Jedi Council Antechamber — Private Session
Stormlight flickered behind the vaulted windows of the Temple's oldest tower.
The chamber held no ceremony. No circle of chairs. Just stone, silence, and the quiet hum of conflict barely restrained.
Shaak Ti stood at the centre. No robe. No hood. Just presence.
Across from her, Master Mace Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi were seated at a low crescent table of polished obsidian. Yoda sat behind them, smaller and silent, framed by shadow.
A holoprojection floated midair.
Frozen in time.
Kaelen, simulation complete, standing over the sparking corpse of a droid — shoulders loose, eyes alive, breathing calm.
The aftermath of restraint.
"Let's not pretend this was an accident," Windu said.
Shaak Ti didn't move.
"I'm not."
"You authorised a live-force simulation. You permitted him to act freely. You didn't intervene when the situation escalated."
"Because it didn't escalate," she replied.
"He broke a combat droid's neural actuator," Ki-Adi-Mundi snapped. "Do you know how much pressure it takes to dislodge a torso-mounted servo cluster without a sabre?"
"Yes," she said. "He measured it exactly."
Windu rose slowly from his seat.
"He didn't neutralise. He dominated. He didn't de-escalate. He controlled the battlefield. He displayed skill and speed far beyond a monitored state."
Shaak Ti tilted her head slightly.
"You're angry he didn't fail."
The pause cut like a blade.
Yoda stirred slightly, but said nothing.
Ki-Adi-Mundi stood now, pacing like a wolf behind glass.
"You believe this is progress? His silence, his detachment, his refusal to engage emotionally? We've trained Jedi for hundreds of years. We know what trauma looks like."
"You trained Jedi," she replied softly. "Not weapons."
"He is not a weapon!" Windu snapped.
"Then stop treating him like one," she said, voice rising just slightly — the sharpness of steel under silk.
Windu's tone darkened.
"You're defending something you don't understand."
"No," Shaak Ti said. "I understand it better than any of you.
Because I haven't asked him to become something he isn't.
I've only asked him to survive without losing what little is left of him."
Silence.
Even Ki-Adi-Mundi didn't respond immediately.
Yoda finally opened his eyes.
But when he spoke, it was quiet. Heavy.
"The Force… ripples around him.
Not chaotic. Not dark.
But… uncertain."
"That uncertainty is what you fear," Shaak Ti said.
"It is what we must prepare for," Windu replied.
Shaak Ti looked from Windu to Mundi.
Then, directly at Yoda.
"Then prepare for this:
You may not like what he becomes.
But you'll need him before this is over."
"And what will he need?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
"Someone to believe that what he feels isn't failure."
Windu folded his arms.
"From now on, he is under restricted access. No Temple-wide movements. No Force training without oversight.
And if he shows any sign of instability again—"
"You'll cage him," Shaak Ti finished. "Like you do with everything you don't understand."
Yoda's voice cut softly through the air.
"Watch him, you will. But trust him, you must try."
"You don't trust him," she said, meeting Yoda's gaze directly.
"No," Yoda replied.
"But I trust you."
Shaak Ti bowed her head slightly.
Not submission.
Acknowledgment.
Then turned and walked out of the chamber.
She said nothing else.
But her silence carried one truth with it:
You don't control storms.
You brace for them.
Or you walk straight in and pray you're still standing when they pass.
Jedi Temple — Sublevel 7, Restricted Meditation Chamber
The stone floor was cold beneath Kaelen's feet. The walls were seamless, smooth, carved centuries ago when the Jedi still believed their silence was enough to contain all storms.
Now, he sat in the centre of a perfect circle, legs folded, arms resting on his knees, back straight. The cuffs from training lay beside him, unused but close.
He wasn't here to impress anyone.
He was here because something inside him wouldn't stop humming.
There were no candles. No incense. No sacred chants echoing through the halls.
Just a whisper.
Low. Barely there.
Like the echo of a thought that wasn't his.
You wanted peace.
You asked for silence.
Now take it.
He closed his eyes.
Drew in a breath.
Held it.
Let it go.
Again.
The Force didn't respond.
There was no warmth. No flow.
Just a sensation — heavy and slow. Like standing in a field of smoke with no fire in sight.
It's here.
But it's not with me.
He reached further — not with his hands, not with his will — with his memory.
He tried to remember the first time he felt it — felt the Force.
Not in the Temple.
Not under Shaak Ti's guidance.
But in blood.
In fire.
He was ten. Hiding under the wreckage of a convoy, watching his squadmates bleed out while Death Watch blades shimmered in the firelight.
He hadn't prayed.
He hadn't cried.
He'd just wished for one more second. One second to move. One second to act.
And the Force had answered.
But now?
Nothing.
"You pulled me out of death," Kaelen whispered aloud.
"Where are you now?"
▪️ The Vision — Between Two Selves
Suddenly—
Darkness fell.
Not black.
Not void.
Just… empty.
Kaelen opened his eyes—only to find he was no longer alone.
He stood in a corridor that didn't exist.
Black marble floor. Columns that stretched into infinity. The sky above was a swirling canvas of grey and burning gold.
And at the far end—
Two figures.
One sat cross-legged.
Clad in Jedi robes. Clean. Composed.
His face was Kaelen's — younger, untouched.
Eyes calm. Dull.
He stared downward. Breathing in practised rhythms. A statue built from compromise.
The second stood barefoot in a field of ash and flame.
Blood on his hands. Shirtless, scarred. The same face. But the eyes...
They glowed.
Not Sith red. Not Jedi gold.
Something else.
A colour not yet named.
Kaelen stood between them.
Unable to move.
The Jedi-Kaelen whispered:
"They'll forgive you if you keep kneeling."
The fire-Kaelen smiled:
"But they'll fear you when you finally stand."
Kaelen clenched his fists.
The heartbeat grew louder.
A sound not in his ears, but in his bones.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
A steady thrum.
The Force.
But not guiding. Not lifting.
Just watching.
"Why me?" Kaelen demanded.
The fire- Kaelenn stepped forward.
"Because you were never meant to be balanced."
"You were meant to be the weight."
Suddenly, the flames surged.
Kaelen gasped — real heat now. Pain across his palms.
He looked down—
His real hands were burning.
Not scorched. Not melting.
Just marked. Lines of glowing ember that pulsed in rhythm with the Force.
He screamed—
And awoke.
▪️ Return to the Temple Chamber
The lights in the room had flickered to red.
Emergency mode.
Motion detected.
Energy spike.
His skin was drenched in sweat.
Palms trembling.
The glow was already fading.
But the sensation… remained.
The Force didn't flow through him anymore.
It studied him.
Like a test subject who had passed a trial no one designed.
Kaelen stood slowly. Quietly.
His breath was finally even.
And for the first time…
He felt like he had seen the Force.
Not as harmony.
Not as peace.
But as a presence.
Watching.
Measuring.
Waiting.
Jedi Archives — Late Afternoon
The air was thick with dust and reverence.
Columns of golden light slanted down through the ceiling's stained glass. The ancient holobooks floated between light and shadow like relics breathing their own wisdom.
Every sound felt too loud.
Even footsteps were tempered. As if noise itself were an act of disrespect.
Kaelen hated this place.
He walked slowly between shelves, hands behind his back, the way he'd been taught. But he wasn't reading. He wasn't here to study the history of the Jedi.
He already knew his place in it:
The footnote that made everyone uncomfortable.
Two Padawans passed just ahead. Robes neat. Brows furrowed in earnest youth. He didn't know their name, but he knew the type.
They whispered as they walked.
But not quietly enough.
"That's him, isn't it? From the combat wing?"
"Yeah. Kaelen Vizsla. The Mandalorian. The one Shaak Ti took in."
"Took in, or caged?"
"I heard the walls shook during his last session. Someone said they had to recalibrate the chamber just to get it to recognise Jedi parameters again."
Kaelen paused behind a row of scrolls. A breath caught in his throat — not from rage.
From familiarity.
This wasn't new.
Just more eloquent.
"He's always watching. Doesn't talk. Doesn't meditate with the others."
"Can you even be a Jedi if you train alone?"
"Master Windu doesn't trust him. He told someone in my group that the boy was a blade looking for a handle."
"Then why's Master Ti still defending him?"
"She'll stop. They all will. Eventually."
"He's not one of us."
Kaelen closed his eyes.
Not because he was hurt.
But because he agreed.
I'm not.
And you didn't say that because it's true.
You said it because you needed it to be.
He didn't move toward them. He didn't make his presence known.
He could have.
Instead, he backed away deeper into the archive — into a corner lit only by a single ancient projector humming in faded tones.
No one followed.
No one noticed.
No one wanted to.
There was a stone relief behind the pedestal — an etching of ancient Jedi standing in a circle, their sabers lifted high in unison.
Kaelen looked at it for a long time.
The faces were faded. Serene. Noble.
All of them are looking inward.
None of them were looking at what was outside the circle.
He touched the edge of the carving.
And whispered, to no one:
"I was never meant to be inside this."
▪️ Corridor Outside the Archives
As he exited, two knights passed him. One nodded politely. The other didn't look up.
Their steps didn't slow.
Their voices didn't greet.
Just another shadow moving through a place of light.
▪️ Hall of Reflection — Night
The pool reflected the stars through the open skylight.
Still. Clear. Untouched.
Kaelen stood at its edge, arms loose at his sides, sleeves rolled up past his forearms.
He stared into the water.
Not at his face.
But what wasn't there?
No halo.
No symbol.
No light clinging to his outline like it did in Jedi paintings.
Just a reflection of someone who looked closer to a ghost than a Guardian.
They say I don't belong.
They're right.
But that doesn't make them safe.
It makes them wrong in a different way.
And as he stood there, he said nothing.
But his mind kept recording.
Not with hate.
With clarity.
He didn't hate the Padawans.
Didn't fear the knights.
But he knew their names now.
And more importantly—
He knew how the Jedi kept score.
And what they valued most.
Obedience. Predictability. Reflection.
He was none of those things.
So he whispered, again — barely a breath.
Not to scare.
Not to promise.
Just to remind himself.
"I remember you."
Jedi Temple — Restricted Wing, Kaelen's Quarters
There were no guards posted outside anymore.
Not because the Temple trusted him.
But because they knew he didn't need to escape.
Kaelen could leave whenever he wanted.
He just hadn't decided to.
Yet.
Inside the chamber, the air was cool.
The room was bare—an unspoken statement from the Council.
Nothing to distract.
Nothing to inspire.
Just discipline.
Kaelen sat on the stone floor, legs folded, palms resting on his knees. No motion. No breath pattern. No stillness of mind.
He didn't even look up when the door slid open with a soft hiss.
He just said—
"You're late."
Shaak Ti stepped inside, calm as ever.
"There was a debate."
"About me?"
"Always."
She didn't ask for permission.
She didn't wait.
She sat directly across from him, matching his posture.
Quiet.
Balanced.
Human.
"You didn't have to come," Kaelen said.
"You didn't ask me to stay."
"I didn't ask anyone."
"That's never stopped me."
Silence.
Not hostile. Not cold.
Wary.
Like two survivors sitting across a fire, they both knew they were dying.
Kaelen exhaled through his nose. Not a sigh. Just fatigue in another shape.
"I don't know what this is."
"This?"
"You. Sitting here.
Not judging.
Not pushing."
"Would you prefer I did?"
"I'd understand it."
Shaak Ti tilted her head slightly.
"Understanding isn't trust."
"And trust is dangerous."
"So is isolation."
"It's quiet."
"So is space."
"That's not a flaw," Kaelen said.
"It is if you're drifting in it."
He looked at her then. Looked.
Not with suspicion. Not with armour.
With conflict.
"You're not afraid of what I am."
"No."
"Then you should be."
She didn't flinch.
"Why?"
"Because even I don't know what's coming next."
"Neither do I," she said. "But I'm still here."
That landed like gravity in his chest.
Not because it was kind.
Because it was true.
Kaelen leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
"They're waiting for me to fail."
"They're waiting for you to become something they can punish."
"And if I don't?"
"They'll punish you anyway."
His voice dropped.
Lower than breath. More like memory than sound.
"That's what Death Watch taught me, too."
Shaak Ti's gaze sharpened. Not with judgment.
With recognition.
"You're still living inside their rules."
"No. I broke those a long time ago."
"But you still believe no one stays. That mercy is bait. That silence is safety."
"And I'm wrong?" he asked.
"I don't know yet," she said softly.
"But I want to be the proof."
Kaelen looked away.
The light in the room dimmed slightly as the Temple's night cycle drifted in.
He didn't speak again for a long time.
Then:
"I can't be what they want."
"Good," she said.
"Because what they want is someone who won't change them."
He let out a short breath, not quite a laugh. More of a release of tension that had nowhere else to go.
"You know this can't last, right?
They'll strip you of your title.
Isolate you like they did me."
"Then I'll be where I belong."
"And if I hurt someone?"
She paused.
"Then I'll stop you."
"And if you can't?"
"Then I'll be the last thing you see."
Kaelen blinked.
And for the first time, in days, maybe weeks—
He believed her.
Not because she was threatening him.
Because she meant it.
All of it.
"You're not afraid of my power," he said.
"No," she replied.
"You're afraid I'll waste it."
They sat in silence after that.
No sparring.
No orders.
No meditation.
Just presence.
Just the truth.
And Kaelen, who had been watched, caged, measured, and feared, finally sat with someone who didn't ask him to speak.
And somehow…
That said, more than any of them ever had.
Jedi Temple — Sublevel Meditation Chamber, Midnight
No guards.
No lightsaber.
No council watching.
Kaelen stood at the threshold of the sealed meditation chamber. The stone door opened before he could touch it — as if it knew he was coming.
As if it had been waiting.
He stepped inside.
The room closed behind him with a whisper.
No sound of locking.
But Kaelen knew.
He wouldn't leave the same way.
The chamber was circular. Cold.
A single ring of soft white light hovered overhead. It didn't illuminate — it revealed just enough to make the darkness look alive.
He crossed to the centre.
Sat.
Folded his legs.
Closed his eyes.
And whispered:
"If you've been watching…
Then watch this."
No mantra.
No breath control.
No shields.
He let go of the Jedi techniques.
He let go of the Death Watch training.
He just let go.
And the Force responded.
Not with warmth.
Not with clarity.
But with pressure.
Like an ancient door opening inside his chest — a door that had been locked not to protect the Force from him…
…but to protect him from what waited beyond it.
This is not a calling.
This is not peace.
This is not power.
This is a witness.
The world beneath him collapsed.
▪️ The Vision
He fell into endless white.
Not sky.
Not light.
Just space without shape.
The air howled like memory.
Windless, but deafening.
The ground beneath his feet was cracked like bone. Ancient and wounded.
He stood barefoot in the silence, and the world bent around him.
Ahead, the paths formed.
Three roads of colourless stone.
One shimmered gold: smooth, sterile, lined with the broken lights of a hundred fallen Jedi. One blazed with pulsing veins of black flame: rage, violence, legacy twisted through the centuries. The third was blank. Not clean — void. No markers. No light. No fire. Just silence and dust.
Kaelen stood between them.
Breathing.
Alive.
Not guided.
Stared at.
From the gold path stepped a figure:
A robed Kaelen. Clean. Polished. Lightsaber across his back. A Jedi.
Eyes empty.
Heart silent.
A weapon made beautiful.
From the black path stepped another:
A burning Kaelen. Barefoot. Scarred. Bloodstained.
A survivor.
Eyes alive.
Heart ragged.
A fire made flesh.
They both approached him.
And spoke.
"You must choose."
"We are the paths."
"We are your future."
Kaelen looked between them.
The golden Kaelen held out a calm, open hand.
"You will be praised. Honored.
Trusted."
The burning Kaelen held out a clenched fist.
"You will be feared. Free.
Unstoppable."
And Kaelen said…
"No."
He turned from both.
Walked down the third path.
The air fractured.
The world screamed.
Light and flame shattered at the edges of the blank road, unable to touch it.
Kaelen walked through it all, bare feet bleeding on the cracked stone.
Every step burned.
Every step healed something he hadn't known was broken.
Until he reached the end—
And found himself waiting.
Not a duplicate.
Not a projection.
Just Kaelen.
No robes. No scars. No mask.
Eyes wide.
Breathing.
Human.
The Force surrounded him.
Not like warmth.
Not like power.
Like a sky cracking open to witness its reflection.
Kaelen fell to his knees.
Not in surrender.
In realisation.
"You were never leading me," he whispered.
"You were just watching to see if I'd break."
"And now?" the reflection asked.
Kaelen looked up.
"Now I break everything else."
The Force surged.
A column of white flame and silver wind engulfed him.
Not consuming.
Binding.
Around his ribs.
Around his mind.
Around every scar he carried.
And then—
He screamed.
Not from pain.
From truth.
▪️ Return to the Temple
Kaelen's eyes opened.
He was lying on the floor of the meditation chamber.
The light above had dimmed to nothing.
His robes were soaked with sweat.
His breath came in uneven waves.
He looked down at his hands.
The scars across his palms had reopened.
And glowed.
Not with fire.
Not with power.
With something older.
He stood.
Shaking.
But upright.
The door didn't open.
It just… vanished.
And Kaelen walked out into the corridor alone.
No guards.
No mentors.
No one is watching.
Except the Force.
Still there.
Still silent.
But no longer questioning.
Now listening.