreen…and flinched almost imperceptibly as he recalled vast, swarming tentacles shattering through the permasteel glass.  I see your defeat. Like many arms surrounding you in a cold embrace.  Not for the first time, Thrawn speculated what had become of the Bendu and how the creature had predicted his situation. 

Thrawn did not berate himself for being outmaneuvered by a sky full of berserk purrgil.  He doubted any tactical officer in the Empire could have predicted such a peculiar, supernatural assault.  Thrawn did acknowledge, however, that he’d underestimated young Ezra Bridger.  He would not make that mistake again.  When so many of the Chimaera’s crew clamored for the Jedi’s blood in payment for their exile to Wild Space, Thrawn logically reminded them that Bridger was, in fact, the only one among them capable of recalling the purrgil for a hastier return.   

Thrawn ferreted out soon enough that the unpredictable creatures had abandoned Bridger, apparently indefinitely.  But Thrawn kept that to himself.  By this time, he had (at least temporarily) set aside his disdain for Bridger’s Jedi witchery; it had proven far too useful time and again, especially with navigation around volatile anomalies, and warnings of impending danger.  Bridger’s Force sensitivity and unique ability to communicate with planetary fauna remained crucial to gleaning what little information was available on each war struck world they explored.  Thrawn was not easily shaken, but he did admit to himself the absence of sentient life in this sector was…disturbing.  

Whoever or whatever this menace was, Thrawn noted certain intriguing similarities with the Yuuzhan Vong, merciless invaders who threatened the Unknown Regions and the Chiss Ascendency. The Vong despised mechanical technology; instead, they developed genetically engineered and organic technological innovations for their civilizations. When Bridger noted he felt nothing from the Force concerning the menace here in Wild Space, Thrawn pondered. He was aware Jedi records revealed the Vong had no Force signature, and the Jedi could only indirectly attack using their Force skills. 

Yet, Thrawn’s gut told him that the menace here in Wild Space was something other. This invading horde did not pillage, or loot.  There was no evidence yet of escaped prisoners or slaves.  What this menace did with incredible precision was terminate sentient organics. As an art connoisseur, Thrawn found the horde’s defacement of cultural, artistic and spiritual constructs a puzzling affront to his sensibilities.  Yet, by leaving the technologies of these worlds untouched, invaders apparently considered these achievements feeble and completely beneath them.  Thrawn’s intuition hinted at a menace inorganic in nature, but he required physical evidence to prove his theory.  If this did turn out to be the truth, Thrawn contemplated what might occur if the Yuuzhan Vong and this mysterious adversary met head to head. Who might be the victor?  Or, better yet, no victor at all. 

Regardless, it appeared fortuitous the purrgil had unwittingly provided Thrawn with an early warning signal for the known galaxy.  And he had every intention that the Chimaera would deliver her message. 

“Sir, we have reached Ja’Ghar, but are now receiving an unidentified transmission from a beacon in Kkantu, the planetary system beyond.” The officer looked up at Thrawn, eyes round with puzzlement. “Grand Admiral…it is a Republic code from the Clone Wars era.” 

Thrawn ceased pacing as he processed the startling information. “Very good. Instruct Commander Bridger to disembark on his mission here. Set a course for the beacon. Bridger will rendezvous with the Chimaera at those coordinates once his mission is complete.”  

“Aye, sir.” 

Kanan 1 BBY 

Kanan emerged from the incandescent light of the explosion, completely disoriented.  Slowly, he realized he was within the dim and empty mountain cave on Lothal.  Kanan felt weightless yet sensed an indefinable mass to his energy field.  He also tingled with anticipation. Kanan’s visions prior to Hera’s rescue had hinted he might temporarily retain his own consciousness to help guide Ezra through the next step in protecting Lothal. But the Force had made no promises, not by a long shot. 

Kanan wondered how long his individuality would stay intact. As if invited by his thoughts, a distant tug pulled insistently at Kanan. This way.  Curiously, Kanan immediately felt himself held in place by an opposing tug.  The overall sensation was indescribable; like being caught in a web, yet actually being a part of the web itself.   

Apprehensive that his consciousness might meld into the Cosmic Force at any moment, Kanan focused on finding Hera and the others.  I’ll at least check on them, offer any comfort I’m allowed.  Just thinking of Hera caused Kanan’s energy to vibrate intently, which helped him ignore the insistent tug.  Good. He’d be thrilled to keep Hera planted in his mind for as long as this took.  

Moving his energy mass took some practice. Rotating slowly, Kanan noticed his mask and shorn hair on the alter.  Looking up, his gaze was captured by an array of mysterious, ancient hieroglyphs along the cave’s back wall.  The walls are telling a story. Kanan recalled Ezra’s voice from the past.  There are people coming from the sky. I think they’re Jedi.   

Drifting closer, Kanan realized a cluster of three figures clearly represented members of the Jedi High Council.  Ezra might have recognized Yoda, but he wouldn’t have known Ki-Adi-Mundi and Mace Windu.  The three Jedi reached for a baby, who was surrounded by a halo of powerful Force lines. Kanan felt an electric shock of sudden awareness.   That child is me. 

YES. CALEB DUME. 

The affirmation pulsed through Kanan.  The intensity reminded Kanan of Bendu, the way that Force entity’s voice permeated Kanan right down his molecules. Kanan tried to speak aloud—but he had no mouth. His consciousness reached out. Who are you? 

I AM DUME. 

That declaration sent imagery flooding through Kanan’s senses. He reeled, overwhelmed by this ancient, elemental Force entity.  Dume had to be at least as old as Lothal itself. Kanan struggled to understand Dume’s inhuman thoughts, feeling like an ant trying to converse with a god.   Hey, Dume, you’re going to have to keep it very simple. 

I JOINED WITH YOU. FOR LOTHAL. 

Memories inundated Kanan, all out of order:  He was a youngling training in the Coruscant Temple, he kissed Hera heatedly in the cockpit of the Ghost, he drunkenly beat the crap out of a loudmouth smuggler, he ran in shame while his master, Depa Billaba, died to save him.  Kanan clashed lightsabers with Darth Vader, he consoled Ezra after Malachor. The final memory was of his parents, apparently simple farmers who handed him off tearfully to the three Jedi masters.  But why, Dume, why join with me?  

Dume blasted Kanan’s consciousness with multiple layers of communication. Kanan stumbled through this maze of inhuman thought and managed to absorb the key points:  Dume, a planetary guardian, sensed the Force growing increasingly out of balance long before the Clone Wars. Lothal’s potential to be demolished was very high. Yet the ancients had prophesized the birth of a Force-sensitive child whose energy signature could safely blend with Dume’s embedded presence.  This combined being would protect Lothal.  

Drawn to Caleb’s unique and powerful Force signature, the High Council members gained his parents’ blessing and took Caleb to the Coruscant Temple for Jedi training.

Embedded within Caleb, Dume gained direct access to the Jedi and its failing war with the Dark. After Order 66, Kanan’s innate strength of will, backed by Dume’s powerful presence, enabled him to survive the purge that thousands of Jedi did not.  Even during Kanan’s darkest years, Dume absorbed crucial knowledge through his underground existence as a smuggler.  As Kanan realized his destiny had always been intertwined with Lothal, his consciousness lightened.  He also understood more than ever that meeting and falling in love with Hera Syndulla had turned the tide. With Hera as his compass, and Dume at his back, Kanan slowly reclaimed his life’s purpose. 

As if called by his thoughts, Hera shuffled into the cave, clutching the Kalikori tightly to her chest.  “Why did I take so long to tell him?”  

Kanan had never seen her look so broken. Hera. As she wept over his death, blaming herself for it, Kanan desperately tried to envelop her in a tangible embrace, to assure her it had all been his choice.  But she couldn’t feel or hear him. What is the point of my consciousness being intact if I can’t even help the woman I love?  Dume didn’t answer. Perhaps the entity considered heartbreak a petty, private matter. 

It was Chopper—Chopper!-- who comforted Hera when Kanan could not. Kanan felt deep relief he hadn’t reduced the murderous droid to scrap metal all those times it seemed like such a perfect idea. Those early years of shock prods, binary insults, and brutal knee bruises were a small price to pay to both see and sense Hera’s grief ease a little.   

And when Chopper suggested the idea of adding Kanan to Hera’s Kalikori, Kanan wished he could hug the stumpy astromech and apologize (sincerely this time) for letting Zeb gamble him away to Lando.  

Hera’s grief-filled eyes warmed and softened. “No one deserves that honor more than Kanan.” Those tender words ignited a cascade of joy throughout Kanan’s entire being. Hera was going to make him part of her Ryloth family tree? Her husband.  This is what he’d pushed for, what she’d resisted so long because of the war. He knew Hera loved him, everything she shared inside and outside of their intimate moments made her love clear as day. But she had refused to confirm her feelings during any talk of a their long-term future. Kanan understood now that his usually steadfast Hera had been terrified of losing him the way she’d lost others dear to her heart. She’d finally made clear her love and desire for a future together with Kanan—then watched as an inferno consumed him. 

Kanan enfolded his beloved—his wife--into his energy and made a vow.   For whatever time the Cosmic Force grants me, Hera, I will remain to watch over you and our child.  

But when Kanan attempted to follow Hera out of the cave, everything abruptly shifted to a purplish, interdimensional night. It was becoming infuriatingly clear to Kanan that he was as embedded with Dume as Dume was with him.  On one hand, this symbiotic relationship kept Kanan’s consciousness from dissipating into the Cosmic Force. On the other hand, Kanan felt like a tick clinging to a Bantha—limited to whatever the mighty Dume wanted to do and see.  

Speaking of that, what Kanan saw now was a truly enormous Loth-wolf.  Oh, so this how you choose to appear to mere mortals?  And is that my shoulder pauldron emblem on your forehead?   

“Kanan?” Looking down, Kanan was alarmed to see Ezra entrapped by the trio of smaller Loth-wolves.   

YOUR APPRENTICE. PROTECT TEMPLE. 

The second mission! Consumed with concern for Hera, Kanan had neglected Ezra’s urgent task. His padawan looked so tiny and vulnerable under Dume’s divine-like scrutiny.   Kanan rushed protectively toward the teen, but it was like slogging through space waffle syrup. Can’t you see? You’re all just scaring him!  Let me talk to Ezra. 

WE TALK TOGETHER. 

What? How was he supposed to talk in tandem with a giant spirit wolf?  With no instructions offered—and apparently no choice--Kanan projected his will through Dume as powerfully as possible, his intent to create words the kid could understand. I’m here, Ezra. I’ll guide you the best I’m allowed through what is to come. What emerged: 

I AM DUME. 

Ezra looked perplexed. Kanan felt the same.  Great. The ensuing conversation pretty much went downhill from there. Kanan knew Ezra had the inner strength and cunning to carry out the mission, the grief-stricken kid just needed a little reassurance. Instead, he was berated for being afraid. Kanan focused harder, imagining himself moving Dume’s jaws to speak the right words.  I know you can do this, Ezra. You’re strong in the Force, able to channel Light and Dark like no Jedi I’ve ever known. It’s why this task fell to you. Dume rumbled: 

FIGHT. TOGETHER. 

Ugh!  It was the space waffle syrup all over again. Again and again, Kanan blasted his will through Dume like a foghorn, trying to relay both compassion and the scant details that had been imparted to Kanan previously by the white Loth-wolf.  The Jedi Temple is in terrible danger from the Emperor, Ezra. You must move quickly, keep its secrets safe or no one in the galaxy will be safe.  Everything boomed out of Dume’s razor-toothed jaws in cryptic fashion. 

KNOWLEDGE. DESTRUCTION. 

Kanan didn’t blame Ezra one bit for eyeing the keystone the wolves gave him with befuddlement, but Dume’s frustration built to dangerous levels.  Hey, you’re not exactly making it easy for him!  Ignoring Dume’s exasperated sigh, Kanan made a final effort.  

RESTORE PAST. REDEEM FUTURE.  

Ezra’s ensuing pleas for help were the last straw. Dume growled and rumbled ominously.  Don’t hurt him!  But the gigantic wolf snapped his jaws over Ezra, and everything shifted to blackness. 

Well, that went well.  Kanan floated in the murk, sensing Dume fume all around him. Kanan discovered he retained his own formidable sulking skills. Dume and Bendu might be godlike Force entities, but they sure shared a short fuse. Who knows?  Maybe Dume and Bendu were ancient pals—and the reason why Bendu hadn’t blown him out of Attolon’s sky. As far as his puny human mind was concerned, both entities seemed to lack a bit of common sense in some areas.   Soooo, now what?  In case you’re interested, I have some suggestions that might actually work.  

As if in response, Kanan now found himself afloat alongside the white Loth-wolf who had guided him to destroy the TIE Defender program’s fuel supply. The grasslands rippled under the early morning sun.  Following the wolf’s intent gaze, Kanan could see Hera, Ezra, Sabine and Zeb studying the Temple keystone. Kanan felt himself vibrating with relief to see his apprentice so full of purpose again.  Looks like Dume and I got through to you after all.  And there was Sabine, head bent closely over the keystone.  Kanan’s energy brightened. Those two were an unstoppable team. 

When Ezra called the Loth-wolves for a Force-assisted ride to the Temple, Kanan managed to flow alongside the group.  His journey with Hera, Ezra, Sabine and Chopper was bittersweet.  Everyone Kanan cared most about was so close, yet so far away. Every attempt to touch or communicate directly always hit a barrier like unbreakable glass. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure it. 

Ezra 4 ABY 

Ezra looked out at the starfield, enjoying his temporary freedom from Thrawn. It was just PZ-5 with him on the shuttle to Ja’Ghar. So much the better.  From the moment he’d found mention of the system in the remnants of information culled during missions on the other destroyed worlds, he’d felt an irresistible pull to explore it.   

Based on the symbols and language decoded by PZ-5 and one of the remaining protocol droids onboard the Chimera, Ja’Ghar appeared to be a religious epicenter for this sector in Wild Space.  Thrawn agreed it was important to investigate the planet for any clues it might still hold on the attacking force.   

As a spiritual hub, Ezra and Thrawn both concurred the attackers had most likely devastated the planet’s artifacts and buildings…but they could have overlooked something vital.  Ezra couldn’t shake the feeling there was something crucially important awaiting his discovery. 

“I’ve laid in the coordinates for our landing, Master Ezra.”  PZ-5’s metal hands moved smoothly over the controls. 

“Thanks, PeeZee. Stand by, I’m going to proceed with my Jedi witchery.” Ezra winked at the droid before closing his eyes.  Reaching out, he probed for any dangers or other potential circumstances in their path.  Almost immediately, he felt a tug toward a different region of the blue-green world below them.  Eyes still closed, Ezra let his hands take hold of the shuttle’s controls. 

“Sir, why are you entering different coordinates?” By her tone, Ezra knew PZ-5 had her head cocked at a puzzled angle. 

“I’m picking up on a powerful energy signature.  In that region of waterfalls.” Ezra shivered, felt his consciousness slipping a bit. He focused harder, retaining control.  “Just trust me on this, okay?”  

“Well…” The droid reacted as Ezra abruptly slumped.  “Master Ezra, are you all right?” 

“Just…stay…on…course…” Ezra’s voice faded as a deep trance took him over. 

Ezra knew he was in a dream-like vision, but everything felt intensely real. He floated in a purple black sky, staring up at a familiar, almost absurdly giant Loth-wolf. Dume’s dagger-like teeth flashed as he spoke. 

RESTORE PAST. REDEEM FUTURE. 

Ezra frowned, puzzled. But I’ve already done what you asked. I opened the Gate to the World Between Worlds. I rescued Ahsoka Tano from Vader. I helped destroy the Jedi Temple to keep its power and secrets from the Emperor. 

AGAIN. 

What? How? The Temple is gone. Who are you, anyway? You have my master’s name, but you’re not really him. Are you? 

CALEB DUME. 

Ezra recoiled as fire and heat suddenly raged around him.  Not again!  But he was back inside the Imperial gunship gripping Hera.  Both of them stared incredulously while Kanan’s milky, blind eyes brightened back into teal.  It’s as if the Force itself is looking at me through his eyes. Then Kanan flung the gunship to safety as he vanished silently into the enormous blast. 

The scene suddenly shifted. Ezra lay inside the Imperial drill vehicle, feeling the Jedi Temple shuddering into destruction around them. Bright white light as the Force intensified with unfathomable power. And Kanan’s calm, assuring voice…The Force will be with you. Always. It reminded Ezra of the time his blind master saw him through a similar massive explosion of Force energies generated by the colliding Sith and Jedi holocrons.  

Bright light dissolved into chilly dawn. Ezra and a sorrowful Hera faced barren ground where the great Temple once stood.  In the distance, the white Loth-wolf stared at Ezra, as if waiting for a signal.  Goodbye, Kanan. 

“Master Ezra? Can you hear me?” Ezra’s eyes popped open to find PZ-5 propping him up in his pilot seat.  “Oh, there you are, sir.”  Warm sunlight filtered in through the viewscreen.  Ezra looked rapidly around, relieved to see the shuttle safely landed. 

“How long was I out, PeeZee?” Breathe. Just breathe.  Ezra calmed his pumping heart. An intense wave of longing to be back on the Ghost with Kanan, Hera, Sabine, Zeb—even Chopper—nearly overwhelmed him. He took another deep breath. Relax.  When the time is right, Ahsoka will find me. Sabine will find me.  

“Only for a few minutes, sir. You made an interesting comment at the end of your trance.” 

“I did?” Ezra hadn’t realized he talked aloud during the visions. 

“Yes. You said, ‘I know what to do now.’ What did you mean by that?” The droid watched Ezra jump out of the pilot seat, then trailed behind him on their way to the shuttle’s ramp. 

“I don’t know, PeeZee.  But I think I’m about to find out.” 

Emerging from the shuttle, Ezra found himself surrounded by mystical, temperate woods. The tall, slender trees encircled a beautiful body of water that was fed by a magnificent waterfall at one end. Foaming water cascaded down a jagged cliff, creating a spray of mist below. 

The plunging water cut deeply through the upper outcroppings of rock.  The effect resembled towers of a primitive temple jutting skyward.  Keeping the hilt of his lightsaber pike handy, Ezra explored the area, pondering overgrown vegetation that covered a variety of strange shaped lumps under leafy vines and moss.  He approached the largest lump, an angled semicircle that directly faced the waterfall. 

“I think there’s some kind of monument under here.”  Ezra gestured for PZ-5 to help him tear away the clinging vines.  Their efforts revealed a tableau carved into a thick block of stone. Ezra’s eyes locked on the glyphs and primal images, excitement rising as he recognized geometric art, kindred in design to the cave paintings he’d seen on Lothal. “PeeZee, what do you make of all this?”   

“It appears the overgrowth disguised a ceremonial site from the invaders, Master Ezra. “These other hidden structures are assembled in a pattern to emphasize this particular tableau.” 

“But what do these carvings look like to you?”  Ezra needed to make sure he wasn’t imagining things he wanted to see.   

“Processing, sir.” The tableau’s most prominent series of carvings depicted four different symbols set equally apart along a deep, circular groove. The droid focused silently a moment, scanning internal records for any matches. “It appears to resemble points on a compass.” 

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Ezra touched each symbol in turn:  a square, a sail-shaped triangle, a bowl-shaped semi-circle, and a set of three very slender rectangles, the center one tallest.  PZ-5 cocked her head, observing. 

“Sir, based on my data for comparisons, those carvings align with multiple cultural references to the four elements.” 

Ezra’s eyes narrowed.  Yes, of course.  “Let me guess. The square is earth, the bowl is water, the triangle is air…that leaves these rectangles for fire.”  He turned his gaze to the small lake with its foaming waterfall. His heart beat faster.  “Looks like we’re at the water point.” 

“It is a logical deduction, Master Ezra.”  PZ-5 gestured at the center of the compass.  Inside, a carved glyph combined all four elemental shapes within a series of interlocking circles.  “This infers a central connection between all four points.”  

I’ve been led to a Temple that might connect to the World Between Worlds!  Ezra sensed the truth of this resonate deeply within him. Restore the past. Redeem the future.  He focused hard on the other three points, then placed his hand on the square.  Earth. Ezra could almost see and feel an endless sea of grassy plains, whimsical stone mountains protruding into a soft sky. Lothal is—was—the earth Temple.   

The pounding beat of the waterfall resonated in Ezra’s ears like a never-ending drum. Maybe the vegetation wasn’t the only thing hiding something important from the attackers.  But if that’s the water Temple, how do I get inside? 

Reaching out through the Force, Ezra felt his hand drawn to the center of the tableau’s compass.  He held it there and closed his eyes. Opening his mind fully, Ezra felt the Force flow strongly through him, surging outward in an energetic wave, directly at the plunging waterfall. 

Something deep within the rocky cliffs groaned, stone slowly grinding on stone. The roaring of the waterfall altered with it. Ezra opened his eyes wide, both astonished and gratified at the sight of the waterfall parting like foaming curtains.  The waters churned and plummeted now to either side of a deep and gaping hole in the cliff face, diverted by some unseen mechanism Ezra had activated through the Force. 

PZ-5’s blank face somehow managed to look stunned.  “Sir…it’s a cave.” Ezra gazed at the dripping, jagged entrance above them. It resembled nothing other than the gaping maw of a huge, wolf-like creature.  Stone stairs cut into the cliff face led upward into its darkness. 

Ezra’s stomach knotted with eagerness, and a hint of foreboding. This time, I’m going in prepared. 

Thrawn 4 ABY 

Thrawn waited patiently while his orders were carried out to the letter. The Chimaera’s tractor beam hauled in a small, derelict asteroid, then anchored it in place near the outer hull of the starship’s main cargo hold.  The unimpressive hunk of rock had been hurtling through the outer regions of a system known as Kkantu according to the surviving records of its massacred inhabitants. 

The retrieval team carefully extracted the Republic era beacon found lodged in the asteroid, sterilizing the slim device before bringing it aboard the Star Destroyer. The team deposited the beacon in Thrawn’s office, then reluctantly departed.  Thrawn had no intentions of allowing anyone else to view the beacon’s data before he analyzed it first. 

Thrawn found the decryption code easily enough.  After all, the Republic had become the Empire, so retained prior codes within the Imperial database, whether or not they were still actively used. Curious to see if this message in a bottle would prove worthy of its retrieval, Thrawn activated the data cube. 

The holographic image of an aging Clone War trooper took shape. Thrawn couldn’t see much of the clone’s surroundings, but he appeared to be piloting a fighter craft of unknown alien design. 

“My original designation was CC-5675.  I am a defector of the Grand Army of the Republic. My chosen name is Sulis. I leave this message as an urgent warning for the Senate and the Jedi--or whatever entity may now oversee the civilized galaxy.”  The clone paused, gathering his thoughts. “It is imperative that the Senate heed my words. Do not disregard me because I chose to leave a war that killed so many of my brothers and held no desirable future for any brothers who might survive.” 

Thrawn studied the clone’s heavily bearded face and pain-filled eyes. This soldier had sacrificed honor and duty to eke out a bleak existence in Wild Space.  In his last moments, the clone clearly sought to redeem himself. 

“Those Separatist clankers we fought by the thousands are a pitiful lot in comparison to the horde raging through these systems.  I don’t know much yet, except they came from outside our galaxy.  I suspect these artificial creatures wiped out whoever was foolish enough to create them in the first place.  What I do know is they are like no enemy I’ve ever faced.  Their only cause seems to be exterminating us organics like we’re a virus to be cleansed from our own galaxy.” 

Sulis paused to alter his craft’s course.  “I’m no Jedi like my former general, but my wife, H’ida…was a Force-sensitive healer.  She got part of a message to me before…before they massacred her and the entire settlement while I was off planet to trade wares.”   

The clone wiped his eyes with his blocky hands. “She said they seemed to despise the living for being part of the Force. It’s something they have no ability to understand or connect with--so they destroy what they can’t have.”   

Sulis pressed various buttons, arming his guns. In the tense silence, Thrawn’s mind filtered and stored every bit of information with growing excitement. I was right. It is not the Yuuzhan Vong.   

Sulis spoke again, his voice hard. “The worst part of her message was…these butchering clankers are only clearing the way for more of their kind.” 

The clone increasing his craft’s speed.  Thrawn absorbed the ominous words.  If this were indeed true, the threat was dire for any system this vanguard targeted.  Thrawn’s thoughts were disrupted as the clone shifted his holo recorder’s direction.  The image now revealed what lay outside CC-5675’s viewscreen. Thrawn’s body stiffened. 

A countless multitude of huge, metallic forms careened directly forward.  But these were not starships.  These streamlined entities were inorganic individuals: coldly glowing eyes topped their menacing, humanoid shapes. Every appendage bristled with weaponry. High intensity energy beams lashed the alien craft mercilessly.   

CC-5675’s voice rose in volume.  “I’m not going to make it back to Coruscant, obviously! But I’ll take out every bastard clanker I can!”  Accompanied by the clone trooper’s war cry, the small craft dove headlong into a dense cluster of the terrifying assailants.  The holographic image abruptly died out. 

Thrawn stared at the empty air, brooding.  He slowly realized his fists were clenched so tightly, he’d left nail marks in his blue palms.  Thrawn focused, relaxing his body and mind, allowing his calculations to flow.  One thing was clear. He had no doubt the Vong and this vanguard would take immense pleasure in decimating each other. However, it was far too risky to lure the vanguard toward the Unknown Regions.  He would have to find a way to lure the Vong to Wild Space.  Not only would his strategy remove the immediate threat to the Chiss Ascendancy, but the Vong would throw themselves against the vanguard…and whatever was following in the vanguard’s wake. 

We must reconnect with the inner galaxy at all costs. Too much was at stake. 

Kanan 1 BBY 

Kanan now hovered in the dark night some distance from the Jedi Temple, sickened by the sight of its precious arts and knowledge laid out on the ground like butchered meat from a kill. 

Yet, he was more concerned about Hera.  She was uncharacteristically fragile, so fearful of losing Ezra and Sabine to the Emperor she wanted to abort the mission.  Instinctively, Kanan reached out to lend his strength and support.  For the first time, Hera’s hand reached upward, her fingers intertwining with his.   She can feel my presence!  Every part of Kanan radiated his confidence, his love.  Hera, I’m here with you. I know the kids can do this. Have faith.  Under his touch, Hera relaxed. 

Kanan watched alongside Hera and Zeb while Ezra and Sabine stealthily examined the magnificent Temple painting to decipher it and open the Gate.  Sabine’s capture by the minister was a very dicey moment, but Ezra managed to enter the portal.  Kanan attempted to follow—and was yanked back by Dume like a Loth-kitten by its neck. 

STAY. 

Ow. Fine.  Kanan’s prior visions had been hazy about what lay in store for his padawan, but he’d guided Ezra on this mission knowing inside the Temple existed a chance to save Ahsoka from Vader on Malachor.  If rescued, Ahsoka would be a powerful ally to help protect Ezra and the Temple against the Emperor. She’s certainly more skilled at combat than me.  

For now, Kanan contented himself with supporting Hera and Zeb’s rescue of Sabine. Not that those two need much help.  In typical Ghost family style, Sabine escaped from the minister with Hera and Zeb in the nick of time to help Ezra close the Gate. It was unclear what happened with Ahsoka, but Kanan felt only gratitude for Ezra’s safe return.  Kanan both sensed and shared Ezra’s deep regret the Temple must be destroyed, but it was the only way to keep power hungry Palpatine out of the Temple’s pathways through time and space.  As the Temple’s energy exploded around them, Kanan called upon Dume to help him shield his family.  The Imperials…well, they weren’t so lucky. 

Before Ezra lost consciousness, Kanan channeled love, strength and calm to boy who’d long ago become far more than a padawan to him. The Force will be with you. Always. 

And rejoiced to know Ezra heard him.

Ezra 4 ABY 

Carefully treading the last treacherous step, Ezra entered the cave, his movements hampered by his heavy stormtrooper armor and helmet.  Behind him, PZ-5 carried a pack filled with bacta wraps.  

Moisture pitter-pattered everywhere, fed by the mist from the waterfall’s parted curtain outside. “Look, PeeZee.” Ezra walked toward the back of the dark cave where deep carvings in the rock glowed with the eerie light of phosphorous microorganisms. He removed his helmet, eyes glittering with excitement. 

The array of primal, geometric shapes created three large, bipedal figures, all wearing headdresses decorated in an alien, amphibious style. The hand on the female figure to the left was open to the sky. The tallest, central figure faced forward, his webbed hands stretched out to either side. The figure to the right pointed his closed fist at the ground. 

Ezra’s breath escaped him.  “It is a Gate.”  PZ-5 eyed the stone carvings blankly. 

“A gate, sir? I see a wall.”  Ezra grinned at the droid. 

“Let’s see which one of us is right.” Ezra stood next to the female figure, then placed his gloved hand on the softly glowing stone hand that stretched upward to the sky.  

The bioluminescence intensified, outlining all the figures with eerie light.  Ezra moved away, watching intently while the female lowered her hand and faced the central figure.  He raised his outstretched arms high overhead.  Ezra heard faint voices speaking in a language he couldn’t understand.  Outside, the roar of the waterfall shifted in tone. 

On the right side of the cave, a paper-thin sheet of water cascaded from the ceiling mere inches from the wall, creating a continuous, transparent curtain.  The water at the bottom flowed along the stone floor to spill out the cave entrance.   In the cave wall behind the sheet of water, phosphorous light grew brighter and brighter.  It formed the shape of a serpentine, amphibious creature with wolf-like jaws. 

Ezra and PZ-5 watched in fascination while the glowing creature circled faster and faster. Its arc of light reflected in the water’s transparent curtain.  Finally, the creature’s wolf-jaws clamped down on its own tail, creating a wavering, glowing circle within the thin sheet of watery curtain.   

“I…I don’t understand,” droned PZ-5.  “Is it a gate, or isn’t it?”  

“It’s a portal, PeeZee, to a place I don’t really have time to explain right now. What I do need you to understand is this:  If I don’t come out of there within three Lothalian rotations, you’re to use the shuttle’s cannons and destroy this cave and everything around it.” 

The droid practically staggered.  “What? But why, Master Ezra?” 

“Because Thrawn and his Imperial cronies can’t know about this place. Once I’m gone, what you’re going to do first is secretly record all the symbols in this cave and the ones outside with the tableau.  Then you’ll take the shuttle to our original coordinates and complete the mission. If Thrawn calls in, you tell him everything is fine, and we’ll rejoin the Chimaera shortly. Got that?” 

“But…I…yes…” 

“And if I don’t come out in three rotations, you’ll tell him I attempted to Force connect with some very large Ja’Ghar carnivores, only I must have insulted them because I wound up as dinner.” 

“What large carnivores, exactly, sir?” 

“Trust me, they’re out there.” He patted his pike hilt.  “Be glad you’re a droid.”  Ezra took the big pack away from PZ-5 and hoisted it onto his back. 

“I still don’t understand why you must enter this portal, sir.” 

“PeeZee, this is a mission I was given about five years ago, but I couldn’t complete it then. It wasn’t the right time.  But now I think the Force has given me a second chance. If I don’t try, I’m not sure I can live with myself.”  Ezra smiled softly at PZ-5. “Hey, don’t look so glum.  I made it back the last time I did this on Lothal.” 

“I…will miss you if you don’t return, Master Ezra.” 

Ezra fondly patted the droid’s shoulder. “You’ve been a trusted friend to me, PeeZee. As a friend, I hope you’ll do me one more favor.” 

“I would be honored.” 

“If anyone can get the Chimaera back home, it’s Grand Admiral Thrawn.  But if I’m no longer aboard, it’s urgent that you find my friends, Ahsoka Tano and Sabine Wren. Tell them all the times we’ve shared together, everything we’ve discovered about the invaders.  But the most important thing you must tell Ahsoka and Sabine is that I found this Temple.  Show them your secret recordings. Tell them I did it for Kanan.  And Hera.  Only they can safely know, and only they will understand.  Do you promise?” 

PZ-5 nodded solemnly.  “I promise, Master Ezra.”  Ezra nodded solemnly in return. 

“Thank you, my friend.” Ezra’s face lit up with a smile. “Remember, I plan to be back. For now, enjoy playing spy droid. I know how much you like it.” 

PZ-5 waggled a finger at him. “I cannot argue with you on that point.” 

Ezra put his helmet back on, settled his pack.  He gently pushed his gloved hand through the sheet of water, felt the portal give under his touch. “See you soon, PeeZee.” And then Ezra slipped through the glowing circle…and vanished. 

PZ-5 stared, processing. “It is indeed a gate.” The swirling serpentine figure slowed to a stop but stayed aglow. “Very well. Now commencing recordings and Lothalian rotation countdown.” 

Inside the portal, Ezra found himself in an interdimensional place almost identical to the one he’d explored in the Lothal Temple.  Both strange and familiar voices echoed around him while he walked the twisting pathways.  There were differences.  The pathways rose and fell much more steeply, more frequently circling upside down.  Ezra had no trouble falling off, everything around him shifted to his own perspective. The portals were more primitive in design, some vaguely disturbing. Other dimly lit portals made Ezra’s skin crawl as he walked by. 

How do I find the portal to Kanan? He’d been avoiding this question as he’d grabbed his various supplies from the shuttle for the pack. The Daughter’s bird had guided him to Ahsoka.  The portal to Kanan before had only been a trap set by the Emperor, one that Ezra had barely avoided thanks to Ahsoka’s intervention. Well, now the Emperor’s dead. He can’t try that again. 

Ezra searched the surrounding starfield, searching for the Wolf constellation.  He was surprised to find it in the “sky” much farther back.  He didn’t recall seeing it earlier. He turned back, walking faster.  At least it will be closer to my exit. Ezra listened more carefully, ears tuned to the distinctive sound of Kanan among the echoing voices. And then Ezra heard it, deep and soft. 

Nobody ever pays enough attention to the world around them. 

The voice came from a portal with artwork on top that reminded Ezra of the Lothalian cave paintings.  It was a small figure, likely a child, surrounded by radiating lines.  The circle of the portal itself depicted the open jaws of a very large wolf.  Okay, I get it, this has to be the one.  But something inside him now hesitated to proceed. Ezra knew Kanan’s sacrifice would be worthless if he was pulled away before the gunship was hurled to safety. Everyone on board would die in the explosion, and Ezra wouldn’t even exist to be here now. And if Kanan didn’t die, his spirit--his will--wouldn’t have been able to guide Ezra via Dume through those three days to ensure the Jedi Temple disappeared from the Emperor. I told PeeZee I know what to do now. But do I really? Was it the Force at work here, or his own wishful thinking for a second chance? 

The future, by its nature, can be changed.  

Ezra froze. He recognized that immortal voice. It was the Son from the Gate.  It had been this same voice who asked Ezra not so long ago:  Is your master truly dead? But, if the Son was guiding him now instead of the Daughter…was it a good thing?  The Son represented the Dark side.  And yet…if the Force was balanced between Light and Dark, and needed both to exist…was the Dark innately evil?  After all, the Son spoke through his “nature channel.”  In Ezra’s experience, most of nature and its animals, including more sentient creatures like the Loth-wolves and purrgil, did not seem to exist for one side of the Force over another.  If they were part of the balance, didn’t it stand to reason he must be tapping into both Light and Dark to communicate with them? 

Is your master truly dead?  The voice and its question echoed again around Ezra.  But what Ezra sensed was the Light had opened a portal on Lothal…and now the Dark wanted its turn here on Ja’Ghar.  A balance.  If this meant Kanan could be saved like Ahsoka, so be it.  And with that thought, Ezra’s mind cleared, and he realized that he had known all along exactly what to do.  Ezra set down his pack, opening it to pull out the bacta wraps.  He adjusted his helmet, gloves, and armor, making sure everything was secure.  

He stood before the portal, reaching out calmly with his mind. If this is the will of the Force, you will open.

The circular wolf mouth began to glow, brighter and brighter.  Inside the portal, intense heat and flames.  And just visible through the inferno, Ezra could see Kanan from behind.  His master had already turned his face toward the gunship, one hand stretched to hold back Hera, the other splayed before Ezra to keep the intense fire at bay.

Ezra didn’t need to see Kanan’s face.  This scene was burned into his memory forever.  In just a moment, the Force would fill Kanan so completely, its healing energy would regenerate his milky eyes to blue-green. That healing power should protect Kanan  enough from what Ezra was about to do. But he had to wait, just a moment longer…wait for Kanan to turn completely… to shove away the gunship.  And in that next fraction of a second, if Kanan slumped, it meant he’d projected his consciousness outward before the explosion could ignite his body with agony…Yes! There he goes--NOW!!!  

Ezra grabbed Kanan through the portal, the intense, raging inferno searing his gloves and armor.  Ignoring the pain, Ezra yanked Kanan’s inert body back into the interdimensional realm, out of time and space.  Heat and light and fire blasted, then the portal closed.  Ezra fought unconsciousness, calling upon the Force for strength. With shaking hands, Ezra lay Kanan on the pathway, then clumsily cocooned Kanan’s singed body in bacta wraps.  Gently wrapping Kanan’s head and scorched fringes of hair, Ezra managed a weak smile. “Good thing you already shaved most of that off.”  

Ezra dragged off his helmet, grimacing at the agony in his hands.  He slowly peeled off his damaged gloves and armor, relieved to find none of it melted to his skin.  Wrapping the remaining bacta wraps around his lower arms and hands, Ezra sank back with a shaky sigh. He let the soothing mixture ease the worst of the pain. Kanan remained unmoving next to him, the slow rise and fall of his chest the only proof he was still alive.  

Ezra unwrapped the fingers of his right hand to carefully open the lid of Kanan’s nearest eye.  Vivid teal stared back at him.  Ezra felt tears well, and he gently closed Kanan’s lid.  He rewrapped his hand, then completely broke down into sobs of relief.  A nagging part of his mind reminded him:  Kanan still needs his essence back.  What if he can’t find his body? Ezra shoved that away, giving thanks to the Force for his success so far.  He whispered a thank you to the Son as well.  

Ezra realized he had no way of knowing how much time was passing in the outside world. Perhaps it had been one Lothalian rotation already.  And he needed to get Kanan into a bacta tank as soon as possible.  Then, scattered through the intermittent voices always echoing in the World Between Worlds, Ezra suddenly heard Zeb say, “What do you mean gone?” 

Listen.  Ezra emptied his mind, reaching out.  “I thought we had more time.” Hera.  

And then it was Sabine, “I agree with you, but only because we can’t let that thing track us back to our base.” 

“It talks with its eyes.” Zeb again. 

And so their voices periodically faded in and out, giving Ezra clues as to how much time was passing.  It also reminded him how greatly he missed them all. With a weary start, he realized he better move Kanan to the Ja’Gharian portal before time ran out and PZ-5 blew the cave apart. 

Ezra’s hands had recovered enough to heave Kanan up.  He dragged Kanan by walking backward; it was ungainly, hard work, with Kanan’s bootheels trailing behind on the twisting pathways.  Right now, I sure wish you were a lot shorter, Master.  Ezra stopped for a rest every now and again, listening intently for the voice clues.  When the Ja’Gharian portal came into view, Ezra hauled Kanan with renewed energy. 

Several steps away from the portal, he heard Sabine say, “That one! The Son!”  Ezra frantically pulled Kanan along.  It was almost the third dawn on Lothal, and Ezra’s time was running out. 

“The Force will be with you. Always.” Kanan. Time was speeding up! Ezra winced in pain, fumbling as he almost dropped Kanan. 

“He’s gone now, isn’t he? I mean, really gone.” Hera’s sad, resigned voice echoed around him. Ezra toppled backwards through the portal, yanking Kanan along with him.  As the duo hit the cold and wet stone floor…the cave began to shake. Recharged by the sheet of chilly water, Ezra blinked upwards to see the circling serpentine creature slow and dim as the bioluminescence in the cave wall behind died out.  The cave shuddered harder. 

“No, PeeZee, not yet!”  But Ezra’s commlink had been fried with his armor.  The sheet of water cut off like a closed faucet.  Desperate, Ezra Force-pushed Kanan’s body along the slippery wet floor as gently as he could.  “Sorry, Kanan!”  Ezra stumbled toward the cave entrance, shouting wildly.  He stuck his head out of the entrance, the bright sunshine hurting his eyes.  “PeeZee, stop!!”  Except, there was no attacking shuttle outside.  Ezra saw the Lambda parked at a distance, the engines starting to fire.  Ezra waved his arms desperately…and sagged with relief as PZ-5 waved back from the cockpit. 

But the shaking was still intensifying.  All the figures on the back wall went ominously dark. Why is this happening? I didn’t close the Gate. And then it hit him. I pulled Kanan out of a different portal.  Ahsoka hadn’t come with Ezra back on Lothal for her own reasons. Well, a little heads up from the Son would have been nice!  Too late for that now. The groan of rock sliding on rock disrupted his thoughts. The waterfall curtains started to cascade inward.  Ezra grabbed Kanan--and jumped off the cliff, splashing into the foaming water below.  Still underwater, he dragged Kanan along, headed for the surface as far as possible from the incoming torrent.  Ezra broke the surface, gasping for air.   

“Master Ezra! Are you all right?” PZ-5 had hustled to the shoreline.  Ezra plowed through the water, keeping Kanan’s head above water. I sure hope he’s still breathing.  How ironic to save his master from fire only to drown him instead!  Behind them, the jagged spires of the Temple collapsed inward, chunks flying.  Ezra Force-blocked a few smaller particles that plummeted directly at them.  By then, PZ-5 reached out and Ezra shoved Kanan into her arms. “PeeZee—meet Kanan Jarrus!” The perplexed droid goggled, managing a nod.

“We must get up the ramp immediately, sir!”  Ezra PZ-5 propped the blissfully unconscious Jedi master between them.  Several of the bantha wraps hung loose, fluttering as the trio escaped up the ramp of the shuttle.    

Inside the cockpit, Ezra leapt into the pilot seat, launching the shuttle skyward in a steep turn just as the Ja’Ghar Temple blew its top like a water-filled volcano. The shuttle barely missed the tremendous flood of water and rocky debris.  It soared up and away, spattered with mud and droplets. 

Kanan 1 BBY 

Kanan hovered, watching Ezra and Hera where they stood in the distance, surrounded by barren, beautiful landscape where the Jedi Temple once stood.  Next to Kanan, shrouded in the misty light, was the white Loth-wolf. It glanced from Kanan to the others, silently waiting.  For what? 

Feeling uneasy, Kanan tried to move closer to embrace the two,  but the relentless tugging increased dramatically.  And there was no responding anchor against it from Dume. 

WE MUST GO. 

No!  Let me stay. They could finally feel me, hear me. 

STAY AND VANISH.  OR GO TOGETHER. 

And then, with an undertone of respect:  YOUR CHOICE. 

All this time since the explosion, Kanan had felt himself pushed and pulled, fighting upstream to accomplish what his will had desired.  Yet, here his family was. Safe. And he sensed Hera and the others were going to be okay…or as okay as any war would ever let a family be.   

Dume said it was his choice, but Kanan decided it would be their choice.  Like the white wolf, he waited.  In the distance, Hera gently touched her shoulder. “He’s gone now, isn’t he?  I mean, really gone.”  Kanan twisted inward, barely hearing anything again until Ezra’s voice cut through with its reluctant resignation. 

“Goodbye, Kanan.” 

Kanan hung there in the dawn’s light for a moment.  He expected to feel sorrow wash over him, but their ultimate acceptance eased an inner ache he didn’t even know he’d had.  Did he really want to remain here, not even a ghost of himself?  If they could accept his departure, so could he.  

Whatever Dume or the Cosmic Force now needed of him--if anything--he would do it.  His time here was complete, and Kanan let go with simple gratitude for all the love he’d been able to share with those whose time had not yet come.  

Beside him, the white Loth-wolf melted away into the rising sun.  And Kanan’s consciousness abruptly tumbled and spun, released from Lothal to spin faster and faster into a blazing kaleidoscope of time and space--- 

--Bright light, so bright it hurt to look. Kanan squinted, his eyes desperately working to focus. He was floating, floating in…a bacta tank?  He convulsed reflexively, sucked air through the respirator, almost gasping as his startled heart kicked into overdrive.  Through the thick liquid, he could hear alarms sounding. Suddenly, intense blue eyes pressed up to the tank wall.  A young man with dark hair, a goatee, and a growing smile on his face.  Ezra. 

“Kanan?” Ezra’s eyes widened and he placed both hands on the permasteel glass, the closest thing to a hug he could give. Ezra’s thoughts were written all over his face: Kanan is…Kanan! 

Feeling trapped in the tank, Kanan called upon the Force to center himself with peace and calm.  It wasn’t easy.  Intense emotions seared through him like the inferno that had taken—nearly taken—his life. Kanan had presumed all along it was the Cosmic Force tugging away on him, but it had turned out to be his own not-so-dead body.  Leave it to Dume to keep him in the dark about the Force granting him a second chance.  Then again, maybe Dume hadn’t wanted to raise false hopes.  Ezra had succeeded despite almost impossible odds.  

Kanan would be with Hera again. And he’d be staying on that Kalikori.  He would finally meet their child, be a father.  Kanan was returning to everyone and everything he loved. On top of all these miracles, he’d been restored the gift of sight.  Salty tears blended with the fluid surrounding him.  And then the med droid injected a solution, sinking Kanan into a deep healing sleep. 

Ezra and Thrawn 4 ABY 

Thrawn paced his office, striving for calm, but these were certainly the most unusual of circumstances. 

“Commander Bridger, how does a Jedi Knight who died five years ago—in an explosion that derailed my TIE Defender program, I might add--wind up in my ship’s bacta tank out on the edges of Wild Space?”  Before Ezra could speak, Thrawn snapped out, “And why should I let him stay in it?” 

Thrawn’s eyes flamed so red, Ezra almost expected them to catch fire.  Ezra folded his arms, finding himself abnormally peaceful. 

“I actually have a question for your first, Grand Admiral.  Do you ever wonder why the purrgil dumped us out here together?” 

“What does that have to do with my inquiry? You know full well you deceived those weak-minded creatures into doing your Rebel warfare. “  

“I had zero mind control over them or where they brought us. I’m sure you’ve noticed they haven’t come back.”  Now Thrawn’s glare turned icy.  Ezra shrugged his shoulders. 

“So here we are…by the will of the Force, not so conveniently discovering a huge threat to the galaxy.” Ezra held up his hand to hold off a retort from Thrawn.  “And also through the will of the Force, a ‘poorly trained child’—that would be me--pulled Kanan through time and space thanks to a convenient space anomaly right where where PZ-5 and I happened to be.” 

Thrawn stopped pacing. “I don’t believe a word of your ‘space anomaly’ explanation, Bridger. It is absolutely ludicrous and entirely undocumented.”  

“Fine. Then I’ll stop talking about it.  You can’t deny my master is here and very much alive. It seems very obvious to me the Force thinks the galaxy—and you—need Kanan and me back together.  Don’t tell me you can’t find an efficient use for two Jedi in those big plans you’re cooking up to wow the Chiss Ascendancy.” 

Thrawn’s eyes penetrated Ezra for a very long moment.  Ezra could almost see the wheels within wheels turning.  

“Oh, indeed I can.”  Thrawn’s lips curved ever so slightly.  “And I will.” He gestured at the door. Dismissed. 

Ezra turned to leave, then a thought occurred to him.  “You don’t happen to have any other lightsa—” Thrawn cut in smooth as silk. 

“Kanan Jarrus will have to earn it first.” 

Ezra departed, feeling a bit less peaceful. Perhaps substantially less peaceful. 

Kanan 4 ABY 

Kanan rested quietly in the medical bay, still adjusting to not being dead while savoring the visual details of everything around him.  Even the bossy XT-92 med droid didn’t annoy him too much.  Some areas of his skin needed further healing, but most had returned to its light russet brown color. 

Closing his eyes, he could still tune in his highly developed Force-sight. He’d need to actively use it to make sure his advanced abilities didn’t weaken.  He looked up as Ezra came in, clutching a cup of caf.  “Sorry…I’d get you some, but that hovering droid won’t allow it.”   

“I think saving my life today pretty much makes up for it.” Kanan’s mouth quirked.  

Ezra plopped down next to Kanan’s bed with a sigh, his blue eyes darkened with shadows. “Yeah, well, I’m not so sure I’ve done you any favors, Kanan. We’re stuck out here with Thrawn, one step behind a new enemy that could shred this ship like a rabid Loth-wolf.“ 

“Ezra. Being here--even for a moment--to see the man you’ve become…it’s worth any danger.”   

Ezra ducked his head, cheeks flushed.  Kanan gripped Ezra’s forearm, feeling the Force resonate between them.  “Always remember. We are the balance, Ezra. We are supposed to be here now. Where Lothal needs us most.” 

Ezra lifted his gaze back to Kanan, brightening again.  “Yes, Master.” 

Kanan’s lips curved.  “You know, I’d say you’ve grown waaay past the apprentice stage.” 

“Are you saying…you’re no longer my Master?” Ezra’s brow furrowed. 

“More like I’m sensing the Force reunited us to become a new kind of team.  We’ll just have to figure it out as we go along—like we’ve always done.”   

Ezra’s thoughtful expression eased into a teasing smile.  “Well, don’t get too bossy about it. You’re not all that much older than me anymore.”  Ezra’s grin widened.  “I just realized—won’t you be a little younger than Hera now?” 

Hera. Kanan’s heart swelled with an almost unbearable longing to hold her--and their five-year-old!--tightly in his arms and never let go. He forced the lump in his throat down with a laugh. “And I look forward to reminding her of that every day.” 

Ezra’s grin slipped away.  “I wish I could tell you when we’ll make it home.”  The unspoken if we’ll make it home hung silently between the two Jedi.   

Kanan sighed deeply, then his somber expression shifted into his signature smirk. “Hey, at least it’ll give me time to grow my hair out.” 

Lothal 4 ABY 

Jacen Syndulla skipped along the beach, trailing behind his mother and Aunt Sabine. The sea lapped gently against the sand and stonier outcroppings.  Jacen zigzagged among scattered debris washed up by yesterday’s unusually fierce storm, searching for pirate treasures hidden in the kelp and rocks.  Hondo will be so jealous!  The breeze blew Jacen’s bright green bangs into his eyes and he flipped his hair aside with a grin. Although sometimes he wished he had long, curving lekku like Grandfather Cham, Jacen felt nothing but pride whenever anyone said he looked like his father.  I’m the son of a Jedi Knight. 

“Jacen, don’t run off too far,” Mama called out. She and Aunt Sabine stood looking back at a gleaming, spiral form that stretched into the blue sky.  Mama had explained Aunt Sabine worked with others on the City Council to build a memorial to Lothal’s freedom from the Empire.  They’d come for a few rotations to join other family and friends for the grand opening.  Jacen liked any excuse to visit Aunt Sabine.  She told great stories about all her explosive adventures. Plus, there was supposed to be a huge party. 

“Okay, Mama!” Jacen really did mean to obey her this time, but then he saw huge Loth-wolf prints in the damp sand.  He knew immediately those led to something exciting.  Making sure Mama’s pretty face was turned away, Jacen dashed off. Oh, yeah, he’d have plenty to tell Hondo later today. 

Jacen followed the tracks around a mound of sea-rusted permasteel.  I bet this is from the dome that got blown up in the sky.  That was one of his favorite stories, especially when Uncle Zeb told it.  But right now, he was more interested in the pit the Loth-wolf had dug.  Avoiding all the piled-up sand, Jacen slipped into the damp hole. And landed on a storage container. It was pretty banged up, but still shut tight.  I wonder what’s inside?  Jacen lay his hand against the lock.  He closed his eyes…and reached out with his mind to open it. 

Huddled together in private conversation, Hera and Sabine didn’t see the feisty five-year-old disappear behind the washed-up wreckage.  “Truthfully, I’m not sure what to do, Sabine.  Just the other day, Jacen managed to lock Zeb and Kallus in the cargo hold.  About five minutes after I left.”   

Sabine stifled a smile. “I’m pretty sure Chopper played a role in that.” Hera managed a wan chuckle. 

“But he’s always knowing things he shouldn’t, getting into places and things that should be beyond him.” 

Sabine gestured at the Liberation of Lothal spire. “You have to admit, his parents happen to be well known troublemakers.”  The two women shared a wry grin before Hera’s expression tightened again. 

“I know. But now that’s Jacen’s getting older, the safest thing seems to send him to stay with the other Force sensitive younglings. He could learn from Luke…but then I’d hardly see him.” Hera’s graceful hands clenched.  “I’m just not ready for that.” 

Sabine eyed Hera with concern. “Are Jacen’s Force abilities becoming a danger to himself or others?”  Hera sighed. 

“He got teased again the other day for not looking Twi’lek enough. Jacen didn’t hurt the boy…but he did Force push the toy they were arguing about hard enough to stick in the wall.”  Hera’s lekku slumped. “If only Kanan or Ezra were here to teach him.” 

“Hera, there may be other options.” Sabine tried to contain her excitement. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. Ahsoka Tano is returning soon.” 

“Ahsoka’s coming back? That’s, that’s…welcome news” Hera smiled, recalling the Togruta with both fond and bitter memories. “But she’s not a Jedi anymore, is she?” 

Sabine planted her hands on her hips. “Hera, she’s a Force wielder…Surely, she can at least offer some useful advice about Jacen.” Sabine did not add before Ahsoka and I go looking for Ezra.  She would share that significant news with Hera and the others later. 

“Yes, of course, you’re right, Sabine.” Hera squeezed Sabine’s shoulder. “Speaking of my son, where did that little Loth-rat go?”  Hera and Sabine scanned around, calling out Jacen’s name.  Hera now spied the Loth-wolf paw prints leading away. “Jacen!” 

Distant movement caught Sabine’s eye and she pointed. “There he is, he just jumped on top of that wreckage.”  She and Hera rushed toward Jacen, relief on their faces. 

Hera beckoned imperiously. “Jacen Caleb Syndulla, you get down from there before you fall through!” 

Jacen waved back from his precarious perch with a gap-toothed grin. Then, he ignited the lightsaber upraised in his hand.  The brilliant blue blade stopped Hera and Sabine in their tracks. “Is that Kanan’s…?” Sabine’s voice choked up. 

Hera’s own voice tried to scream, cry and laugh at the same time. “Jacen?!”  Her legs unfroze, and she raced across the last of the sand just as Jacen jumped down with a flourish of the humming blade.  

He switched off the lightsaber, placing it obediently in Hera’s commanding hand. “Better put it somewhere safe, Mama.” Jacen looked off into a distance only he could see and smiled. “I think Daddy’s going to need it back.”

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