Chapter Text
Obi-Wan had what the adults around him all called “visions,” and he hated them. But that just made him feel guilty about it, because the new adults in the strange clothes around him all said that they weren’t supposed to hate.
But… it was so hard not to dread the visions, it was so hard not to scream when they tried to convince him to sleep, wailing wordlessly at them in protest, because he didn’t know yet how to tell them what he saw every night. But it was always one of the same few dreams.
Sometimes, there was fire all around him, and the terrible smell of burning flesh, and someone he loved was dying, but even though Obi-Wan was standing there, burning up inside with love and grief and crushing sadness, the person he loved was hurling hate back at him, and pain, and terrifying rage, and even though Obi-Wan was burning on the inside, he knew they were burning up for real.
Sometimes, the Temple—his new home, Mama and Papa had said before handing him to a weird-looking man with fur all over his body and a sash over him—was smoking, and there were people everywhere, lying on the floor, perfectly still. They weren’t even breathing.
Sometimes, he was on a battlefield, and he felt his own desperation and determination and focus as he tried to save as many of his men as he could, and his men were in strange white armor, making them faceless, but he somehow knew that under it, they would all have the same face.
Sometimes, he was alone, in a vast desert, living in a little hovel, and he knew he was still a Jedi just as surely as he knew there was no more Jedi Order. There was only a crushing sense of grief and loneliness, tempered by the faintest spark of hope. And Obi-Wan knew he was old, in the desert, because his hair was white and his joints hurt the way his Gramma had always complained about, and she was the oldest person Obi-Wan knew, he thought.
As awful as they all were, Obi-Wan preferred the last one, because at least it was calmer, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief as he found himself sitting just outside his little hovel. It was night, at least, so he didn’t have to feel the blistering heat of the two suns, and—
Obi-Wan blinked as he realized two things: he didn’t feel old, this time, he just felt like himself. And he wasn’t alone.
There was a man standing a few feet away, in armor that looked almost like the white armor he saw his men wearing when he dreamt of war and Jedi Generals, but his was black, and it looked heavier, and he was wearing a red cape. As the man turned to him, Obi-Wan also realized he had one of those swords on his hip—a lightsaber, he corrected himself, his creche Master had taught him that was called a lightsaber—and the symbol of the Jedi on his helmet and chestplate.
Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet and bowed clumsily, the way the Masters had shown him, and the man bowed his head in return. “Hi, Master.”
“Su cuy’gar, adiik.” His voice was low and deep. Obi-Wan liked the sound of it, even if he didn’t understand what he said. The man took a few more steps, tilting his head, and Obi-Wan wished he could see his face—
The man’s helmet disappeared, then, and Obi-Wan blinked at the man, who studied him in return. The Master was just as expressionless as the rest of the Jedi, with dark hair and bright yellow-green eyes with no pupils at all. There was a sort of green tinge to his skin, too.
“Um, Master?” The man hummed, acknowledging that he was listening, but said nothing. Obi-Wan squirmed. “What are you?”
The man chuckled, and odd low rumble. “I carry Taung blood, in my line.”
“What’s a Taung?”
The man waved a hand. “Another time. I sense you are weary.”
“Wha’s that?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Tired.”
“Oh. I don’t sleep so good,” Obi-Wan admitted, hanging his head and biting his lip, squirming again with anxiety.
The Master hummed again, and then shook his head slowly. “Nayc, you do not. But fear not, dral’adiik. I shall guard your dreams tonight.” The man came close and rested a large, gentle hand on the top of Obi-Wan’s head, and then—
“Wake up, Obi! We don’t wanna miss the sweet rolls!”
He blinked his eyes open, and he was in the creche. Quinlan was leaning over him, and Obi-Wan was so excited when he realized he hadn’t had nightmares last night that he forgot to be annoyed that the older boy didn’t finish his whole name.
The strange Master in his dream was forgotten as he processed the promise of sweet rolls for breakfast, and he scrambled to get out of bed, pouting as Quinlan laughed when Obi-Wan got tangled in his sheets in his rush not to miss out. He knew Reeft would eat them all if he didn’t get there fast enough, so he didn’t protest when Quinlan grabbed his hand and made him run towards the creche cafeteria.
Obi-Wan knew his creche Master—a lady named Shari-Ta, who was nice (although she didn’t quite make up for not having Mama with him), and had pretty green skin and something called lekku hanging down her back from her head instead of hair—was relieved that he went to sleep without screaming about it the next night. He felt bad, because he knew he was being difficult, but he’d just been so scared going to sleep.
But he wasn’t, tonight. Somehow, he knew the Master who guarded him the night before would be back, and everything was going to be okay.
He was right. Obi-Wan knew he was asleep and dreaming, even though everything around him felt so real. And he wasn’t in the desert, or on a battlefield, or even in the ruined Temple with everyone else gone. He somehow just knew he was in the Temple’s training rooms, but they didn’t look like he remembered them from the tour he’d been given, though he was still too little to train in them himself. The Jedi symbol was on the walls in white, and the walls looked like they were made of actual wood panels, and the floor was wood too, and not metal, and the whole room was bright with actual sunlight, and—
There was the Master, sitting in front of him. He waved a hand, and Obi-Wan bowed and then sat.
“This doesn’t look like the Temple. But it feels like it,” Obi-Wan said slowly. The Master hummed, blinking those yellow-green eyes at him again.
“It is the Temple as I knew it, long ago,” the Master said.
“How long?” Obi-Wan asked, even though he had a feeling it was a really, really long time ago. Maybe even ten whole years—that was a really long time!
“Well over one thousand years ago,” the Master answered, and Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide.
“I… I don’t even know how much that is,” Obi-Wan said, looking down at his hands. His own age he could count on just three of his fingers.
The Master laughed, a strange sound, low and chattering, but Obi-Wan liked the sound of that, too, and he smiled. “It is a very long time.” Obi-Wan nodded. “How old are you, dral’adiik?”
“‘M three,” Obi-Wan said, holding up the appropriate number of fingers. The Master nodded. “Uh. Wha’s your name?”
“I am Tarre Vizsla,” the man introduced himself, bowing his head. Obi-Wan nodded back. “But you may call me Ba’ji.”
“Wha’s that mean?”
“It is our word for ‘Master.’ It is a shortened form of Ba’jur’alor.”
“Uh.” Obi-Wan floundered for a moment, trying to remember that word, but gave up. “Okay, Ba’ji.”
Ba’ji nodded at him in approval, and Obi-Wan smiled. “You require help that none of your Masters have yet given you. Rest, and I will help you to protect your mind, to lessen the impact of your visions. They are gift from the Force, and must be heeded, but you are too young yet for them. When you are older, we will work through them. Together.”
“Okay,” Obi-Wan agreed. He didn’t understand what Ba’ji was going to do, but he knew that he was going to help him with the bad dreams that everyone called visions, and so he agreed eagerly. And having Ba’ji guard his dreams last night had been so nice—he’d woken up without really getting a chance to dream anything, and he’d felt like he had more energy than he had in a long time, maybe ever.
“Rest now, dral’adiik. The Force is with you, and all will be well.”
It was a relief to everyone in the creche when Initiate Kenobi suddenly began sleeping better. He was a sweet boy, during the day, but an absolute terror when it came time to go to sleep. Shari-Ta couldn’t blame him, knowing what awaited him in his dreams; the visions he saw often woke him up screaming, both aloud and into the Force. And they most certainly were visions—they could all tell from the way the Force swirled around him in his sleep, heavy with possibility.
Shari-Ta was pleased to advise the Council that he had stopped waking them all up with his terrified sobbing and wailing, and they all agreed that it must be the effusive Light and peace of the Temple that had helped him, and they thought no more about it.
Nine years later
There was something… strange about Initiate Kenobi.
All of the Masters knew it. It was readily apparent just from watching him. The boy was a terror with a lightsaber, and his hand-to-hand was… surprisingly good, given that few Jedi placed an emphasis on it.
And his presence… Sometimes, it was as if they were seeing double when they peered at him through the Force. There was Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi youngling, with his promise of future power and skill, and then, at times, there seemed to be… something else. Another presence, half-fused with his own, and that of a seasoned Master, though it was clearly not Obi-Wan. Not that any of them knew what to do with that information.
It was baffling, and gave many of them headaches. Still, they could sense the Light in him—even though he seemed so… aggressive, at times, and too meek at others. And so they left it alone, trusting that his creche Master, the Council, and whatever Master took him as a Padawan would train him well.
Obi-Wan couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had his Ba’ji. He could vaguely remember how he used to only see the man in his dreams, although now, he could hear him even when he was awake. He didn’t see him, as such, when he was awake, but he could feel him nearby, in the Force, and occasionally speaking up, though he spoke to Obi-Wan alone. It had been awkward, at first, until he learned not to respond out loud, at least not in front of anyone.
It was… comforting. Grounding.
And Force, how Obi-Wan wished Ba’ji could be his real Master.
“But I want you,” Obi-Wan had complained mulishly. Ba’ji had simply shaken his head.
“I will not leave you, ner dral’kad’ika,” Ba’ji had said simply. Obi-Wan, as always, beamed at the nickname: bright little sword. “But I cannot give you a bond. We are not on the same plane of existence, though I am able to cross over.”
Obi-Wan sighed. Sometimes, it was just so inconvenient that Ba’ji was dead, and had been for a long time. Now, he was running out of time to find a living Master, and Master Yoda said he was going to be sent to the AgriCorps, of all places.
“If I leave the Temple, will you be able to go with me?” Obi-Wan had asked Ba’ji, who huffed.
“Time and space mean little in the Force, Ob’ika,” the man had said flatly. “Of course I will go with you. But be at peace: the Force has a plan for you. The path will be hard, but you will be a Jetii. Now, show me your Soresu again. Begin with the first kata.”
Somewhere along the line, Obi-Wan had stopped simply blacking out until morning, and Ba’ji had started training him. They had started with shields, so that the Force wouldn’t overwhelm him in his sleep, and after that, lightsaber training, and hand-to-hand combat. Obi-Wan always remembered every dream in the morning, though he still woke just as rested as he had when he would simply become unaware of anything, so he had few complaints.
And it made him so much better. Already, Obi-Wan realized that he was better than the others in his lightsaber classes, and he could beat some Padawans in hand-to-hand. Though Ba'ji wasn't much help in his political or history classes, since his knowledge of the now was limited to what Obi-Wan was able to tell him, he still sat with him and patiently talked him through the basic concepts until he understood.
Ba'ji also never got upset with him when he didn't understand something, and his patience seemed infinite. He was gentle, but firm, and there was an aura of command around him that somehow put Obi-Wan at ease, and made him listen to his Ba'ji.
Frankly, Obi-Wan didn't like thinking about how miserable he would be without him, or how much he would struggle to get everything right without his help.
Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t ever told anyone else about Ba’ji, even when the Masters muttered to each other, wondering how he had learned his katas so quickly, why he was so good at hand-to-hand, employing moves they certainly hadn’t taught him, even when Master Yoda asked where he’d learned to shield the way he did and why he spent so much time practicing with his 'saber.
“The Force still speaks to me in my sleep,” Obi-Wan said, which he knew would ring with truth in the Force, since it was technically true. Master Yoda had hummed, his ears flapping. “It tells me what I need to know.”
“Need you to become a warrior, you believe the Force does?” Master Yoda had asked, his gaze heavy and piercing. It didn’t bother Obi-Wan, not anymore—no one held a candle to the intensity Ba’ji had about him, not even Master Yoda.
“The Force shows me a war,” Obi-Wan explained slowly, choosing his words carefully. “And then how to survive it.”
Master Yoda had hummed. “Restful, your sleep now seems.”
Obi-Wan had nodded. “Whatever I see, the Force is always there.” Ba’ji was always there, as a matter of fact. Sometimes, he instructed Obi-Wan to let down his shields as he slept, to let the visions through, and they were still Dark, and still terrifying, but Ba’ji was always there, at his side, and after, he comforted Obi-Wan, and then they discussed what it meant, and how he could prepare himself if that future came to pass.
“Trust the Force much, you must, to rest well in the face of such Darkness,” Yoda had said, a hint of a question in his voice. Obi-Wan smiled.
“Even if the Force shows me something Dark, it’s because it wants to prepare me for it. It’s just trying to help,” Obi-Wan repeated what Ba’ji had told him. “And it might not even happen, but it’s better to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”
Master Yoda had smiled back at that and nodded. “Wise you are, youngling.”
“Thank you, Master,” Obi-Wan answered. He huffed a laugh as he felt Ba’ji’s rousing approval in the space just for him in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind.
The Force was with him, and so was his Ba'ji, and all would be well.