Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For one breathless moment, Cal let himself believe they'd done it. Trilla's eyes had softened, the tension in her jaw loosening as she met Cere’s gaze. There was a crack in her armor now, something fragile and human showing through.

Not the Second Sister. Not the Inquisitor. Just Trilla.

Then—

The air thickened, and the metallic rasp of mechanical breathing filled the room. Trilla froze, her mouth parting in a soundless gasp.

Cal stepped back instinctively, his hand tightening around the hilt of his saber, though he somehow knew it wouldn’t matter.

Trilla's face had gone pale. Her fingers trembled as she stared straight ahead, past Cal and Cere. Her lips moved, whispering something Cal couldn’t hear. Maybe a prayer.

Cere stepped in front of him without a word, shielding him with her body, not out of panic, out of instinct .

“That doesn’t look good…”

“It isn’t,” she said flatly, “It’s him .”

The walls seemed to hold their breath as he appeared—rising like a phantom from the upper levels.

Cere was the first to react, her saber ignited with a familiar snap-hiss, and Cal followed, the blue blade trembling faintly in his grip.

Trilla didn’t move. Not even when he dropped down behind her.

There was a pause—just long enough for Cal to hope again.

Maybe she’d turn, fight with them.

Maybe—

“You have failed me, Inquisitor.”

His voice cut through the air like a viroblade. It was filled with hatred, cold, and saturated with despair so deep it felt like a wound in the Force itself.

Cal couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Just watch .

His breath was trapped somewhere in his throat as he watched Vader raise his blade and—

Trilla twisted, dropping to her knees, bowing her head, “He has the ability of Psychometry , my lord.”

Cal’s head snapped toward her in disbelief.

No.

His eyes shifted to Vader next, noting the way the Sith Lord stilled, his blade humming inches from Trilla’s neck. There had only ever been one other documented case of a Jedi to have psychometry—Master Vos. It was powerful,  dangerous, intimate .

Even the Jedi were weary of it. And now?

Vader knew he had it.

Cal’s breath caught in his throat. If Vader got his hands on it… on him…

“Cal, run! ”

Before he could do anything, Cere’s Force slammed into his chest. He stumbled back, feet sliding across the durasteel, “Cere—!”

“ Run, Cal! ” she rushed forward without hesitation, aiming a strike across Vader’s chest, but never connected. With a flick of his hand, Vader sent her flying. She hit the ground hard, rolled once—and popped up swinging, but the red blade that met hers wasn’t Vader’s.

It was Trilla’s—no— The Second Sister’s. Whatever she'd been seconds ago—whatever flicker of the girl Cere had once trained, once loved —she was gone.

Cere moved with grief while Trilla moved like she had nothing left to lose.

The holocron was cold in his hands, humming as Cal backed away slowly, praying he could make it to the exit before—

Vader was in front of him.

Cal raised his hands in a panic and pushed with the Force.

It was like trying to move a mountain, Vader didn’t even flinch , he just lazily swept the push aside like it was nothing—like he was nothing.

Then Vader grabbed him by the front of his poncho and ripped him off his feet. The world tilted violently as Cal’s boots left the ground, his legs flailing as he was hauled up like a child , like prey .

His mind screamed at how wrong it felt, how cold the air was in Vader’s presence, how the dark side clung to him like oil. His helmet was inches from his face now, and even though there were no eyes to meet, Cal could feel the weight of his gaze.

The Force around Vader screamed with ghosts—echoes clawing at Cal’s mind. They scratched against the edge of his psychometry trying to get in.

Don’t touch him.

Don’t open yourself to him.

He was terrified of what might happen if he accidentally touched him. 

BD-1 whimpered as he watched Cal desperately try to pry Vader off, the little droid hunkering down behind his shoulder, trembling visibly, his red sensor lights flickering in distress.

He barely had time to gasp before Vader lifted him higher—and slammed him into the ground with a force that rattled the entire chamber.

The impact was seismic.

Cal’s back hit pure durasteel with a sickening crack, the world shattering around him. His limbs went rigid, a scream ripping through his throat before he could stop it. Somewhere behind him, he thought he heard Cere shout his name—but the sound was distant, drowned beneath the roar of his own pulse.

Move, damn it!

He yelled at himself, blinking through the agony.

Get up!

He tightened his grip on his lightsaber, forcing himself up onto his hands and knees. Vader didn’t move—just stood there, watching with cold amusement, like he was waiting for the fight to bleed out of him.

“You are strong, Padawan,” Vader acknowledged as Cal forced himself to his feet.

Unconsciously, he reached behind him and grabbed the holocron, cradling it to his chest, drawing strength from the subtle warmth of the ancient echoes within. A soft chorus of Jedi voices stirred at the edge of his mind—gentle echoes of the future.

“Give me the holocron.”

It wasn’t a request.

Cal met Vader’s words head-on, blood trailing down the side of his face as he tried to desperately catch his breath, his fingers curling tighter around the small device.

“Never,” he spat.

He could feel the lives inside, every single child .

Children who didn’t even know they were being hunted .

He tightened his grip around the holocron, heart hammering as he gave a small, resolute nod. Then, without hesitation, he threw it into the air and brought his lightsaber up in a clean arc—slicing straight through the center.

The ancient device split apart midair with a shower of sparks and a flicker of dying data, the two halves hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

The children—their names, their futures—were no longer tools for the Empire.

They were free now, left to the will of the Force.

Vader growled—a sound so dark and animalistic it didn’t even sound human.

Then Cal’s lungs locked .

His body seized as if struck by lightning, legs kicking out beneath him as invisible hands wrapped around his throat and yanked him into the air.

He couldn’t breathe.

Cal’s hands shot to his neck, clawing at the crushing pressure. His lungs screamed as his vision began to fade, stars dancing across the edge of his vision.

No—no, not like this.

He reached out with the Force, trying to shove Vader back, to do something— anything —to get away, but it was like pushing against a black hole. Vader closed his hand into a fist as Cal twitched, his lightsaber slipping from his hand as a faint, strangled cry escaped him.

There was a frantic tapping against his back.

“B–BD—” Cal rasped, but the name barely made it past his lips. He didn’t even know if he’d said it aloud. The little droid let out a shriek, a high, distorted sound of pure panic as he scanned Cal’s vitals.

He kicked weakly in response before his hands dropped limply to his sides.

BD trilled again, the sound cracking midway like it hurt to make.

Please.

Just when Cal thought that his lungs would finally give out and everything would fade to black—something launched past him in a blur of red and white.

BD-1.

He barely had time to process it before a sharp hiss rang out, metal tearing through metal. BD had leap onto Vader’s chest and sliced through the panel of his suit, causing the man to stumble.

Cal dropped like dead weight, hitting the floor hard.

A flash of pain bloomed across his ribs as he crumpled, a guttural cry tearing from his throat. His body seized, lungs burning as oxygen came in sharp, uneven bursts. He rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach as he tried to breathe through the tremors that racked his body. His throat still felt like it was being squeezed shut, his vision pulsing.

Just… breathe. Just breathe, Cal, breath .

He forced his eyes open.

The first thing he noticed was how everything was tilted—the world spinning beneath him. His head throbbed violently at the base of his skull. He must’ve hit it when he was dropped.

But the second thing—the second thing made his blood run cold.

“BD—?” his voice cracked on the name.

Vader stood there, smoke curling from the sliced panel of his chestplate, holding BD-1 in one massive, gloved hand, gripping him like a piece of scrap metal.

Cal’s breath hitched.

BD’s legs kicked uselessly, his antennae low behind his head, his little frame twitching in panic as he let out garbled, warbling whines.

Vader’s fingers began to tighten.

“No—no, no no no, please—please!” Cal's voice cracked as he lurched forward, hands scrambling against the floor for leverage, “Don’t—don’t hurt him!”

A spark jumped from BD’s casing, his circuits beginning to sputter beneath the pressure.

“Let him go!”

Cal’s scream tore from his throat like something feral. His body moved before his mind could catch up—rage and terror flooding through him like a dam bursting. He slammed a hand forward and released a raw, blistering push through the Force.

The entire chamber shuddered.

Everyone in the room was sent flying.

Everyone but Vader.

From the corner of his eye, Cal saw Trilla crash into the wall with a sickening thud, crumpling to the floor in a heap. Cere was thrown sideways, hitting the ground hard and curling into herself with a groan, hands clutching her head.

Vader only staggered back a step or two, tilting his head, like he was studying some rare and fascinating specimen.

“You have much fear in you, Padawan,” Vader said, almost... amused.

Cal’s hand trembled as he gathered the Force for another strike. He didn’t care what it cost, how deep he was dipping into the dark side. He’d tear this entire room apart if he had to.

Anything to save him.

Before he could gather enough energy, his body was yanked into the air again. The Force wrapped tightly around him, locking his limbs in place. At least this time, he could breathe—

His eyes locked onto BD-1, still trapped in Vader’s fist, choking as more sparks flared across BD-1’s battered frame.

“Please—please don’t—” Cal begged, voice cracking.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip, the taste of blood grounding him for half a second before Vader’s low, mechanical chuckle cut through the room, “You are loyal to this droid.”

It wasn’t really a question.

Just an observation.

“If you cooperate…” Vader murmured, shaking BD, “I will spare the droid.”

Cal’s body trembled where it hovered in the air.

He wanted to scream.

To fight.

To tear Vader limb from limb with nothing but his hands if that’s what it took.

BD let out a small, broken beep, one Cal had never heard before. It wasn’t pain, exactly. It was... fear, and something like an apology.

It broke his heart.

He knew what he was supposed to do.

He completed the mission, destroyed the holocron, saved all those kids… he should let go now. Die here with dignity, like Master Tapal had. He should just let Vader kill him and take comfort in the fact that the Empire would never get what they wanted.

But—

He couldn’t just watch him break his best friend…

“...Okay,” he whispered, dropping his gaze.

BD-1 gave another faint, choked chirp—pained, confused, his antennae twitching. Cal’s eyes welled up, hot tears slipping down his cheeks as he hovered in the air, limp and defeated.

He hated himself, but he couldn’t watch BD die.

"Obedience suits you, Padawan," the mechanical rasp of Vader’s voice was almost gentle. He unclenched his hand, dropping Cal to the ground.

He hit the floor hard, knees nearly giving out—but he stayed upright. His arms trembled as he swayed, trying to steady himself. His lungs burned and his throat ached from the earlier attacks, but still, he refused to fall.

Without a word, Vader extended his saber toward Cal.

“Take it,” he commanded.

Cal’s eyes flicked to the weapon, then back to Vader’s mask, heart hammering in his chest. The saber was practically screaming—violent echoes rippling through the object, begging him to look.

Slowly, he took a step forward, raised his gloved hand, and froze, his muscles trembling uncontrollably.

If Trilla’s saber had ripped him out of the present for hours of torturous memories—then what would Vader’s do to him?

“I… I can’t…” he whispered, voice cracking.

Vader sighed—a slow, mechanical sound that froze all the blood in his body. He shifted his stance, the hiss of his respirator echoing in his ears as he tightened his grip around BD. The little droid squirmed in his grasp, letting out a series of panicked, glitching beeps.

Then Vader twisted his leg.

“No—!” Cal’s voice cracked, the scream bursting from his chest before he even realized it.

His hand shot out instinctively, fingers shaking as he reached for BD-1, for anything , “Please, don’t—!”

He never made it. The Force clamped down on his body like a vice, freezing him mid-reach. He struggled, muscles straining and teeth grinding together, but it was no use—he was locked in place.

The scream BD-1 let out wasn’t mechanical—it was pain . A raw, panicked shriek as Vader hurled him across the chamber like discarded scrap. Cal could only watch, helpless midair, as his droid hit the wall with a brutal, metallic clang that echoed in his head.

BD-1’s tiny frame crumpled against the durasteel.

One of his legs was twisted backward, sparks bursting from his side like blood. He bounced once—twice—and then skidded across the floor before coming to a halt.

“No—!”

His scream didn’t sound human.

It sounded feral .

He fought against the invisible hands holding him in the air, thrashing, teeth clenched, eyes wide with horror, “Please—no no no—”

BD-1 didn’t move.

His antenna twitched once, a faint flicker of light trying to ignite in his lens—then nothing.

Silence.

Cal’s chest started to heave as panic overtook him.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

“I’ll kill you— I swear I’ll kill you! ” Cal screamed, throat torn raw from the force of it. He thrust both hands forward, summoning every last flicker of energy he had left, all the fury, all the agony, all the sheer helplessness and grief surging out of him like a final breath.

The blast hit Vader—but it barely moved him.

The Dark Lord simply lifted a hand and absorbed the brunt of it like it was nothing. 

He was weak.

He was so weak.

Cal sagged in the air, his eyes wet with tears he couldn’t stop, couldn’t hide.

The Sith Lord tilted his head and let out a low, almost amused hum as he slowly turned his hand. Cal’s body twisted in response, rotating in the air.

“ Good, ” Vader said at last, “You are dripping with hatred. With fear .”

He paused, lifting Cal a hint higher so he could gaze up at him like some trophy, “You would be a strong apprentice.”

Cal snarled, a mix between a sob and a growl, fists curling tight at his sides. He hated the way Vader said it—like it was a compliment.

Like it was inevitable.

“You’ll never turn me,” Cal spat, though it lacked power, “I’d rather die. ”

“Perhaps,” he rumbled, “But you are valuable to me regardless. Even broken.”

He stopped spinning him, clasping his hands behind his back, “As a Jedi, you still have many uses. I want to see how far I can push your Psychometry. ”

Kriff, he thought, panic sinking into his chest, he forgot about that—

Cal flinched as Vader raised his saber again, the hilt humming with anticipation. The air around it felt suffocating, buzzing like static against Cal’s skin.

“I’ve read that,” Vader hummed, voice thick with mockery beneath the mechanical snarl of his respirator, “Skin-to-skin contact makes these Echoes stronger. Clearer.”

He turned abruptly and with a flick of his fingers, he ripped Cal’s glove from his hand.

“No—” Cal gasped, immediately trying to pull his hand behind his back, but the Force kept him still. His arms jerked forward, suspended in front of him by the invisible force, palms up.

“Let’s test that, shall we?”

“Please, please don’t— ”

“ Cal! ”

His head whipped toward Cere as she twisted her body and hurled her lightsaber with all her remaining strength. The blade spun in a flash of red, aiming for Vader’s back.

But he was faster.

With a growl, Vader caught the saber midair with the Force and slammed Cere into the floor with a violent push. The impact was brutal. She gasped, curling in on herself—but before she could get up, Vader dragged her up and threw her down again.

And again.

And again.

“ Stop! ” Cal screamed, struggling in the air, “ Cere! ”

She coughed, wheezing, trying to rise—but Vader didn’t let her. His fury was cold and mechanical. He beat her down until her body stopped moving, blood smearing the floor beneath her.

“No—no no please, STOP IT!” Cal sobbed, voice raw.

Vader exhaled, the mechanical rasp of his respirator echoing through the silence.

“There,” he muttered darkly, turning from Cere’s crumpled form without a second glance, as though she were nothing more than a footnote, another failed distraction.

His helmet tilted back toward Cal.

“Now,” he drawled, voice impossibly smooth despite the static hiss, “Where were we?”

The exposed skin of his palms throbbed as Vader stopped less than two feet from him. He was close enough for Cal to feel the low, rumbling hum of the lightsabers hilt as Vader slowly hovered it above his hands.

“Hmm,” Vader breathed, as if savoring the moment, “Let’s see…”

The closer the hilt came to his skin, the louder they screamed.

Cal could feel them—the Echoes . Voices from the dead, from the dying, from the broken souls who had perished beneath the weapon.

They clawed through his mind, each one dragging icy fingers across his thoughts, whispering, shrieking, begging .

“No—” he gasped, “Stop, stop—please—”

The saber hilt moved just inches from his outstretched palms when his vision fractured into shards—snapshots of battles he’d never fought, of Jedi falling, of blood sizzling. His whole body jerked violently as he cried out, teeth gritted against a scream that still tore its way out of him.

Then, mercifully, the hilt drew back.

Vader observed him in silence for a beat, head tilted slightly, “Fascinating,” he murmured, “You can feel them without even touching the object…”

Cal was shaking so hard his arms trembled in the air, still held out by the Force like an offering.

He tried to turn his head, to pull his gaze away from the black-gloved hand and the hilt it carried—but Vader didn’t let him.

“No…” Cal choked, “Please, don’t—don’t make me—”

But Vader wasn’t listening. He lowered the saber again, seeing how close he could bring the metal to Cal’s skin before he felt the echoes.

Cal writhed helplessly, his whole body jerking as he screamed again—desperate and ragged.

“Get it away from me! Please, I’ll do anything just—just stop—!”

The saber drifted closer, then back again.

Closer.

Then away.

Vader was mapping his limits, like a scientist dissecting a specimen too valuable to kill. Each pass of the hilt sent fresh Echoes screaming through Cal’s head—memories that weren’t his, pain that wasn’t his, but felt like it was carved into his bones.

Eventually, the hilt pulled away.

His body sagged and his eyes fluttered shut. Sweat dripped from his lashes as his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps.

He didn’t even realize Vader had stepped away until the silence became too loud.

He tried to listen for footsteps, breathing, something —but all he heard was the echo of his own blood pounding in his ears. His fingers twitched, palms still open where the Force had frozen them.

Then he heard the sound of servos whirring. Limbs shifting.

No. No, no no—

Cal’s head snapped up just as Vader returned into view, and in his gloved hands, pinched between dark fingers like a toy, was BD-1.

“ Don’t, ” Cal rasped.

Vader turned BD over slowly, rotating the droid with casual interest, “Such a shame, really,” he mused aloud, “Explorer models are quite valuable. Capable of storing high volumes of information, highly mobile, and rather… persistent. They tend to be quite loyal, don’t they?”

“ Put him down! ” Cal shouted, or tried to—his voice came out hoarse and desperate, edged with a fury that trembled with fear.

Vader turned his gaze to him.

“At ease, Padawan,” he said smoothly, not a hint of concern in his tone, “Your little friend is unharmed. His memory banks remain untouched—for now.”

Cal bared his teeth, “ Don’t touch him. ”

All he could do was watch , paralyzed in the Force, powerless as Vader examined the droid like a predator deciding whether or not the creature in his hand was worth devouring. Every second BD spent in his grip felt like another blade sliding between Cal’s ribs.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cal whispered, voice catching on a sob he barely held back, “Please… he’s not part of this. Just let him go.”

“And yet,” Vader mused, turning BD slowly, “He seems to matter a great deal to you. Curious, isn’t it—what weakness can do to a Jedi. How easily attachments can become weapons.”

This wasn’t about power.

It was about control.

Vader didn’t just want to break him.

He wanted to show Cal exactly how helpless he was—and he knew exactly how to do it.

The droid was lifted into the air with a flick of the Sith’s fingers and gently— too gently—set down a few meters away within view. Cal’s gaze snapped to him instantly.

“BD…” he whispered.

The relief shattered the moment the droid tried to move. His leg jerked, stuttering with a pathetic whine of stripped servos, and a fresh shower of sparks sputtered from the bent joint. The droid keeled slightly, barely able to shift.

Cal whimpered.

His best friend.

Hurt.

Just because he had been too weak to just do as he was told.

“Look at him,” Vader said quietly, stepping up to him, “So fragile.”

Cal clenched his jaw.

“The dark side,” he continued, circling him, “Is more powerful than you’ve been told. It protects those you care about. It gives you the strength to change fate… to heal what would otherwise be lost.”

Cal squeezed his eyes shut.

“No—”

“Wouldn’t you use it?” Vader asked, now directly behind him, “To save those you loved? Your Master. Your friends. Your poor droid. You would have, if you had the power. If you let yourself. ”

“I will never turn,” Cal growled, “You won’t break me.”

“You will,” Vader hummed, his voice low and disturbingly calm as he came back into view, “Just as I once did.”

Cal blinked, confused, lips parting in shock, “You were… a Jedi?” he concluded.

He’d assumed—but he’d never let himself believe it. That this towering figure, this monster, this thing that had hunted down survivors like animals—was one of them once. Cal stared at him, numb, heart racing.

If he could fall… if someone strong enough to become that could be broken by grief and fear—

Then what chance did he have?

Before Cal could even process Vader’s words—before he could dare ask the questions clawing at the edges of his mind—the Sith Lord stepped forward, raising the saber hilt again.

“No—don’t—!” Cal’s voice cracked as the weapon hovered over his open palms, every inch closer making his chest seize in panic. He twisted violently against the Force that bound him, his legs kicking out like he could somehow tear free.

“Please—”

Vader dropped the saber into his bare hands, and the world shattered.

~/~

Cal was ripped from the present, yanked from his body like a ragdoll as the Echoes consumed him whole. He landed hard, sprawling onto soft grass, and the first thing he noticed was the smell of flowers.

Sweet.

Comforting.

For a second, he thought maybe it wasn’t so bad. A woman was running toward him, laughing as if the galaxy itself hadn’t broken yet. Her smile was warm, familiar—Cal didn’t even know her, but it made his chest ache like he should.

But then the flowers wilted.

The warmth faded, and the galaxy burned.

Cal blinked, and now he was sitting beside the Chancellor, the man’s honeyed voice washing over him like a toxin. His hands—Vader’s hands—were folded neatly in his lap. He could feel the weight of every word seeping into his bones, twisting his thoughts into something sharp and cold.

No… stop, please stop—

Sand suddenly ripped through his lungs.

He was on a desert planet now, the glow of his saber reflecting in terrified eyes as a village screamed around him. They weren’t soldiers—just people. Families. He could feel their fear in the Force as his blade tore through them, cutting them down one by one.

Cal’s chest heaved as the vision shifted.

He stood in the Jedi Temple, the great halls shrouded in smoke as his right hand tightened on his saber as he moved, cutting everyone down.

No—please, not this—

The younglings screamed. Their tiny sabers, their voices, their fear—it was all real. They backed away, begging for their lives, and he— Vader —struck them down without a flicker of remorse.

Cal collapsed inside the vision, clawing at his temples as if he could tear the memories from his skull.

Stop, stop it, stop it please, I can’t—

But the Echoes held him tightly, like they wanted him to see. To feel every second of the agony, the betrayal, and the death this weapon had inflicted.

Then—there was heat.

The ground boiled beneath his feet, lava blistering his skin as he stumbled on a jagged black rock that seemed to have appeared beneath his feet. Fire roared, spitting ash into the air as a lone figure stood on the high ground above him.

Begging.

His voice was hoarse, desperate, pleading with him to come to his senses, “Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine is evil!”

Cal flinched, blinking rapidly as the scene blurred and solidified around him.

“From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!”

A red blade sparked violently against blue.

Cal jerked backward, barely keeping his footing as the Echo pulled him across the planet, his crimson lightsaber striking blow after blow against—

Master Kenobi’s blade?

The realization clawed at his mind, but the vision kept him locked in the moment. Each clash of sabers sent vibrations screaming up his arms, the weight of the fight pressing down on him. Obi-Wan’s face was twisted in grief and determination, sweat and ash streaking his features as he pushed forward with every ounce of strength he had left.

It hit Cal like a gut punch.

Is Vader…?

No. It can’t be.

“It’s over, Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, carrying over the roar of the lava, “I have the high ground!”

Cal’s breath caught.

The other— Anakin —wasn’t listening. His body thrummed with rage, his saber gripped so tightly Cal’s knuckles ached from the strain.

“You underestimate my power!”

He could feel it—the blind, all-consuming anger, the certainty that nothing could stand in his way.

“Don’t try it.”

He— Anakin —launched himself into the air in a desperate, reckless leap, and in that same instant, Obi-Wan’s blade cut through him.

Cal felt every vibration of the saber slicing through his flesh and bones, the shock ricocheting through Anakin’s body. A scream ripped free from his chest, a raw, agonized sound that rattled through Cal’s chest as if it were his own. He crashed to the ground in a heap, three of his limbs severed, the stench of burning flesh thick in the air.

The impact sent him rolling down the blackened slope, closer to the churning river of molten lava below. His remaining arm dug weakly into the gravel, clawing for purchase, but his strength was gone.

Pain and terror were all that was left.

Obi-Wan’s voice cracked through the haze, ragged and filled with anguish.

“YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE!”

Cal flinched.

His breath caught in his throat as the Jedi Master staggered forward, his blue blade still lit, still trembling, “It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them!”

Anakin twisted, eyes wide and bloodshot, face contorted in hatred and despair.

“You were to bring balance to the Force,” Obi-Wan shouted again, the words breaking as his voice rose, “Not leave it in darkness!”

Cal could barely process what he was seeing, what he was feeling .

The pain wasn’t just physical—it was heartbreak. It was betrayal. It was loss . It felt as if Anakin’s soul was being ripped apart.

“AAAAAH! I HATE YOU!!!”

The scream was so sharp, so venomous, that Cal nearly recoiled. He could feel the words pierce through the Force, a blade meant to cut as deeply as possible.

Obi-Wan staggered back, his face crumpling, shoulders shaking with grief.

“You were my brother, Anakin,” he whispered, voice shattering. He took a slow step back, blinking hard as tears blurred his vision.

“I… I loved you.”

~/~

Cal screamed as a wave of dark energy exploded from his core. It crashed outward, throwing dust and debris across the chamber as the Echoes shattered.

He slammed back into his body so hard it left him reeling .

He collapsed to the floor in a shaking heap, lungs gasping for air. His hands clawed at his head, nails scraping against his scalp as though he could dig the memories out, tear them away before they consumed him.

But they didn’t let go.

Every plea, every death, every flash of fire and betrayal was still ripping into his mind. He curled into himself, pulling his knees tight against his chest, sobbing around every desperate inhale, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Stop…” he hiccuped, “Please… stop…”

Cal pressed his forehead against the floor, shaking harder, trying to block everything out, trying to breathe, but all he could feel was despair .

Despair that wasn’t his.

Above him, Vader tilted his helmet.

He had released Cal from the Force the moment the boy touched the saber, letting him drop to the floor as he watched—hands folded behind his back, as he observed Cal’s trembling form.

It was… fascinating.

To watch the Padawan writhe and break, to see the Echoes strip him bare until there was nothing left but agony and fear.

Over an hour had passed before Cal started to move again, a small twitch of his fingers at first, then the tiniest shift of his shoulders. Vader noted it immediately, watching in silence as the boy forced himself to uncurl from the tight ball.

It was agonizing.

Cal felt like every muscle in his body had been shredded and stitched back together wrong, every joint screaming in protest as he straightened his spine.

He blinked hard, trying to clear the blur from his vision when he saw him.

Cal’s chest seized.

Vader.

His tongue felt heavy as he dragged it across his lips, tasting iron. It was only then he realized why his mouth hurt—he’d bitten his lips so hard they’d split clean through, torn raw during the Echoes.

Vader stepped closer and crouched in front of Cal, his black cloak pooling around his armored frame as he reached towards him. Cal flinched violently as his hand cupped his cheek, the contact chilling him to his core. He hated how gentle it was, how the Sith’s touch mimicked care when it was nothing but control.

“What did you see?”

Cal’s breath hitched. He shook his head violently, trying to push himself back, his arms straining as he scrambled away from the figure.

“ No. ”

He didn’t care anymore what Vader thought. He didn’t care about pride or appearances or even the inevitable punishment for defying him. He just wanted to get away .

Away from this place.

Away from Vader.

Away from the ghosts clawing at the edges of his mind.

Maybe he could disappear back to Bracca, live the rest of his life gutting ships. Maybe he could try to make up for the trail of bodies he had killed—Prauf, his Master, Cere, BD…

But Vader wasn’t letting him go.

The Sith Lord exhaled, a subtle rasp of mechanical annoyance, “So you refuse to speak.”

The gloved hand resting against Cal’s cheek shifted, twisting. His fingers clamped around his skull, holding him in place. He gasped and thrashed weakly, but it was useless.

Vader leaned in, his lenses boring into Cal’s wide, tear-streaked eyes.

“That’s fine,” he murmured, voice dropping into something darker.

“No—no, wait—”

Vader’s palm pressed flat against his forehead, “I’ll see for myself.”

Cal screamed as the Force pierced his mind. His back arching as if struck by lightning, his hands clawing desperately at Vader’s wrist, trying to pry himself free.

But it was no use.

Chapter Text

Cal isn’t sure how long it’s been.

Time doesn’t mean much anymore, not in this place, or wherever he was. He wasn't even sure he was on Nur anymore.

The days—if they even were days —bled together into one endless stretch of silence, broken only by the sharp, mechanical hiss of the door only opening when it was time to eat, or Vader wanted something.

Vader would leave him alone for long stretches of time, letting isolation gnaw at him until something caught the Sith Lord’s interest. Then he’d appear in the doorway, drag Cal out of his corner and force him to touch whatever relic, weapon, or scrap of history he wanted uncovered.

The Echoes would claw at his mind like rusted hooks, tearing through his defenses until there was nothing left to protect him. But it wasn’t enough to just make him see the memories—he was forced to project them too, filling the room so Vader could watch every detail.

It was exhausting.

No— crippling .

It left Cal broken for days, trembling, unable to eat, and barely able to move. It was like being hollowed out and left to slowly piece himself back together.

Then the cycle would repeat.

At least… he wasn’t completely alone.

Not really.

His cell had been split in half, divided by a clear glass wall.

On the other side was BD-1.

His leg was still twisted at the wrong angle, the damage having never been repaired, a permanent reminder of Vader’s control.

That was the only thing that kept him from breaking completely.

He would sit with BD for hours, pressing his forehead to the cold glass, whispering softly about anything—memories, jokes, the names of star patterns he could barely remember. BD would chirp and whistle back, and it was enough.

It was the only thing tethering him to who he had been before this cell.

It was also why he obeyed.

Vader had made the rules very clear: if Cal followed orders, if he didn’t fight, if he did exactly as he was told, BD would remain powered on, but if he didn’t …

Cal would never let himself entertain the idea, so he did as he was told.

Not because of Vader’s threats, but because BD-1 was all he had left—and he couldn’t lose him too.

Near the beginning of his imprisonment, they’d fitted him with a collar.

He remembered the moment it clicked shut around his neck—the metallic snap echoing through the room, sealing away the last piece of freedom he’d had left. He’d screamed then, louder than he’d meant to, the panic tearing through his chest as he felt the Force ripped away from him.

It only ever came off when Vader wanted him to use his psychometry.

The chip came next.

They tied him down and cut him open, sticking the small device between his ribs as he screamed, begging them to stop. He didn’t really understand its purpose, since there was nowhere for him to go—until they activated it.

The pain had been unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was like a bolt of lightning striking deep within his chest, igniting every nerve, every muscle, on fire.

What haunted him more than the collar, more than the chip however, was the realization that he wasn’t even being tortured for information.

There were no interrogations.

No demands for rebel names, for safehouses, for secrets. Vader didn’t care about any of that, not from him anyway.

He was only used when Vader wanted him to see Echoes, that was his purpose now.

And even then… he never spared him a glance.

Cal would stand there trembling, holding onto whatever object Vader had acquired and projecting the Echoes until he collapsed.

He wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t an enemy. He wasn’t even a person.

He was a tool .

Cal hit the floor hard as the stormtroopers dropped him in his cell.

His head slammed against the metal frame on the way down, a sharp crack reverberating in his skull. He winced but didn’t make a sound.

He’d learned a while ago that they didn’t care.

Cal wasn’t sure if it was the ringing in his ears from the impact or if his hearing was just… going. It had been getting harder and harder to make things out lately, like the world itself was pulling away from him.

It didn’t matter.

He lay there for a long time, breathing shallowly, cheek pressed against the floor. He tried to move—tried to push himself up—but every muscle screamed at him not to.

Out of the corner of his eye, he found BD-1.

The little droid was pressed up against the glass divider on his side of the cell, antennae twitching nervously as he chirped for Cal’s attention. The sound was faint—so faint—but Cal still recognized it, the pitch wobbling with worry.

He wanted to answer.

To look up. Tell BD he was fine, or at least lie and say he was.

But he was just so tired.

The last object Vader had pressed into his hands was a small droid. Its metal shell was scuffed, dulled from time and use, but even through the wear, Cal could tell it had been loved.

And the Echo proved him right.

It was like a breath of clean air.

~/~

Laughter filled his head—a child’s voice, high and bright, bubbling with joy.

Cal saw flashes of a little girl sprinting through forests, tiny legs stumbling over roots as she chased after the droid. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden halo on her dark hair as she toppled into her mother’s arms.

A man—her father, he realized—lifted her high into the air and spun her until she shrieked with laughter, her small hands clutching at the droid that beeped happily at her side.

For one fleeting moment, Cal wanted to believe this was mercy . That Vader, in some twisted way, was offering him a fragment of hope .

Then the warmth shattered.

Blaster fire tore through the memory.

The girl’s scream pierced him as masked strangers ripped her away from her home. Cold corridors replaced the forest; the smell of dirt and pine smothered by durasteel.

~/~

A gloved hand closed over the droid and tore it from Cal’s grip, severing the memory. He gasped, stumbling back into a pair of stormtroopers. Vader raised a hand and dismissed him without a word.

Which is where he found himself now, limp on the floor of his cell.

“BD…” Cal whispered.

BD-1 whined and began chirping again, trying desperately to coax something— anything —from him.

He forced himself to turn, every muscle in his body stiff and aching. BD-1 sat perched just a few feet away, his little frame practically buzzing with restless worry. His photoreceptors brightened the second Cal’s eyes met his, and he chirped a soft, hopeful note that nearly broke him in half.

He lifted a trembling hand and pressed his fingertips to the cold glass of the cell’s barrier.

It was the only reassurance he could give.

I’m okay, he tried to say with the gesture, even though it wasn’t true.

“I just…” Cal’s voice was raw, “I just need a little time.”

BD-1 whined softly, cocking his head like he didn’t understand—like he wanted to leap through the glass and shake him until all the pieces clicked back together.

His head throbbed.

It was becoming harder and harder to untangle the storm inside his mind, harder to remember what belonged to him and what belonged to all the lives he’d been forced to feel. Vader had pushed him from one Echo to the next, dragging him through a thousand fractured memories that weren’t his own.

He could barely hold onto names anymore. Faces blurred together. Voices overlapped until they were meaningless noise.

The hiss of the cell door opening pulled him out of his head.

Cal’s eyes fluttered open, sluggish and unfocused as he forced his head up from where it rested against the floor. The sound of the Sith’s boots sent a jolt of panic through his chest, but he didn’t move. He barely had the strength to lift his chin, let alone scramble upright.

Why?

He had just gotten back to his cell, Vader never called for him twice in one day. Did he have another object for him to read? Another Echo to project until it shredded what was left of his mind?

The Force gripped him and yanked him upright.

Cal gasped, a thin, startled sound ripped from his throat as his body was wrenched from the floor. His stomach lurched, his vision swimming violently as he whined.

The voices around him were sharp, overlapping—orders being barked out, boots thundering across the floor, but Cal couldn’t hold onto a single word. It was all just static. Just noise that slipped in one ear and out the other.

This was different.

He snapped back when hands yanked at his tunic, tearing the coarse fabric down the middle. Cal jerked instinctively, his legs kicking out as cold air rushed over his bare chest.

“Wait—stop!”

A sharp, punishing squeeze around his throat caused him to freeze instantly.

Cal went limp, his shoulders shaking as the rest of his clothes were ripped away. He squeezed his eyes shut, heat crawling up his neck.

The world tilted again as he was dropped into a tub of cold water.

Cal gasped on impact, the shock searing through his chest as the frozen water swallowed him whole. He thrashed against the hands holding him down, but he was shoved deeper, the water flooding over his face, filling his ears with deafening silence.

He gasped when they dragged him up for air, sputtering, only to be shoved under again as rough hands scrubbed at his skin. Blood, sweat, dirt, and grit was all wiped away.

Cal coughed until his throat burned, his teeth chattering violently as they finally deemed him clean.

He couldn’t catch his breath before they hauled him upright, wrenching him from the tub and strapping him into a chair. Leather straps were quickly wound around his arms and legs, locking him in place. Cal flinched when the final strap pulled across his chest, cutting off what little air he’d managed to get back.

Cal panted, chest heaving as the hands finally let go of him.

For the first time since they’d dragged him from the cell, there was no one holding him down, no one pulling or shoving him. He sat slumped in the chair, shivering so hard it rattled his teeth as droplets ran down his face, soaking into the straps binding his body.

A firm hand clamped around his chin, jerking his head up sharply.

Cal gasped at the sudden pain in his neck, his wet hair dragged harshly out of his eyes so he was forced to face whoever stood there. His lips trembled as he blinked through the fog.

He didn’t dare meet their gaze as more fingers suddenly grabbed at him, at his hair.

Pulling.

Tugging.

He flinched, a soft cry escaping him when the first lock was pulled and cut, the sound of it echoing inside his head.

The worst part wasn’t the hands or the silence. It was the way they handled him—like something precious that needed to be put back together. Like a puppet being prepared for an audience.

A performance.

A gift.

What were they doing?

Who were they making him presentable for?

Slowly, patiently, they cut away what could have easily been years of grime and growth. And when they were done, they didn’t stop. Another set of hands combed through what remained, slicking it back from his face, smoothing it into a style he hadn’t worn since Bracca.

Since before—

Before.

Cal blinked slowly, whimpering when something sharp caught his eye.

A razor.

He stiffened.

The man smiled as he waved close to Cal’s cheek.

“I need you to stay still for me,” the man nodded, voice flat, “Unless you want to get cut. Can you do that for me~?”

Cal nodded, his breath hitching when the first stripe of cream was smeared across his jaw.

They were shaving him. Shaving him.

The blade dragged over his skin, again and again, removing the coarse tangled facial hair. His throat bobbed as the scent of shaving cream burned his nose. It was almost surreal.

Who was this for?

Why make him look like himself again, if he no longer was ?

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he kept them shut, jaw clenched against the rising panic. They weren’t just cleaning him up. They were remaking him—reconstructing the Jedi beneath the grime, sculpting him into something familiar, recognizable.

Not for his sake.

For someone else’s.

Someone who wanted to see him polished and silent and broken, to parade him as a success. A fallen Jedi, repurposed and obedient.

When they finished, no one said a word.

Cal sat there, shivering—not from the cold bath, but from the knowledge that something was coming.

Something that needed him presentable .

Cal licked his lips, his gaze flickering nervously around the chamber. The room had mostly emptied now—guards, medics, attendants all filing out in silent order.

Only one figure remained.

He hadn’t seen him before. The man leaned casually against the far wall like he owned the air in the room. His armor wasn’t standard, and the absence of a mask only made him more unsettling. Sharp features, golden eyes, and a faint, amused smile pulling at his lips.

An Inquisitor.

Cal’s stomach turned.

The Inquisitor stepped forward after a pause, slow, unhurried, as if savoring his fear. He produced something from inside his coat pocket—a small weapon, no larger than a tool a scrapper might have used, but it wasn’t a tool. It was a gun.

He raised it casually and pressed the cold muzzle to the center of Cal’s forehead.

Cal froze.

His breath caught in his throat as the metal kissed his skin.

“Do you know what this is?” the man purred, voice low and dripping with mock sweetness. He pressed the weapon a little harder into his skin, just enough to make Cal wince and shake his head.

The Inquisitor smiled wider, delighted.

“This,” he murmured, running a finger along the barrel almost fondly, “Is a slicer dart.”

His tone danced with theatrical glee, as if describing fine art instead of a method of breaking someone's mind, “It doesn’t just make you lose control—it rips the user apart. Strips away their thoughts, their instincts, their will. Until there’s nothing left but a body that obeys.”

Cal blinked rapidly, struggling to push away the panic trying to drown him, “Those—those are—?” he managed, his voice cracking.

“Illegal?” the man answered with a chuckle, “Oh, very. Prohibited by every governing body in the galaxy,” he tilted his head, “But see… Lord Vader doesn’t exactly care about that. Especially when it comes to you.”

Cal’s blood ran cold.

The Inquisitor twirled the gun lightly between his fingers, then lowered it, just enough to let Cal breathe—if only for a second.

“He has a very special mission for you,” the man continued, voice laced with childlike glee, “But the success of this mission depends on you being… cooperative.”

He leaned in close, inches from Cal’s face, “So he ordered this, just for you.”

The barrel came back up, pressing against his forehead.

“Don’t worry,” the Inquisitor whispered. He leaned in slowly and pressed a soft, mocking kiss against Cal’s cheek, “It only hurts for a few hours…”

Cal flinched, his whole body recoiling at the contact. His wrists burned against the bindings as he strained to pull away, finding what little strength remained in his limbs, “Get that thing away from me—” he snapped, voice raw, desperate.

He didn’t get to finish.

The Inquisitor’s expression darkened, his amusement shifting to irritation as he grabbed Cal by the jaw and shoved the barrel of the slicer gun past his lips, down his throat.

Cal gagged violently, choking on the metal.

He twisted against the grip on his face, trying to shake free, teeth scraping against the cold muzzle in a useless attempt to bite down. His breath came in shallow, wet gasps around the barrel.

“Tsk tsk,” the Inquisitor cooed with a low growl, his grip tightening, “Relax, little Padawan. That pretty mind of yours won’t be a problem for much longer.”

Cal’s vision blurred from the sheer weight of humiliation.

The helplessness.

The violation.

Cal thrashed again, harder this time, driven by pure instinct. He tried to speak, to scream, to channel something —Force, fury, fear —but the barrel silenced him.

Then, just as quickly as it had been forced in, the gun was yanked from his mouth, dragging a thick string of spit with it. Cal gasped for air, chest heaving—

The weapon went off, the dart piercing his forehead with a clean, precise thunk —right between his eyes. Cal jerked once—then went still as everything inside him snapped.

His breath caught in his throat.

Then again.

And again.

Shallow, panicked gulps of air that didn’t quite fill his lungs. His fingers trembled violently in their restraints. His legs twitched like they wanted to run—like some part of him still remembered what escape was—but his mind had started to fold in on itself.

The Inquisitor watched with idle amusement, moving closer to him.

Cal flinched, barely aware of anything anymore.

“Shhh,” the Inquisitor crooned, crouching until they were eye-level, cupping his cheeks. They were clammy and pale, his eyes wide and shining with tears.

“There you are,” the Inquisitor whispered, “That’s better. Just breathe for me, little Padawan…”

His chest continued to rise and fall too quickly, too shallow, as he stared at the monster in front of him like a cornered animal—eyes darting, desperate, pleading for something. Help. Mercy. A miracle.

None came.

The Inquisitor leaned closer, voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“I’ve got you,” he said sweetly, “There’s no need to fight anymore. That part of you is gone now, isn’t it?”

Cal blinked hard, as if he could—

Could… could what?

Chapter Text

The next time Cal woke, he wasn’t sure where he was. He was dressed in black—the thick fabric clinging to his skin, and a gold collar too tight around his throat.

He sat up slowly, his hands shaking as he braced against the edge of the cot, blinking hard. The room was sterile and dim, lit only by two overhead lights. Across from him, he spotted a wide durasteel table where two items sat on it.

The first: a broken, powered-down droid, one of its legs twisted, and the emitter lens cracked.

The second: a smooth lightsaber.

Silently, his eyes were pulled across the room to the other side of the table where a figure draped in black stood. He didn’t need the Force to know who it was.

Lord Vader.

Wordless, he dropped to his knees.

He lowered his head, placing his hands flat on his thighs as he tucked his chin into his chest and bowed.

A voice inside him—one that sounded like his Master(?)—screamed at him to run, to fight, to resist , but it was a distant sound now.

Faded.

Starved.

It was silent, save for the steady rhythm of Vader’s mechanical breathing. Then, he raised a gloved hand.

Cal stood without hesitation, because this was his Master.

His Lord.

When he reached the table, he stopped and stood tall despite the pounding in his chest. Vader’s head inclined a fraction as he gestured to the items.

“Choose wisely, Inquisitor.”

Cal frowned, the crease between his brows deepening as he looked down again, the glow of the lights above making the durasteel table glow. His gaze flicked between the two items—again, and again—as if staring long enough might somehow make the choice easier.

It didn’t.

Cal’s fingers hovered over the hilt of the lightsaber.

His eyes flicked to the side—just once—toward the crumpled droid on the table. He didn’t know why it was suddenly so hard to breathe.

His hands closed around the saber.

The metal was cold, unfamiliar. Heavy in a way that felt deliberate.

Cal ignited it.

Snap—hiss.

The blade extended with a violent hum, bathing his face in harsh crimson. Vader gave a short nod of approval before raising a hand and lazily flicking his wrist at the droid.

The droid twitched violently.

For a moment, it looked like it might collapse—but it steadied itself. The droid hissed as it pushed itself up, the lights in its photoreceptors blinking weakly before they found him.

The droid looked up at Cal, and let out a soft, high-pitched whistle .

It wasn’t fear or distress.

It sounded like relief . Like recognition .

Cal’s expression faltered.

His brows drew inward, the saber in his grip lowering a fraction. The droid took a hesitant step toward him, chirping gently—like it knew him.

Something inside his chest stirred.

Not pain.

Just… confusion.

Did he know this droid?

He didn’t remember, but his body did. Something in his chest ached at the sound of that whistle. His throat tightened, his grip on the lightsaber suddenly too tight.

“This droid was holding information about rebel activity,” his Lord explained, “But it deleted the data before we could recover it.” 

There was a pause before—

“Destroy the droid.”

Cal stepped back suddenly, his grip tightening around the saber. 

The droid chirped softly, tilting its head. It wasn’t a scream, wasn’t a cry for help. Just a gentle, almost cheerful whistle. It was... relieved . Like it had been worried about him. Like it was glad to see him.

Glad he was okay.

That stopped him cold.

He looked down at it again, the lights casting long shadows across its battered frame. The droid let out another series of beeps, slower now. Like it was trying to communicate with him.

It was telling him—that he looked better.

Cal’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Better than what ? He didn’t understand, and he didn’t get the chance to try.

“You hesitate, Inquisitor.”

Cal froze.

He took another step back, his grip tightening on the lightsaber as his reflection stared back at him in the metallic hilt—he looked somewhere between dread and confusion.

The droid blinked up at him and beeped again, quieter this time.

He didn’t remember.

He didn’t know this droid.

And yet, his mind screamed at him that something was wrong .

His training said to strike.

His conditioning told him to obey.

“You hesitate, Inquisitor,” his Lord repeated darkly, and that was all it took to make him move

His lightsaber sliced through the air with a clean, practiced arc. The blade cleaved the droid in half with a crackle of energy. The droid didn’t move as its small frame was split in two—legs collapsing one way, upper body tumbling the other.

The droid twitched once.

Then stilled.

For some reason, his throat tightened.

There was no logic to it. No memory, no name, no connection. And yet something inside him recoiled— screamed —like he’d just ripped apart something sacred. He shouldn’t care. It was just a droid. Just an empty shell with rebel data that had been purged.

And yet—

“Very good,” Vader said, pleased, waving a hand as he turned and walked out of the chamber. Cal deactivated his saber and clipped it to his belt before falling into step behind his Master.

He didn’t look back.

Because if he did—if he let his eyes find that droid again—something inside him might break. And breaking, in front of him , was not an option. So he kept his head down, his posture straight, and silence absolute.

He was an Inquisitor.

A servant of the Empire.

“We will be arriving on Mapuzo shortly, My Lord,” a woman’s voice announced from the comm panel behind him.

Cal blinked, dragging himself back to the present as he turned towards the woman. She stood stiffly in front of Vader, trying not to breathe too loud in his presence. He watched her for a moment, the way her hands curled behind her back, the way her eyes darted to him like he might be something worse than the thing in front of her.

He blinked again and turned away.

Outside, the ship settled out of hyperspace, stars freezing in place. A new world came into view—its surface unfamiliar. He stared at it without recognition.

He’d never seen this place before. That wasn’t unusual. Most planets looked the same from a distance.

But what really bothered him was the fact that he didn’t remember any place that wasn’t Bracca or Coruscant. No forests. No oceans. No smell of rain. Just scrapyards and metal towers. That was all his memory offered him.

Vader moved toward him then, and it took everything in Cal to stand still. He didn’t look up as the Sith reached him, didn’t flinch as a gloved hand came up and pressed against the cold metal at his throat.

The collar unlocked.

The Force hit him like a slap.

It surged through his veins, unfamiliar and alive, crashing through the emptiness that had settled in his soul for—how long? Weeks? Months? Years? He didn’t know. He staggered, only for a second, knees nearly giving out beneath him.

But he stayed standing.

With the faintest tilt of his helmet, Vader nodded once in approval.

Cal’s throat burned.

He hadn’t felt the Force in so long he almost didn’t recognize it. It didn’t feel like power. It felt like exposure—like being split open again and again.

Vader turned without another word, cloak trailing behind him as he made his way toward a secondary craft, waving a hand at Cal—and he followed without a word.

The ship descended fast, the engines humming as it cut through the atmosphere. Cal stood beside his Lord without a word, hands at his sides. Around them, stormtroopers moved—checking weapons, issuing commands, their voices clipped and sharp, but Cal barely heard them.

The view through the port showed nothing but rock, dark ridges broken by scattered structures. A mining village, maybe. One of the nameless ones no one ever talked about.

The ramp opened with a hiss.

Cal followed Vader quietly, every step pulling him further away from himself. The screams behind them were fading, but not gone—still echoing somewhere deep in his mind. His body moved on instinct now, completely disconnected.

When they reached the edge of the town, Vader paused. Cal kept his gaze low, trying to keep his focus on the color of the ground, though it was difficult in the dark.

Far ahead, someone darted between the shadows. Their steps were frantic, uneven, desperate. They stumbled as they ran, looking back over their shoulder, as if they weren’t even sure what they were running from—just that it was coming.

Cal felt a cold, twisted wave of joy pulse from his Lord. It pressed against Cal’s skin, seeped under it like poison, and all he could do was stand there, frozen in the presence of something that felt far too close to pleasure.

Vader ignited his saber with a crack of red light, and took a step forward.

For a few long moments, nobody moved. Cal stood rooted beside his Lord, eyes straining through the darkness to see who exactly they were hunting. Then the figure ahead—whoever he was—bolted, disappearing behind a pile of rubble.

Vader didn’t follow, just deactivated his blade and turned to Cal, nodding in his direction.

His legs moved before his mind understood the command, breaking into a sprint. The terrain was rough, uneven, but he barely noticed it. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sweat beading at his brow, every muscle in his body straining forward, chasing something he didn’t understand.

"You cannot run, Obi-Wan."

His steps faltered.

Obi-Wan .

He knew that the name… Why did he—

A brilliant blue light flared in front of him, stopping Cal dead in his tracks. The saber was beautiful. That color— blue .

It felt… familiar. It pulled something deep from inside his chest, something buried, something not meant to surface. He didn’t know why, but his throat closed and his breath stopped as the light flickered across his face.

Had he seen it before?

Had it been his , once?

A pulse of something—pain, confusion, recognition —hit him so hard he groaned, staggering back a step. He pressed his palms to his forehead as his knees buckled slightly, eyes squeezed shut like it would stop the rush of emotion trying to claw its way up his throat. He didn’t know what it was. A memory? A dream?

He didn’t get a chance to find out.

“Who are you—?”

The voice was sharp, older, familiar in a way that it shouldn’t have been.

Cal’s eyes snapped open, vision still blurry as the blue blade hovered too close to his chest. Obi-Wan stood in front of him now—breathing hard, face drawn tight.

The blade trembled in his grip.

“You don’t recognize him, do you?”

The words cut through the stillness like a blade, low and sharp, wrapped in a quiet sort of cruelty.

Obi-Wan spun around fast, his blade snapping into a defensive stance. His shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths. The blue saber hummed in the narrow space between them, casting flickering light across the dust and debris. Vader stepped forward through the haze, unbothered, his presence suffocating.

There was no urgency in his stride—only confidence.

“It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan,” Vader breathed, the mechanical rasp of his voice echoing, “He was but a Padawan when the Jedi attacked.”

Cal swallowed hard, trying to stop the tremble in his hands.

“You should,” Vader continued, his tone casual now, almost amused, "Seeing as he’s the second ever documented case of psychometry…”

The silence that followed felt deafening.

The man’s expression shifted—eyes widening as he turned to look at him again.

“Cal,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Cal's stomach twisted violently. He didn’t want to hear it—not from him, not like that. Not like he mattered.

He ducked his head, eyes dropping to the ground, shoulders drawing in as if to make himself smaller, to disappear entirely. He didn’t know why it made him feel so exposed—why the sound of his own name felt more dangerous than anything Vader had ever done to him.

“Cal, listen to me—” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the haze, desperate, full of something Cal didn’t recognize, “You can leave this. Leave him. Fight—!”

“ Silence, ” Vader growled.

“There is no hope for young Kestis,” he continued, stepping forward, the edge in his voice almost taunting, “His mind has been wiped with a slicer dart. That boy is gone.”

Gone.

Cal’s fingers twitched.

Obi-Wan flinched, his saber lowering slightly as his eyes fixed on Cal. He looked like he wanted to run to him. To shield him. Like Cal was something breakable.

And maybe he was.

Cal staggered back a step, he felt exposed.

The blue light of his saber spilled across his face, and with it came flashes. Not memories— impressions.

A sound.

A scent.

A name whispered like in a language he didn’t remember learning. Something old. Something his . It reached down into the place Vader had carved out of him and started waking it up .

Cal’s hand went to his saber—not by instinct, but out of panic.

He growled, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth ached.

Obi-Wan’s expression crumpled, torn between hope and heartbreak. He looked between them—then ran. Cal stepped forward to follow, but Vader lifted his hand, freezing him in place.

The Sith Lord moved quickly, his cloak whipping behind him as Cal followed, feet moving before his thoughts could catch up. The command hadn’t been spoken aloud, but it didn’t need to be.

His place was beside Vader.

They caught sight of Obi-Wan again just past the edge of the town, where the rocky terrain turned jagged and uneven. Vader didn’t pause, didn’t announce himself—he simply ignited his saber mid-stride, the red blade screaming as it sliced through the dark.

Obi-Wan turned at the sound, saber rising just in time to deflect the blow.

Their sabers clashed, red against blue, sparking bursts of purple around them. Every movement was precise, deadly. Vader didn’t fight like a man—he fought like a machine.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

Each strike meant to destroy, not disarm.

“The years have made you weak,” Vader snarled as he stalked after his prey. Obi-Wan said nothing, just kept moving—barely dodging the strikes.

The battle was brutal. It should have been mesmerizing.

The way their sabers crashed together, the light and sound of it, the raw power—anyone else might have found it breathtaking. Beautiful , even.

But Cal barely saw it.

Because that saber… that blue … was still burrowing under his skin. Every time Obi-Wan parried, every time his saber swung past Vader’s cloak—it cracked something in him.

His head ached. Not with pain, but memory— almost memory. Images he couldn’t place.

A temple.

Laughter.

The smell of something burning.

Hands holding him.

A name whispered…

He didn’t know if they were real.

He didn’t know if he wanted them to be.

Cal squeezed his saber tighter, his pulse pounding in his throat, too fast, too loud, as if his body had caught onto something his mind wasn’t ready for yet.

Vader shoved Obi-Wan back hard, breaking their lock with a violent Force push. The older man was thrown off his feet, crashing into the ground with a grunt of pain.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Vader hissed, striding toward him.

Obi-Wan staggered, scrambling to regain his footing before he turned and slashed through a length of piping beside him.

Steam exploded in a blinding wave, hissing into the air and cloaking the field in dense fog.

When the cloud settled, Obi-Wan was gone.

They found him again in the next clearing—bare, wide, rimmed with ore containers and rusted mining equipment. The moonlight poured across the terrain like oil, coating everything in a ghostly sheen. Cal barely had time to register Obi-Wan’s silhouette before Vader raised a gloved hand.

There was no warning.

No theatrics.

Just a sudden, violent snap in the air as a cluster of mineral drums exploded beside the Jedi, shrapnel scattering across the field. Then Obi-Wan was lifted clean off the ground—held by the invisible grip of the Dark Lord’s.

Cal stopped walking.

Obi-Wan’s boots kicked uselessly in the air. His saber—still so impossibly blue —slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a muted clunk before flickering off. The clearing fell eerily quiet, save for the rattling of minerals and Obi-Wan’s desperate choking.

“ Cal! ” he rasped, clawing at his throat, “Cal—listen—you don’t have to—”

Don’t have to what?

Vader leaned down and lit the field with his saber. A violent whoosh of heat and light swallowed the clearing, flames licking skyward as the ignited minerals sent toxic smoke and fire surging through the air.

It reflected in Cal’s eyes.

He just… stood there, frozen, watching the inferno bloom.

What was this?

Could he stop it?

Was he even meant to?

His thoughts spun out of control. Vader had called him Padawan . That word hadn’t meant anything at first—just a noise. A label. But now it repeated in his head like a pulse.

Padawan.

Padawan.

Was he supposed to be one?

A Jedi?

The blue saber had done something to him. The moment he’d seen it—glowing in Obi-Wan’s grip, humming with power—something had stirred. A crack. A splinter in the wall of his mind. Not a memory, but a feeling . Familiarity. A phantom ache in his hands. In his heart.

Why couldn’t he remember?

What had taken that away from him?

Who had?

“Cal—”

The name came from the flames.

Obi-Wan.

He was screaming .

Vader’s hand was clenched, dragging him through the burning mineral field like a ragdoll. His boots skidded over molten rock, cloak catching fire at the edges.

Cal didn’t move.

He couldn’t .

He stood, paralyzed, the scream barely registering, muffled by the static roaring in his head.

Something inside him was wrong .

No, not wrong.

Missing .

Obi-Wan’s scream shattered the silence again, hoarse, raw, “ CAL— !”

He staggered back a step, chest heaving.

“Your pain…” Vader growled, “…has just begun.”

With a vicious sweep of the Force, he hurled Obi-Wan backward again, slamming him into the rocks. The Jedi cried out— raw , pained—and something in that sound cleaved straight through Cal’s skull.

Another crack. Small, but deeper this time.

Vader was giddy. Not outwardly, of course—but Cal felt it. That cruel satisfaction leaking through the Force, thick and suffocating. The joy of pain. Of power. It coiled around Cal like tar, his hands twitching at his sides as his knees threatened to give out.

“ Bring him to me, ” Vader said darkly.

Cal didn’t move.

For a second—just a second—he thought that if he stood still, the world might stop. That he could just blink and it would all unravel, make sense .

But before he could do anything, a stormtrooper stepped past him.

Cal didn’t think. His saber was in his hand before he realized he’d called it—and then the trooper was down. Cut clean through.

The other soldiers raised their blasters in unison.

“Hold your fire!” one of them barked.

But Cal barely heard them. He staggered back, panting, his body shaking. His mind felt like glass—every second threatening to shatter it completely. He clutched his head, moaning low in his throat when a new wave of fire burst behind him.

The heat pushed into his back—the impact knocking him forward into his master.

Vader caught him by the throat.

“Inquisitor,” Vader growled, tightening his grip. His saber ignited with a snap-hiss, “What is the meaning of this?”

Cal gasped, boots scraping against the burnt ground. His fingers clawed at the hand around his throat as the world narrowed into a crimson blur.

“I—You— you can’t— ” he choked. He didn’t even know what he was trying to say.

You can’t… kill me ?

You can’t control me ?

Cal gagged, his throat spasming as if his body was trying to reject the chaos tearing through his mind.

His feet barely grazed the ground as the Force lifted him higher, Vader's grip closing around his throat like a vice. The pressure built steadily, crushing the air from his lungs. He grabbed Vader’s arm on instinct, trying to pry it away, kicking out in vain, but the moment his hand touched the cold armor—

A Force Echo crawled into his head, ripping through his mind.

~/~

Blinding flames.

A body broken beyond recognition.

Skin turned to char.

Blood and smoke.

Screams— his screams—echoing off the walls as machines descended on his body.

Needles.

Bolts.

Fluid hissing.

The mechanical arm being drilled into the ruin of a shoulder that should’ve belonged to a man, not a machine .

Cal thrashed against it, eyes wide with terror. The pain wasn’t his—but it might as well have been. It felt too close , too intimate . He could smell the scorched flesh. And buried deep beneath it all—grief. 

A name shouted in agony.

A betrayal too sharp to name.

Obi-Wan!

~/~

He jerked back violently with a scream, severing his connection to the Echo.

Cal cried as he thrust his hand forward, the Force surging with everything he had left in him. The blast hit Vader square in the chest, but he didn’t falter.

Vader’s growl was low and furious, a sound that shook the very air around them. With brutal strength, he sent Cal crashing into the scorched earth. The impact ripped the air from his lungs, the sharp sting of dirt and grit scraping against his skin. 

The world spun as he rolled instinctively onto his stomach, pressing his forehead into the dirt.

The rough texture scraped his skin as he fought to steady his breathing, the acrid scent of smoke and burning minerals filling his nose. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, Cal forced his eyes open.

From across the flames, he spotted Obi-Wan getting helped up by a clunky, worn droid.

Their eyes met.

In his gaze, Cal saw more than just fear—there was sorrow, and disbelief.

Obi-Wan took a faltering step back, the droid steadying him. There was fear in his eyes—not just for himself, but for the boy he once knew, for him .

Before Cal could catch his breath, a violent force yanked him upright.

Then— pain .

A searing agony ripped through him as the Sith’s blade pierced his back and emerged from his chest, its cruel glow reflecting in his stunned, disbelieving gaze.

A guttural sob caught in Cal’s throat as the searing heat of the saber ripped through his internal organs. The pain was unbearable—threatening to consume him entirely.

His breath hitched, trembling between choked gasps and the sharp sting of tears in his eyes.

“ CAL! ” Obi-Wan screamed.

Everything inside Cal shattered, memories rushing back to him, along with everything he’d done for Vader. He sobbed uncontrollably as he remembered how he had mercilessly sliced BD-1— his best friend —in half, after the droid had been so happy to see him.

When the saber pulled free from his body, Cal’s legs buckled.

He collapsed to his knees, folding inward like a broken marionette as his chin dropped to his chest. The world tipped forward as he fell, his body hitting the earth. Cal twitched as his body started to shut down.

Then… everything went quiet. Blissfully quiet.

And Cal smiled.

A real, small smile.

He was finally free.

Free…