Chapter 1: Fear
Chapter Text
What was only a night’s sleep, felt to Cal, like an eternity trapped in Hell. A near decade of suffering wrapped up in a neat bow was unravelled within a night of anguish. In a galaxy where darkness had spread its sickly disease through its entire body and poisoned its inhabitants, Cal had seen the path of misery he would walk with dead bodies piled at his feet.
Sith had risen and destroyed every bit of good they could sink their fangs into, ripped away all the peace the jedi had worked so hard within the war to find, and then shattered any hope to build anything anew.
With more men killed at his hand then any self respecting jedi, and more comrades who had fallen to their ends than he’d ever expected before the purge, Cal Kestis would become something he’d never hoped to be.
That, is what his visions had shown. One night, one decade of war.
One reality.
The initiate, ten years old but newly wisened by horrors to come, wakes with a shattering of every ceramic object within his dorm, and the yelps of his dormmates ducking out the way of stray shards.
His hands grab at his chest, fingers pressing against the thin material of his shirt. He breathes in and out, eyes blurred and the rushing of other younglings completely cloaked by the pain seeping through his body.
It takes hours for him to let go of the way the force beams in brightness, to stop searching through the vast clearness of its body for where there should be darkness creeping.
It takes him until there are jedi trying to get him to ground himself back in the present before he gives up on trying to track where he knows it will, one day, spread from.
-
The Jedi Council have never been folk Cal has interacted with as much as most, which makes sense considering he, well, ‘will be’, one of many padawans shipped across the galaxy to fight a war for people who will celebrate their deaths.
He supposes having a force vision that causes you to destroy near everything in your dormitory, then proceed to freak out and drown yourself in the force around you, tends to make an impression.
His feet shift as his eyes cast down, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides while the council, half physically present and the other half on communications - blue images equally as stoic as the rest, discuss his problems like he’s a dog with behavioural issues.
Is he meant to save the galaxy? Is that why the force gave him these visions? But why Cal? Why not somebody who was actually involved in the whole coup instead of a ten year old who doesn’t even know where Vader appeared out of to terrorize the damn galaxy?
His nail picks at his cuticle absentmindedly as he contemplates, eyes fixed on the small black scratch on the flooring.
Where does he even start? He doesn’t know why the clones suddenly turned on-
“Initiate?” Master Windu’s voice is clear, cutting through his thoughts with an expectancy that manages to be simultaneously intimidating and assuring. “Were you listening?”
Cal pauses, lips parting as his head snaps up. “Uh.. sorry, Master.” He shuffles, catching onto the fact that the entire room full of Jedi Masters are eyeing him.
Directly ahead, with a slight frown on his lips, Master Yoda stares for a moment, contemplating silently. He raises his hand to cut off another master whose mouth is opening to snip something in. “Visions, you saw.”
“Yes, Master.” Cal murmurs.
“Of what, I do wonder, to react as you have.” His voice carries in the silent chambers, the rest allowing him to speak clearly.
Fingers tapping together, Cal dips his head. “…A lot, Master. Too much to recount.” His lips purse. More like too much to tell so many people when he doesn’t know who to trust.
Master Yoda’s eyes crinkle slightly, and he hums. “Well, young Kestis, much trouble, it has made. Sure you are, that others should not know?”
The initiate jerks his head in a nod. No one should know information so delicate if Cal can barely decide whether they’re trustworthy, or whether they’ll treat it with the care it deserves, more like.
Or that they’d believe him.
The jedi taps his chin with a small green finger and shifts on his seat. “Discuss this, we will. Outside, you will wait.” He gestures with a flick for the boy to leave the chambers.
He stands there for a moment, looking like an idiot, before snapping into motion like an object becoming animate. With a small bow of his head, he slinks back towards the doors and straight through the slim crack he pulls open.
-
The chambers are silent as the masters stew in their own thoughts.
“…The boy needs to tell us what he saw.” Master Mundi breaks the silence quietly, softly speaking. His eyes narrow as he gazes at the door, now firmly shut.
With a sigh, Grandmaster Yoda shakes his head. “Unclear, the future is. Trust in the force, we must. To him, it showed the vision.” He nods slowly. “To us… it did not.”
Master Windu holds his forehead with his fingers. “If he doesn’t tell us, we can’t help.” He sounds gruff, the weight of war heavy on his shoulders, being one of the jedi deployed elsewhere at the moment. He sighs loudly. “I get the impression this is… bigger than it seems.”
“Then watch him,” Yoda’s eyes seem to crinkle a little more, “Someone should.”
Windu pauses, eyes flicking over. The other jedi are silent, contemplative.
Master Plo Koon takes the moment to ask a careful, “Just what are you suggesting, Grandmaster?”
Where the Jedi Grandmaster doesn’t answer, Windu does. “He wants to make Kestis a padawan.” He sounds fed up. “He’s about that age anyway and it’s the best way for one of us to keep an eye on him.”
A quiet laugh bubbles in Master Yoda’s throat. “Correct, you are of course.”
There’s a collective moment of consideration, where each jedi seems to debate to themselves about whether they’re even applicable for the job, or who they think should be the unlucky choice to take one for the team, and deal with the mess everyone can sense brewing.
A com from the only empty seat snaps on. “My apologies, the battle ended up dragging on for far longer than I’d hoped. Did I miss much, Masters?” Obi-Wan Kenobi’s voice echoes out in the chambers, his skin layered with a smear of ash across his lower face, in a shape that screams a puff of smoke from an explosion just a little away. It’s one that most council members have seen before, on their own faces.
“Apologise, do not.” Master Yoda smiles, waving him down. “Right on time, you are, Master Kenobi.”
Master Windu grumbles quietly as he pinches his nose bridge. Why does Kenobi always get the padawans with the worst shatterpoints he’s ever had the god awful misfortune of seeing?
-
The force must be a cruel joke because the way it’s chosen to align everything means that Cal won’t even end up being a padawan to the jedi master who he’s seen teach him so much, and sacrifice even more for him.
Perhaps it’s for the best. It’s one less person to see crumble at his feet. It’s one less person to die in the name of saving Cal’s back, protecting him so they can die in his place.
It’s one less failure on Cal’s legacy.
Or maybe it’s just another opportunity to fail even more and have others die all the same. Either way, he can’t know, and he can’t sweep everything off like it’s either good or bad because it’s neither. It just is.
Master Yoda walks Cal to the ship, short wooden cane in one hand as he hobbles beside the boy. He hums as they step together, calmer than any jedi the now-padawan has ever seen - present or future. “A good match, you two will be.”
Cal doubts that, despite his lack of wording to his feelings. “…I hope so.”
“Do well, you will.” The Master’s laugh is low in his throat. “Padawan Kestis.” He taps his cane on the ground as he gestures to the ramp up into the carrier. “Your master, a fine jedi, he is. Listen well, you should, and learn from it you will.” He nods. “But remember, you must, to trust in the force.”
Throat tighter than it’s been since he first woke up the other night, Cal does a jolting nod. “Yeah. Thanks.. thanks, Master.” His fingers press against the strap of his bag. “I’ll try my best.”
There’s a curve of the jedi master’s lips. “Do or do not, there is no try.”
Cal steps up the ramp, fighting the twitch of his lips as he’s guided forward by one of the crew.
-
The last time Cal had seen Obi-Wan Kenobi was on the communication he’d sent after the purge. Well, in the future his vision had shown at least. The voice had been low, polished, but unsettled and pained. As controlled as a jedi could be, but as mourning as any griever could feel.
I regret to report that both our Jedi Order, and the Republic, have fallen, with a dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place.
Now, with a man wrapped in armour, neatly styled auburn facial hair, and a lit lightsaber in hand, Cal doesn’t quite know where to place his concern. Is it the blaster shots currently firing in their direction? Or is it the fact he’s disturbed at the sight of the Jedi Master he’s only seen looking perfectly well kept, running around in armour and blocking blaster shots in a way Cal had seen himself do during Empire rule?
This man is a lawful protector of peace, but Cal’s not quite sure where the peace is, nor whether it’s protecting, or attacking, considering the fact that the Jedi General is leaping at that massive anti-infantry unit to slash it straight down its centre.
He stares for a moment, blinking at what feels like a bizarre dream, instead of a real threat, and reaches down just slightly to pinch his own arm.
“Duck!” His new master yells from a distance as Cal’s neck tingles, hair rising.
The boy drops, just in time, avoiding a… blaster being swung down at his head? He grabs the hilt at his belt and flicks the blade on with a gush of plasma, sizzling out in a bright blue that slashes through the battle droid’s gut in an instant.
“Is that all of them General?” A clone, armour painted in thick orange lines across the white, jogs up to meet the Jedi Master where he’s wiping a hand back through his hair.
Master Kenobi nods, eyes still watching Cal carefully, as well as the lifeless pile of metal that’s behind him. “I believe so. Round up the men and we’ll get moving. We have work to do.”
Tucking his own lightsaber on his belt, Cal’s new master makes his way over, brushing his hands off as he does. He tilts his head. “I take it you’re Cal? I’ve heard much about you from the council.” His arms fold.
Hands wrapped around the hilt still, the padawan straightens himself out, deactivating the saber and clipping it back. He slowly nods. “Nothing good, probably.” He murmurs, thinking back to the massive mess he’d made in the dorms, and then the infirmary later that night.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” The man’s lips curl into a small smirk. “Nothing too awful, I assure you. Besides, the council had nothing good to say about my first padawan when he was starting out.” He hums.
His first padawan - Anakin Skywalker. Cal doesn’t know much about the jedi, nor what would have happened to him in his vision future, considering he doesn’t think he’s ever actually met him. However, he’s heard plenty of things about the adventures of the unconventional jedi knight, and how despite the chaos, he manages to pull through every time.
With a small purse of his lips, Cal nods again, eyes flicking to the assembling groups and formations of clones nearby. Something in his skin crawls at the sight of each of them, worming its way beneath his flesh and sucking out his unease to pop out in foul pulping distrust. “I’ve heard.”
“Oh, have you?” The man laughs quietly. “Anakin will be pleased to hear that even younglings know of his reputation.” He strokes his beard, watching the troops walk by to load themselves onto the ships back up to the main cruiser hovering above planet.
Cal’s foot taps. “It’s hard not to.” Which is true. All the initiates had raved about Skywalker, Kenobi and recently, Tano.
The man hums, eyes flicking down to Cal’s foot and then up again, back to the troops. “We’re actually headed to meet him. The council likes to send us on missions together.” And then he rolls his eyes. “I wonder why that might be. Cody!” He calls out to the clone who’d spoken to him before. “Can I trust you to get everyone on? I have a padawan to settle in on the…” He glances to Cal. “Negotiator.”
With a small salute, the clone nods. “Of course, General.” The sound of his voice makes the hair on the back of Cal’s neck rise.
“Alright.” Master Kenobi claps his hands together. “Come with me, my padawan.”
-
The ‘Negotiator’, as Master Kenobi had called it, is actually a fairly nice cruiser. Of course it’s absolutely enormous, and of course it’s absolutely full of clones, but as far as it goes, it’s probably the nicest ship Cal’s seen for a while. Well, he’s technically not been in many ships, but at least in the vision he saw, there were plenty.
It’s unfortunate that Cal stares at the corridors and thinks of the cruiser he’d stayed on with Master Tapal. His shoulders are pinched in a tense way that’s ready at any moment for a clone to turn and just… shoot at him.
It was instant. They were so normal, so at ease and then in seconds, with one single breath, every single soldier had turned on them. Cal won’t let himself be caught off guard when it happens on this cruiser instead.
“Deep in thought, Cal?” Master Kenobi asks from next to the boy, observing him passively. “You’re awfully quiet. I’m surprised you aren’t asking questions about the ship, but maybe I’m too used to Anakin drooling over different models.” He shakes his head.
Cal blinks, glances over and hums. “I’m not as big on ships as him, I guess.” He eyes a small group of men who salute at his new master as they walk by.
The jedi master nods back at the clones. “I’m the same way of course.” They turn down to the left. “Our rooms are down here. You’ll be a room away from mine so I’ll be close if you need anything.” He gestures to a door. “This is mine.” He steps and gestures to the one to its left, a little deeper within the tucked away hall. “Yours. Make yourself at home. We spend more time on this ship than we do staying on any planet.”
“Yes, Master.” Cal ducks his head, a small bag hooked on his shoulder that he’d filled with a few trinkets and pieces from the temple to take with him. “Am I needed for anything or…?”
Master Kenobi shakes his head. “Please. Get yourself some rest. Travelling this far out is no small journey. We’ll be on ship for the next day anyway, so sleep as long as you need.”
-
Anakin Skywalker, as it turns out, is just a guy. A guy who looks way too tired to be talking about battle plans whilst fixing up the astromech he’s brought with him whilst also staring at Cal with a weird look like he’s never seen a padawan before.
Eyes flicking away awkwardly, Cal shifts on his seat. Across the room, another teenager lounges out on a seat of her own, messing with her braid while her master discusses information with Master Kenobi. That’s Ahsoka Tano. She sighs, and listens into the conversation with an expression that’s just had enough of the whole thing.
It’s been an hour and a half already.
Cal’s lips purse. Even he’s struggling to follow along with the whole thing, considering how dull meetings are. Especially ones about plans that are extremely delicate and need more attention than any others, because if they’re not as thought out as they should be, they’ll be too dead to regret it.
Skywalker glances between Master Kenobi and Cal again, brows pinching just a little. Cal averts his eyes again. He doesn’t even wanna know why.
“Snips, can you grab the.. the uh- by the force.” Skywalker scrubs at his eyes. “The thing.” He makes a buzzing sound and gestures his hand around the line where the pieces of metal he’s been shifting around meet.
Padawan Tano’s eyes flick over. “The solder gun?”
“Yes!” He clicks his fingers. “That. Could you grab that? Got my hands full holding this together.”
Cal grabs the laser solder gun from its place near his side of the desk. He silently stands from his seat and walks awkwardly towards the jedi knight, eyeing where the metal meets. “I can do it while you hold them… if you want.”
Skywalker stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Uh.. yeah.”
Crouching to be in line with the astromech’s side, Cal hums quietly as he raises the tool to work. It reminds him of Bracca, grabbing scrap and parts and fixing it up so the guild could sell it off. A fairly peaceful period of time, out of the whole vision.
The astromech makes a whirring sound, some thanks in binary, and Cal nods. “No problem.” He wipes his hand off on his leg, standing back up and placing the gun back on the desk, eyes avoiding Skywalker’s as he does a walk of shame back to his seat.
“I thought you weren’t the repairing kind.” Master Kenobi murmurs next to him, not in an irritated way, more curious than anything. Cal imagines he’s probably just trying to figure out how he ticks.
“I said I wasn’t big on ships.” He messes with his shirt’s fraying thread. “But I like repairs.”
“No shot,” Skywalker mutters, brows raising as he inspects the soldered surface. “This is… clean. Like clean, clean.” His arms fold as he leans back. “You do repair work back at the temple or something?”
Shrugging shallowly, Cal responds with a quiet voice, “Sometimes. A lot of the others didn’t want to, so I offered.” A half truth. He had done some repairs once in a while at the temple, but most of his knowledge comes from the period of time he now remembers from Bracca, despite not having actually lived in it.
It’s odd. In terms of a vision, it felt like he’d lived it, but not in the sense of completely. It felt like he was watching from within the body of his future self. Not quite acting, but just observing. It wasn’t him but it was.
“Impressive.” Skywalker taps on the astromech’s head, who whirs loudly in protest. “Snips over here had to have me teach her.”
Tano rolls her eyes. “You insisted on making sure I could do it perfectly. I could do it just fine before, Skyguy.”
-
Master Kenobi spends the next few days teaching Cal meditation techniques. It’s something he’s done a million times since being brought to the temple and while it’s confusing that the jedi believes it to be needed, Cal doesn’t blame him for starting there.
It’s clear, it’s simple, it’s necessary.
Besides, Cal doesn’t exactly hate the opportunity to clear through his thoughts and allow himself the chance to properly understand the millions of events he now remembers, that he’s seen. It also gives him the chance to try and see whether anything in the force can explain why this is all happening.
Why him?
He breathes in softly, hands resting in his lap. Eyes closed, he feels quietly at peace. Just able to take time to himself, to breathe in and feel the force.
There’s a muffled conversation outside the room. Master Kenobi had stepped out only some moments ago, to talk to who Cal assumes is Skywalker. From the sounds of it, growing slowly louder, it might be a sensitive subject.
“-can’t! No, Anakin…” Master Kenobi’s voice is barely audible, let alone distinguishable. Cal can catch maybe two or three words every sentence.
On the other hand, Skywalker causes no such problems. “Obi-Wan, you know why they did it. I mean come on, the council aren’t going to send some random initiate to be your padawan. They never bothered before. I’m the one they gave one to, even when you wanted the responsibility.”
There’s a muffled response, something sharp.
“Don’t- look I’m not saying there’s anything wrong here but you can sense the same thing as I can. It’s not-“ He’s cut off. “Don’t be that way, Obi-Wan. I’m only… look I’m pointing out what you’re not willing to. You can sense it. I’m not crazy here.”
The padawan’s lips press together tightly and he sinks back into the depths of the force’s embrace. He doesn’t want to hear the rest of that conversation. Not today.
-
The planet they land down on isn’t a kind one. Swamps on this side, deep forests filled with native species who devour humanoid beings on the other. It’s safe to say that they’re sticking to the livable land that doesn’t involve fighting native life.
It’s a complicated mission, one that involves splitting off into a few groups, namely a diversion group of clones, lead by Skywalker and Tano (apparently because they barely have to breathe to cause a scene - Master Kenobi’s words), and an infiltration group, far smaller - Master Kenobi and Cal, alongside a small escort of the 212th.
Of course all of this is alongside the main battalion that will be attacking the outpost of the separatist’s forces just outside the planet capital. Because that’s the goal - gain control of the capital. However, the reason for the infiltration is that they have a suspicion that either Dooku, or whatever new apprentice he may have acquired somewhere after the last.
If there is one here, they need to be tracked and taken out so the main forces can move in.
The infiltration group are currently sneaking around the edge of the outpost, heading for the entryway below - one that’s been blocked off for probably a decade due to its poor construction and lack of reliable infrastructure. However, a jedi can easily (and subtly) take away the material blocking off the tunnel, and sneak in a group to make way toward the central building, which the last section of tunnel leads up into. It was initially built as an escape for any military officer within the outpost, long before it was occupied by separatist forces.
“Come.” Master Kenobi leads the group through. “Quickly now. Anakin’s making time for us but it’s guaranteed to go wrong somehow.” It’s a fond statement, but an inevitably true one.
Cal shuffles along, hood pulled to hang over his hair, thin layers covering his form with dark material that helps him blend in better. Master Kenobi has a matching cloak, and the clones are covering their own armor similarly.
“…How did you know there might be a dark sider here?” Cal mutters to his master, keeping in step. He never actually heard the reason in the meetings.
Master Kenobi exhales quietly, lowering his voice a little so Cal alone can hear it. “Anakin’s been posted in this system for a few weeks now. Apparently he’s sensed a darkness in the force at some points. He is better connected to it than most.”
With a nod, Cal glances away again to the clones. His hand rests on his lightsaber in some self-soothing confirmation that he has a form of defence if needed. It’s odd that his muscles tense more at the sight of clone troopers than the droids they’d sneaked past not long ago, but it’s instinctive after what he’s seen.
They duck through another tunnel, turning to the right as the blueprints had shown, when Master Kenobi halts in place and snaps his hands up, palms open. “Everybody! Move, now!”
The roof of the tunnel begins to crack, loosening in its place where the jedi master is holding it up to temporarily allow the men to run past and avoid being crushed.
It takes Cal a moment to process. And in that moment, something bizarre happens.
The clones run through, and then Master Kenobi gets shoved forward by something that isn’t even there, and staggers, losing focus on his control and letting the rock fall through, directly above Cal.
Instantly, his arms raise and he slows the oncoming force heading to crush him, and the last thing he sees is his master’s panicked expression as the rocks are blasted forward to drop in a clean barricade between where the boy stands alone, and the group has just been forced ahead.
Darkness billows out through the tunnel, now a dead end, and wraps itself around Cal’s pale throat. He splutters, choking on the force’s thick oiliness as it spreads across his pores and suffocates his senses in filth.
A clapping echoes out in the open space.
“Ah… back from the dirt, I will destroy what buried me into it.” A low voice drags, figure stepping out to greet the lone jedi.
A nightbrother, that Cal can recognise the race of from his time watching Dathomir in visions, smiles darkly, red and black skin cloaked by the shadow coming from his cloaked head, pinned up in points where Cal can guess his horns are pulling up on the hood.
“Who are you?” Cal slinks back, pressing his back to the barricade.
Behind it, Master Kenobi can be heard turning on his lightsaber to try and get through despite the fact that if he does, the whole tunnel might come falling down without something to hold it up.
The darksider opens his arms. “I, am your new master.” His eyes crinkle, yellow. “Let me take you off Kenobi’s wretched hands.” His belt is wrapped around his hips, above where his legs are replaced with extremely high quality prosthetics, a lightsaber of duel blades hanging off its band.
Its kyber crystals bleed into the force in crying pain.
“I won’t come with you.” Cal shakes his head slowly. “I’m a jedi. A jedi padawan. Not- not some sith apprentice.” His hand presses against the rocks, feeling for any possible weakness he can shove through with a force push.
“You will learn. Time teaches every lesson it needs to.” The man breathes in deeply. “I learnt so much from a decade of suffering.” His eyes close as he inhales with an expression of peace. “I know.. how to have my revenge.” He steps forward, legs clinking as he does. “I will destroy Kenobi, as he destroyed me, and I will take his apprentice as he took mine.” He snarls, hand raising to clench into a fist, air snapping tight around Cal’s throat.
He gasps for air, grabbing at his neck as his form lifts up. This… this feels like the last time he remembers being cornered by a sith. A true sith, not one of the inquisitors with teachings that made them weak, and morals that made them weaker.
This is true power. True darkness, filthy and dangerous as it claws its way into what’s near.
It feels like Malicos. It feels like Gerra.
It feels like Vader.
He falls to the ground abruptly, coughing violently as the air returns to his lungs in thick fast breaths. The sith crouches beside him, eyes calculating and sharp. He pulls the hood down from Cal’s head and stares. “Yes. You’ll do perfectly.”
His lips turn up and out, as a sharp laugh echoes from his throat, wildly tearing through his body like a ghost possessing a corpse.
“I’d rather die.” Cal’s voice is rough, slightly hoarse around its edges. He raises a hand and tries to slow the sith long enough to grab his saber and light it.
But the man doesn’t bat an eye before he swipes the blade away like a child’s toy, sending it clattering into the distance behind him, closer to the entrance. “The first lesson you will learn, apprentice.” He straightens out. “Is that learning from me, is a gift. I can teach you power, strength.” His eyes darken. “How to channel everything that you fear into something to destroy it.”
Heart thumping wildly in his chest, Cal leaps forward, grabbing at the saber on the sith’s belt in an act of desperation, rather than clear thinking.
As soon as he touches it, his vision stutters into a different time.
Chapter 2: Hate
Chapter Text
Savage is dead.
Florrum had blown up in their faces, quite literally, and Savage is dead because of it - because of that foul curs-ed jedi, who manages to stretch Maul’s psyche thinner and thinner every time his filthy goodness appears in front of his gaze. Each time that wretched thing bares his blade and stares at him with that horridly calm expression, and battles him with such firm determination, he feels himself roar with hatred.
Such a visceral emotion. It’s what keeps his body from falling into pieces and burning in the ash of everything he no longer has.
Like the brother, the apprentice, who is now dead.
Maul finds his lightsaber, the only thing his brother had kept over time, his true physical possession. He keeps it, attaches it to his own, and bonds together what is left of his brother with his own disfigured form in a dual saber that reflects the very same he’d first used against Kenobi’s master, and then lost against the vile jedi after with.
After all, the body is in pieces. Guts sprayed across the metal surrounding, and steel lodged between organs, splitting them open to spit over his ripped clothing, blood drowning what’s left of flesh in a crimson lake.
Savage’s face isn’t even there. Being crushed by ship parts had popped his skull like a balloon and sent brain fluid dripping between the open gaps in his head. Maul had managed to shove off the weight before his head completely went flat, but not fast enough to stop his disfigurement, to stop the blood from pouring out his eye sockets, mixing in with the spilling organ.
Maul gets himself a ship. He gets himself credits - it isn’t hard to do when people will pay anything for their life or the lives of those dearest to them. He gets off the planet and plans.
Oh how will he ruin Kenobi for all that he’s done now? Death isn’t nearly enough. No, nothing is enough for his ruining of Maul’s entirety, of his torment over an entire decade, and then his brother’s agonising death beneath the flames of a blown up ship shattering over his form.
No.
No, Kenobi will suffer. He will feel the pain of losing everything he cares for and have the weight of the galaxy fall on his back to crush the bones in his body and eat away at the flesh of his weakness.
And then? Then, perhaps Maul will kill him, dismember his broken form and rip his entire existence into nothingness. Only after he has felt true suffering, after he breaks and buckles and cries.
Maul’s saber feels heavy on his belt, its weeping crystals blubbering into the force with the suffering tearing through them, anger crackling through one, and hate bursting in the other. They pour out waves of despair as he searches through the galaxy’s reports for whereabouts, trying to figure out where he can start to tear away Kenobi’s greatness and sink him into pathetic failure.
He reads news reports on Kenobi’s recent battles, on adventures of the oh so great jedi master who’s saving the galaxy one threat at a time, and tracks the systems down, narrowing down the route that the jedi is following. But he loses him over time, reports thinner and thinner with the most recent of events, most information out of the public’s eye.
However, there is a loophole. A very simple loophole that Maul knows will guide him to where his calling lay.
Where Skywalker is, Kenobi is never far behind.
-
The galaxy blooms in brightness where Skywalker runs, Maul notes. It’s an odd occurrence, the fact that the force curves and bends to fit around him perfectly in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.
Maul spends months tracking the Jedi’s movements, following him on every mission and hiding away in the background like a parasite latching on to leech away at the intel he can garner from Skywalker’s action. Anything, everything, to find Kenobi. It isn’t difficult, thanks to the man’s incredibly overwhelming presence within the force.
Kenobi, oh Kenobi, Maul has many plans for what he will do - ones he’s had time to think over and thirst over within these long months.
Then, a spatter of light bursts into the system that Skywalker has been flying in for a few weeks now. A light that Maul had seen on Naboo, uncertain and fleeting. A light he had seen on Florrum, blasting through the air like a beacon in the dark of his misery.
A wild laugh rips itself from Maul’s throat as he fixates on Kenobi’s energy, radiating from the cruiser that he can see has just entered the system. His hand smacks against the glass of his ship’s window, with a victorious burst of vigour. He can feel his heart sizzle with glory, destiny roaring in his ears as blood blazes through his veins.
Kenobi.
Kenobi. Kenobi. Kenobi.
He will kill him, he will torture him, he will tear him to-
There’s another. A smaller light, flickering in and out, on the same ship. It burns like a low flame, crackling as it glows in the force. Something soft. Something pure.
A child. Maul could laugh. He will laugh. Kenobi has a child on that ship, malleable and weak, able to be manipulated and corrupted into whatever he wants to destroy everything in Kenobi’s heart and make him pay. A jedi student who will bend to become dark under Maul’s wrath, who will kill his own master in time.
Yes… yes it is perfect.
He will take that fire and make it a roaring inferno, coax it into consuming itself and everything around it, raging at the galaxy for all the wrong it has and every little horror that makes it hurt.
How odd. Maul pauses, eyes sharpening as he stares oddly at the cruiser in the far, far distance. His head slowly tilts, lips curling down at their corners in focus. A low rhythm beats in the force, vibrating beneath the light that glows so quietly. It purrs and coils like a feline slinking around in the..
Dark. The child stinks of it. It’s hidden and cloaked well in a way Maul barely even notices but he does. It’s obvious enough that even the jedi must surely notice it, must be working with it, around it. Oh, that child is different, touched with shadow and treading in puddles of its temptation.
He breathes in deeply, smelling the dripping fear that festers in the gut of a child - he does not know anything about it, only that it is afraid of many things of which he can use against Kenobi’s life. A trickling flow that he will encourage to blossom into a suffocating flood of blood and death.
Maul will have this apprentice, and he will help them bloom.
-
It is a boy, near-human at the very least, with copper hair and awkward limbs that pin up in tense lines at the soldiers surrounding both him and his current master. Maul catches the way the child eyes the clones, tucking himself a little closer and a small trickle of uncertainty spattering out into that beautifully unstable force presence that the sith is biding his time to snatch up.
It’s all too easy to separate him from Kenobi and his little puppet clones, using surprise to his advantage and creating a blockade that can’t be broken through - otherwise threatening the stability of the tunnel’s structure.
The child fights as best as he can, but truly what can a mere mouse do to the attack of a beast’s snapping jaw? It’s of little surprise to the sith, who speaks promises of power, of conquering fear, that he is told no, with as much determination as any jedi spawn would give.
However it is a surprise when the boy grabs his saber after his own is tossed into the distance, and suddenly goes limp.
There’s a moment where Maul simply stares. Well, that is unexpected. What has caused a reaction such as that? Fear? Panic? It doesn’t seem like that’s the case, considering the boy’s fixation on grabbing the weapon to likely kill Maul in cold blood, like an animal fighting for survival.
His head slowly tilts, lips curling up. Or perhaps it isn’t any of the above. Perhaps the little padawan is special. All questions to ask when he wakes, and by that point they’ll be too far away for any escape plan.
Maul hooks his arms under the child, carrying his limp form with ease as he collects his small lightsaber, still singing in a vibrancy that he’ll be sure to see shatter in time.
Within the day, the two are tucked away on the stolen ship the dark sider had obtained months ago after Florrum, jumping into hyperspace and disappearing into the galaxy’s depths. When Kenobi would eventually break out from the barricade, he would find a kind message wrapped in fabric: the head of the pirate Maul had hired (threatened) from under Hondo Ohnaka’s leadership who’d betrayed him and Savage.
-
The first of the padawan’s escape plans comes two hours after their departure, when he finally wakes up. He creeps up behind Maul and goes to stab his throat, a thin vibroblade in hand, snatched up from a cabin in the hall. It’s unfortunate for him that Maul had sensed even when he was very first awake, every movement he’s taken.
Handcuffed to the back of the cockpit at a panel of steel, the child stubbornly defers from speaking. His eyes stare down at the ground as he’s uncomfortably forced to stand in the corner, limbs bent in a way that’s not quite natural. It’s enough to be irritating for the thing, enough to hopefully (over enough time) get him to talk.
“It is irritating enough listening to you fidget around like a bored toddler. The least you could do is speak your name.” Maul drawls, eyes fixed on the space out the window, the stars in the distance blinking bright.
The padawan breathes out, a puff of air.
Maul’s head snaps up with a crack of his neck, slowly turning to face him. “Was that a scoff?” He grinds his teeth, fingers tapping the buttons along the board. “Scoff all you like. You’re still stuck here, on this ship, with no way out.”
“I’ll get out.”
A pause. He swivels around in his chair, eyes narrowing flatly. “We shall see about that.” His nostrils flare just slightly as he speaks.
With another rattle of the cuffs, the boy exhales again. “Just let me leave.” His voice is quiet. “I’ll go back. I won’t tell anyone about it. I don’t care about you I just-“ He sucks in a breath. “I have things I need to do.”
But the air is silent and space is empty. The ship floats onward, guided in the direction Maul has been deciding over his last few pondering months of existence. It will be far enough away that no one will guess of their location.
“…Your name.” Maul’s face neatens out. “Speak it.”
The child’s jaw tightens, and he yanks on the cuff again in annoyance. “Cal.” It’s spoken snappily. Irritation - just as the darksider had wanted. “…You’re Maul. Right?”
A ghost of a smirk curls on Maul’s lips. This ‘Cal’ is exactly what he’d believed. Special. One of those few force sensitive gifted with another talent, something reserved for a spattering every once in a while. “You touched my saber, and saw something.”
Cal yanks on the cuff. “Way to speak the obvious here.” He mutters, eyes flicking down again. With a shift on his feet, he winces at the way his legs bend uncomfortably. “Not like I could make out most of it. Look, I don’t care. I need to leave here. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
The air grows colder. A low laugh catches in his chest. “You think I don’t know?” He hits the autopilot on, hands pushing on the arms of the seat as he rises. “The galaxy is crumbling.” His arms open as he takes a small step closer. “All at the hands of him. The Jedi can’t see it.” Maul stops.
The darksider’s body slumps. “But I do,” He continues, eyes piercing. “And I think you do, too.”
Cal is odd. Where children are usually ignorant and uselessly confused, Maul can see both in the boy’s face, and his eyes, that he knows more than most jedi collected into one entity. There’s something there. Maul doesn’t know what, but he will in time. He will pry it out of the boy’s lips with every tool at his hand and every promise at his tongue.
“Who are you?” The padawan breathes. It’s clear he doesn’t mean name, but character, life.
Silently, Maul searches the other’s face, lips pulling back and showing a few pale teeth. “Your new master.”
They don’t speak for the rest of the cycle.
-
The second escape attempt happens some cycles later, making use of a few clips intertwined and bent into the rough shape of a shiv. Cal hides inside the refresher. Maul knows this because when he steps past the thing, a child latches onto his back and whips its arm back to plunge the shiv into his trap.
With a sharp grunt, Maul grabs the animal by his collar, bending oddly to get to him, and throws him away, where he clatters against the far wall. His fingers slide up to press against the wound, feeling for its depth and severity. It gushes with blood, pumping it out in a steady stream with every beat of his heart.
“You,” Maul stalks the boy, feet clanking on the metal floor with each step, legs clinking. “Your useless attempts at freedom are succeeding at nothing but irritating me.”
“Screw you.” The boy groans from his place, curled in on himself and cupping his head from where he must have hit it.
Head snapping up, his jaw slowly tightens. His shoulders roll back and he nods. Without a word, the man raises his hands as he turns away. Two lightsabers fly out from the shelving (he’d hidden them there because it was far too obvious for Cal to think he would). He tosses the smaller hilt, caught by the child.
“If you are so eager to raise a blade to me,” Maul spins his own saber in hand. “Have the decency to do it with a spine.”
A moment of contemplation sinks in the air, before Cal jumps to his feet, flicking his blade on with a sizzling glow and jabbing forward, shoving his weight with it. Maul blocks, slashing the saber back with a simple sweep of his own.
The padawan grits his teeth and grunts as he swings, blows being hit back to back - two, three, four, five, six! He darts back, feet sliding on the metal flooring. Every attempted attack is blocked by Maul’s effortless defense. “Why did you even take me huh? Why me?” He flicks his wrist and pulls a tray of stray parts off the side to throw at the sith with the force.
Maul swipes the screws that aim for his eyes to harmlessly clatter in the corner. The other small pieces scrape his cheek and fall behind him, useless. “Not good enough, apprentice. Try harder.”
“Answer me!” The boy ducks beneath a swing, rolling to the side and getting a run up to jump into an overhead stab. He’s flicked away to the side like the screws and manages to cup his head in time to fall ungracefully onto the floor. “Why me?”
“Try again.” The darksider gestures for the boy to get up. Something greedy burns in his gut. Yes, yes, get the boy to feel that rage that’s building beneath his fear. Let it burn hot enough to consume everything there and leave something new in the ashes. Something worse.
Cal’s shoulders rise and fall as he catches his breath. Maul can sense the annoyance growing in the air, clinging to the boy like a second skin. “I know what you’re doing.”
A low chuckle. “Oh? Then why is it working?”
The child goes silent at that, staring back with those watery green eyes, pale and light. His face darkens for a flicker of a second and then smooths out into collected calm. He breathes a puff of air and sits down, legs crossed, saber dropping next to him to roll endlessly across the ground. His eyes flutter shut and he just…
Sits there.
Maul’s throat closes tighter at the sight of the boy resembling so putrid, the calmness too familiar for his liking. It stinks of jedi, of too perfect to bother with feelings, with true power. Ignorance wrapped in ‘peace.’ “Get up.”
He is ignored, and it continues that way for the rest of that cycle as well.
-
“The Jedi are weak.” Maul snips, leaning back in the chair, arms folded across his torso. It isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation over the past few days. The boy refuses to acknowledge when Maul is correct, and this is a time he simply is.
Knees tucked up into his chest, the padawan shakes his head silently, chin leaning on his kneecaps. His face has never broken from that calm countenance since they’d fought (if you could call it that), and it’s put Maul in a foul mood ever since.
“Oh, speak, you little fool.” He snaps. “Or are you planning on being a shadow the whole time you’re on this ship?”
The boy has the audacity to roll his eyes. Maul ignores the childish part of himself that snarls to make him regret it immediately. As if that would make him any more likeable as a master. He exhales loudly.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” A quiet voice mutters. “I mean, you could still just take me back. Probably get a lighter sentence if you did.”
Maul stares at him oddly. It’s laughable. “I am a sith. Do you really believe that I care for a sentence? No cell would keep me bound.”
“Where did you even come from?” The child continues.
“The dark.” He drags sarcastically, lips curling in a scowl, as he huffs. “Where else do you believe a vicious beast of a darksider would lurk? Somewhere precious and peaceful? Full of love and light?”
Cal shuffles further onto his small seat. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a sith like you.”
“Like me?” Maul laughs, throat stinging. The wound on his back is slowly healing, wrapped up crudely with whatever supplies he’d found in the ship’s crates. “There are no others like me. I have been biding my time in the shadows for years. Waiting until I could take back what I was owed.” His eyes sharpen. “Kenobi… It is always Kenobi.”
Something seems to click for the boy. His eyes blink as his face shifts with his thoughts. “You took me because of my master. Then why didn’t you grab Skywalker? You said you’ve been waiting for years.”
“It is of no concern to you.” He turns his nose up, eyes narrowing. “My plans are my own. Not yours.”
“Well it clearly involves me.” Cal’s expression is flat. Blank. Annoyingly so. “So I’d like to know.”
The air thickens around the boy, latches around his throat and squeezes tight until his hands snap up to grab at it. He gags on nothing, face wringing out into a paleness that passes his own natural one, a light purple tint creeping through his flesh as the oxygen is cut away instantly.
Maul breathes a sigh of satisfaction. Oh, how peaceful it is. The fear that punctures through that light facade, spreading itself through the ship like a fatal disease.
He drops his hand. The boy falls again, spluttering wildly, coughing out as he cups the sensitive tissue around his trachea. His body sinks into the seat as he falters, struggling to regain his composure again quickly.
The fear lingers, with every weary glance and uncomfortable swallow from Cal. It reminds the sith of the looks he’d given to the clones, uncertain, waiting for them to attack at any given moment. He wonders why. What would cause a jedi padawan to fear the jedi’s own soldiers?
“Is your master Sidious?” The boy manages to catch Maul off guard.
He pauses, and then his eyes widen just slightly. “How do you,” His nose crinkles, “Know about Sidious?”
The boy’s lips curl up at their corners, the wild thumping of his heart beating loud enough for even Maul to pick up as the tenseness of the room heightens to a peak. He breathes a heavy exhale that borders a laugh, or scoff, and then coughs again, his throat sounding like it’s been ground away with a grater.
Chapter 3: Anger.
Chapter Text
Cal could feel the way his skin bristled in crawling discomfort, like bugs running across its surface, legs tickling and scurrying as they went. Rage poured through his gut, a tidal wave that kept gushing out, crashing down and then building up again all to crash down after.
His fingers pressed down against the ground, feeling the dirt caked across its surface. With a thump in the distance, his head snapped up, legs rattling as they spurred into motion, metal pieces carrying him along, creaking as they threatened to give out.
There were eight, each one old and rusted, weakened over time. Rage spat itself out again at the acknowledgment, the only thing clear enough in his hazy mind to feel.
Suffering. Hate. Suffer, suffer, hate.
Maul.
Abandoned by his master, broken in the dark and left to rot away like nothing. One of his legs crumpled and he snapped his teeth, leaning with an ungraceful flop, like a falling corpse, to bang his hand against it until it crunched back into place with a groan.
His hands followed the dirt, feeling around for a broken handle tucked into it. The metal was cool to the touch as he found it, yanking it out to brush away the mud smeared over its surface.
The lightsaber lit up with a humming red.
Cal had woken up and gagged on the air, tucked away on a ship he’d never seen before.
-
Maul has more problems than most troubled people Cal has met, which is saying a lot if you include every corrupted person in his visions. Without even knowing half of it, the padawan can tell that there’s so much more than meets the eye. That being said, it’s difficult to care when he’s being taunted every living moment, forced to duel at the threat of being struck down, and consistently talked to like he’d ever actually care about the dark side.
His throat still burns from Maul’s little stunt in the cockpit, bruised around its sides in purple patches, like spilled ink in the shape of fingers. There’s a matching mark on his cheek from when he’d refused to spill how he’d known about Sidious.
A small sigh. He curls up further on the bunk, a ratty blanket pulled over his torso. It’s cold in space, and the ship’s heating system’s less than decent.
How does he get out of this? He’s spent a whole week on this ship, and he still doesn’t have an answer. His tracker’s gone, his master systems away, and he doesn’t even know where he is. They haven’t landed once!
The door slides open with a harsh drag. “Get your things and pack them.” Yellow eyes stare through Cal’s. “We are landing.” He tosses a thin satchel onto the bunk.
With a flinch, the boy freezes. Landing? That’s… both news that helps his hope flicker back into existence, but also deeply worrying. Wherever this man is taking him, is somewhere he does not want to be. But it’s also an opportunity to try and find a method of contact, or a place to run away.
The sith disappears into the rest of the ship, and Cal climbs off the bunk, wearily preparing himself for the next step in Maul’s (likely) horrific plans. He grabs his meagre belongings - ones that he’s collected around the ship (tools, mostly) and ones he had on his person before he was taken (small trinkets tucked away in his belt).
On the shelf to the left, Cal reaches up to grab the metallic hilt of his own lightsaber, holding it in hand as he steps out of the cramped room (box). It’s odd, but Maul has let him keep it rather than hiding it. Something about being unable to catch the sith off guard and anger and all that stuff.
And then it’s snatched up in a clean motion, tattooed hand wrapped around the thing. Maul watches as he silently works to cloak his mild annoyance, smoothing his expression out into something more neutral. “I’ll be holding this while we are on planet.”
“Why?” He holds back a sneer. “I thought you could handle me even with the saber.”
The Zabrak huffs a low laugh. “Because I don't trust you not to light it.” He grabs the boy’s sleeve, tucking the saber on his belt next to his own, and pulling him along. “And get yourself killed.”
Cal’s questions about why it would get him killed are completely ignored, as he’s dragged toward the cockpit. “Why would I be killed?”
Maul sits him down in the corner. “Stay there.” He settles down in the front, clicking buttons on the panels and preparing to land as they dive down towards the atmosphere of the… moon?
Leaning back in the seat, Cal blows a breath out, hair flicking up from its place on his forehead. What a joke. Killed? Over what? Being a jedi? Where the hell are they that he’d be killed for that? Somewhere awful, obviously. Clearly there is more to worry about than to be hopeful for.
When they do land, Cal jolts when an arm wraps around his shoulder, more controlling than assuring. It guides him out the cockpit, towards the ramp that opens at the rear end of the small ship. Maul leans his head further down to speak lowly, “You’ll be better off if you don’t go spilling that you were Kenobi’s little padawan.” He spits the word like a curse.
There are mandalorians outside the ship.
Mandalorians. Outside the ship.
Mandalorians.
Maul is crazy. He must be insane, surely. Because those Mandalorians are blue armoured, fully equipped warriors who are eyeing him like they’d slit his throat the moment he glanced the opposite way.
Maybe Cal’s remembering incorrectly, but he’s fairly certain this is a literal terrorist mandalorian group too, a splinter that he vaguely remembers having a name he’d once snorted at for being too on the nose. Who calls themselves something death related when they don’t want to be seen as terrorists?
It had been funny then. It’s not funny now.
He makes a noise of discomfort when Maul pinches his arm, watching as a single man steps forward from the group.
“I was concerned when I got your communication.” His voice echoes out from behind the helmet’s metal. “It could have been a trap, for all I knew, but I chose to make a gamble. I’d like to hope that I was right to do that.” His hand hovers over the blaster on his belt.
There’s a saber on his belt. A saber.
Maul’s voice curls, rich and powerful, “I was honest. I have my own goals, as you have yours, and working together against a common enemy, is better than working alone to fail.” His arm slides down from Cal’s shoulder.
The man seems to contemplate for a moment, silent. Then, “Who have you brought with you?”
“My apprentice.” The sith sighs, “I assure you, he is of no concern. He’s only beginning to grow into his position, but he is strong.” His eyes burn a deep gold.
Cal swallows, palms sweating at his sides, satchel hanging over his shoulder, a small wrench peeking out its top. He nods.
-
Mandalorians suck. These ones, at least. As they’d been guided inside of a tent to talk ‘privately’ with the leader of the bunch, at least two mandalorians had shoulder-barged him, four others had spat at his feet, and six others had pointed blasters at him.
Yeah, Cal now understands why Maul had confiscated his lightsaber even if he’s unhappy about it. With how jumpy he is, it would be no surprise if he’d grabbed it on instinct and accidentally revealed himself a jedi instead of a sith apprentice. Not ideal. Especially considering the fact that he thinks Master Kenobi has had some involvement in Mandalore’s whole… political life recently.
They’d probably flay him alive and send his body back to Kenobi if they knew.
The thought makes his stomach churn as he sits awkwardly beside Maul while he discusses future arrangements with the mandalorian leader, whose helmet is now resting on the desk, face thin and sharp. His brows are furrowed deeply, fair haired, with sharp blue eyes that stare through Maul like he’s analysing the fastest way to rip off his limbs.
“You do not have the manpower to take control of Mandalore.” Maul’s voice curls. “Or you’d have done it already.” His fingers tap.
Pre Vizsla folds his arms, leaning back a little. “…You never really explained what you wanted. You’re not jedi, so what are you?” His lips purse.
“Sith.” His eyes burn.
“Do you know Dooku?” Cal watches the man’s shoulders pinch up just slightly, barely noticeable. He sees Maul’s eyes fix on the movement as well. “I thought there could only be a master and apprentice.”
Maul’s lips peel back into a sneer. “I do not serve anyone. We are the true lords of the sith. Dooku will perish soon, and…” His eyes unfocus. He breathes in deeply, uncomfortably long. “Well. A concern for another time.”
There’s contemplation there. A minute curl to the lips. “Get these two set up. I believe we have much to discuss over the next few days.”
The mandalorian to his side nods, her helmet still disguising her own face as she gestures for them to stand and follow. In rigid motion, she leads them out the tent with once last glance at her leader, and a hand on her own blasted, as though it means anything to the darksider who’s dragging Cal along on this ridiculous mission.
As they’re led further into the camp, Cal tenses more and more, noticing that it gets more heavily guarded as they go. Finally, the woman gestures to the entrance to a single tent, surrounded by mandalorians loitering over chairs, leaning against posts, watching. “All yours.”
When they’re hidden away inside, the boy turns to the sith, face twisting. “Are you insane? You really brought me here? They’ll kill me.”
“Have some respect.” Maul grabs his shoulder, eyes sharpening. “I am your master now. They won’t kill you for that. Let go of your filthy jedi ways and you’ll be just fine. Allow yourself to be free.”
“You-“ His lips purse. “I’ll pass on that. But I’ll play your little game.” The boy steps forward, tossing his bag down on his makeshift bunk. “For now.”
“We shall see.”
-
“Parry.” Maul commands as his saber slashes down in a sudden burst.
Cal barely snaps his own up in time to catch the plasma from burning straight through his head. Sparring has become a routine, much to his dismay. If he doesn’t want to be sliced in two, he has to work, and to be honest, at least he’s picking up bits and pieces. Unfortunately, Maul isn’t an awful teacher, for combat at least.
It helps Cal get into the rhythm of fighting, feeling the way it matches how he’d seen himself react in that far away vision of a different future, battling darksiders and defeating them in duels.
Except Cal can’t defeat this darksider in any duel. He can only try not to be killed.
The red saber jabs out for Cal’s gut and he hops to the side, barely avoiding the heat, flicking his own blade up to skim Maul’s forearm, of which is outstretched. But the sith simply weaves away. “You’re not trying hard enough. Use your emotion.”
Breathing in a deep sigh, Cal’s nostrils flare a little wider as he tries to ignore the useless advice. All great for a sith, but as much as he’s pretending to be one to the murderous armoured warriors they’re hitching rides with, he isn’t one. He’s a jedi at core. Nothing, and no one, will change that.
His saber clashes with red, a small grunt slipping as his legs buckle under the force of Maul’s forceful attack. Cal tries to push back, but ultimately his only option is to dart to the side quickly, which he does, before going back on the offensive. He steps forward with a swing, to be blocked, and then another.
The blades clash over and over in a continuous loop until it seems Maul gets sick of waiting and simply… flicks Cal’s lightsaber away with an ease he hadn’t expected. It’s gone, clattering away to the side like it hadn’t even been in his hand.
“I told you to try harder.” Maul grates out between his teeth.
Cal stares at the hilt rolling across the ground. His lips purse, shoulders sinking down slowly. It was that easy, too easy.
A palm sends his head cracking to the side, eyes blinking out spots of black as he stumbles. He snaps, “What was that for? I’m doing what you wanted. I’m sparring.”
“I told you to listen.” The dark sider’s lips pull back into a sneer, teeth sharp as they peak through the open gap. “You didn’t.” His lightsaber turns off with a short gush, red light dissipating into the hilt.
The room’s suddenly darker. Cal can’t quite see everything there, Maul blending in with the shadows around him. He winces, hand cupping his temple, pressing there to feel where there’ll soon be a bruise forming. It stings. “You said to use my emotion but I don’t have any.”
There is no emotion, there is only the force.
“Only fools believe that.” A hand wraps around a large tuft of his hair, yanking it up. Cal cringes at the feeling. “You are lying to yourself, boy. Every living moment you believe that you don’t feel a thing, you live in delusion. Look at yourself.” He lets go. Cal breathes out a sigh of relief. “You’re pathetic.” Maul slaps the boy again.
Cal hisses out lowly at the pain. “Can you stop it?” His fingers reach to cup his cheek.
“Then pick up your saber, and try again.”
-
Maul’s grandiose plan is one that Cal’s barely even allowed to hear. He knows it involves crime syndicates, Mandalore, and a way to lure Master Kenobi, but he has no idea how it’s meant to slot together.
After all, Maul doesn’t want him knowing everything in case he somehow manages to slip away, not that he could, oh the sith has ensured that by sending them straight into the jaws of jedi enemies. If he even tried to escape, they’d know he wasn’t actually Maul’s apprentice, and he’d be tracked and killed before he could try to make it away.
That, and they’re barely on planet anyway. Cal isn’t. He’s forced to hide away in his cramped little room, on a bunk that’s too small to be properly comfortable, and doesn’t interact with many others besides Maul.
It’s suffocating.
He dreams of death: of clones shooting his master; Bode betraying him; his teammates spewing blood; Cere’s body left to grow cold. He wakes in a reality that’s just as eerie, with nowhere to escape it.
With every single sting on his skin, and every moment left to hide in the dark, Cal knows, he knows, that he’s rotting. He’s felt rot before. He feels it in those dreams, where Bode betrays, where he reaches into that void growing in his gut.
Maul is right about one thing: Cal is a liar.
He grinds his teeth together, panting loudly as sweat drips down his forehead, hair slapped flat on his head. Pulling his blanket off, he shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes to try to wipe away the images still behind them. His fingers press harder.
Go away. Enough of this. This is what Maul wants. He can’t doubt himself.
Besides, Cal isn’t the future. He isn’t every messed up possibility of what could be. The proof is the fact that so much is different already than he’d seen. Nothing is concrete and Cal doesn’t have to become this wretched concoction of pain that Maul is so determined to try and see.
Misery is no ambition, not to Cal.
He wipes his face with his shirt’s bottom, shaking off the lingering unease still lurking. Sliding out of the bunk, he breathes in quietly, crouching into a sit on the uncomfortable flooring. His legs cross, hands resting on his knees.
Cal thinks about the room on the Negotiator, breathing in time with Master Kenobi. It had been simple, peaceful.
Bright.
But when Cal lets himself melt into the force like a comfortable bed, he’s met with a charcoal dark that threatens to wrap him up to squeeze the life out of rather than warm. He flinches back, shoulders pinching up, however he breathes in, sifting through his thoughts carefully.
Just breathe. Take it slow, and work through your feelings. They aren’t all bad, you know?
Master Kenobi had been nice, in the time Cal was with him. Understanding too. For a jedi, the man seemed to care more than most, even while keeping himself clear minded.
“Your meditation does little to help with your distress.” Maul’s voice drawls from the doorway, as he leans against it, arms folded.
Eyes snapping open, Cal exhales sharply. “I thought you would let me rest tonight. You said you would.”
“I lied.” His lips curve into a smirk. “No jedi tricks will help with it, you know. You stink of fear. That’s something that won’t just… go away.” A scoff. “Even if you want it to.”
“I forgot you know everything.” Cal’s eyes close again as he focuses on his breathing. “I should ask you next time for tips on how to tame dragons and milk banthas.” He sighs, shoulders slowly sinking.
The sith stares at him blankly. “You cover up your troubles with unfunny jokes that will make your time as my apprentice much more difficult for you.” His eyes narrow. “If you’re so eager to ask for more time with your hands cuffed to the ceiling, I would be happy to oblige.”
“No need.” Cal’s lips purse. “I enjoy having my feet on the ground.” His brows furrow further.
Within this long (he’s not actually sure how long) while he’s been stuck travelling with Maul, the man has taken it upon himself to attempt to push Cal further into whatever darkness he believes he can make. He suspects it’s actually been methods taken from his own training, considering the knowledge that Vader had tortured Inquisitors to cause their suffering and hate.
It’s unfortunate though. For Cal, that is. His body aches.
“…You know,” There’s a hum of contemplation from the sith, “I understand that you can’t see through my eyes just yet, but you will. You will some day. The jedi order is flawed. Your teachings are smeared through time and twisted into something they had never meant to be.” His eyes flick down to the boy’s meditating position. “They are soldiers, generals and commanders, rather than peace keepers. Isn’t that amusing?”
“No.” The padawan responds quietly. “It isn’t.”
“Really?” Maul feigns shock, eyes widening. “It isn’t amusing? That the jedi order is so misguided that they can’t even see what is right in front of their eyes?” He laughs lowly, the sound catching in his throat and echoing out through the constricted room. “Come on, use your common sense. The jedi are losing their touch.”
His shoulders are beginning to tense up once again. He forces them to smooth out. “It’s war. You expect them to plan around Sidious, as well as the Separatists when the Senate also hates them?”
“They’re jedi. They should be able to do so, no? They’re defenders of the Galaxy.” The Zabrak manages to sound so smugly sarcastic in the worst of ways.
“Sure.” Cal’s fingers tap. “It’s totally their job to run the republic’s war. I forgot about that.”
A pause. “Every jedi who dies lets the galaxy see their weakness even further. They can’t keep themselves stable anymore. They will die and they will be replaced, as all weakness is eventually.”
Cal’s lips twitch, but he breathes in deeply, focusing on the way the oxygen travelling through his body feels, how it disperses and shifts. “They are not weak. They’re distracted and they have lower numbers with being spread thin across the entire galaxy.”
A bang of his hand on the door’s button as he steps in. It slams shut behind him with a slide. “Distracted by their own ignorance, yes. Of course they are. A jedi’s fatal flaw,” Maul steps further in, “Is their lack of ability to acknowledge the truth.”
Unspoken words. Ones he’s said thousands of times at this point, but right now, manages to say in an even more ridiculous way.
“I’m not afraid!” Cal snaps, eyes opening as he hits his hands against his knees once. “I don’t have anything to be afraid of. I know enough to fix everything, so I’m not afraid! Stop acting like I have as many issues as you, or any other weak minded darksider out there! I’m not you! I’m not Vader! I’m not-!”
Bode.
He catches himself, breathing in deep sucks of air, hand clutching at his chest. Dread seeps through his body, leaching away at the bubbling hope that still tries to burst its way back through the flesh. It absorbs every spec of ignorant haze there and swallows it whole, flooding him with startling clarity.
Cal’s failing. The rot is there, still an empty vacancy that seems to open its jaws and eat whatever steps close enough inside him.
He’s losing.
“Good.” Maul, for the first time, sounds pleased, a hand laying on Cal’s shoulder. “I want to see more of that.”
The boy’s stomach turns upside down.