Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CRACK.

"What do you remember of your family?"

Cal grimaced as he shook off the last jolts of the chair's electricity. What was he to say to this? 

"The Order are my family."

CRACK.

"No, Kestis, I'm not asking about the Order. Before that. Before you were handed over to that institution. Your birth family."

Cal knew that this time, he couldn't really answer the question. 

"There’s almost nothing to remember. The Creche Masters told me that when they took me in, I was only a day or two old."

"Almost nothing?" Trilla tugged at that loose thread. "Tell me, Kestis, what is there? What do you see?"

He stayed silent for several seconds. 

CRACK. 

The voltage was a little higher than usual, and it lasted a bit longer. Why did she want this? 

"What do you remember of your birth family?"

He decided to let loose another little truth. 

"The memory is gone. It was an Echo. On the blanket the Creche Masters said I was wrapped in when I was given to them. I kept it with me for years, but when the Purge started, I couldn't go back to my room to get it. It was probably destroyed with the Albedo Brave." He sighed. "There were glimpses of a woman. She was sad. I think she was my mother. Now she's gone."

"Your mother?" Trilla expressed or feigned interest in the subject. Cal wasn't quite sure which. "What details do you remember?"

"Pale blonde hair, soft skin, blue eyes. I think she said something to me, but I can't remember what." There really wasn't much to dredge up. "I think she was singing to me. I don't remember any words."

Trilla continued. "The Creche Masters would have told you the names of your birth parents if they knew."

"Yes."

"What were those names?"

Cal stayed quiet, but he only lasted a few seconds before Trilla's finger homed in on the switch. What was wrong with Trilla knowing two names that barely meant anything to Cal anymore? 

"Ben, and Shari. Their names were Ben and Shari Kestis."

A dangerous silence hung between them. It ruled Cal for a few seconds, then Trilla cut through it as she pushed the button that opened the door, speaking to the Purge Troopers standing guard outside. 

"Take him back to the detention level. Twelve hours rest."

Cal just closed his eyes and let the Purge Troopers haul him away. 

Chapter Text

When the Second Sister brought him into the Interrogation Room the next day, Cal could sense that something was different about today's session. Trilla had an air of smugness about her that didn't usually bleed through her icy mask.

"What do you want today, Suduri?" Cal grumbled as he was once more strapped into the chair.

Trilla laughed lowly. "I have acquired a rather intriguing item in my travels. I have reason to believe there is a Force Echo attached to it. You will tell me what it is."

She procured a small blanket from a pouch on her utility belt, the type of blanket in which one might wrap a baby. It was mostly white, though worn by time, with orange and teal designs embroidered across the surface. Cal recognised it immediately. 

"Give it to me."

Trilla picked up on the sudden desperation in his voice, raising an eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"

"Give it to me." He was insistent now. "It's mine. My mother gave it to me."

"Perhaps, and now the Force has given it to me." She continued to run the blanket through her hands, playing with this treasured piece of Cal's origins. "But let's not get off-topic, now. As I said, I believe there is a Force Echo within this item. You will reveal its secrets to me."

The Echo of Cal's mother. Why would Trilla want that? Perhaps more importantly, 

"How did you find it?"

She paused. "I have my ways,"

CRACK. 

"but I think I'll be the one asking the questions from now on." She held out the blanket, tantalisingly close to his face. "You will review the Force Echo attached to this object, and you will reveal its secrets to me."

"Why are you so interested in my family anyway?"

CRACK. 

"I'm asking you questions here, Kestis. What does the Echo show you?"

She held the blanket close to the restraints over Cal's left hand, and he could just flex his fingers enough to brush the corner. The Force guided it into his grip. 

The same vision as always flooded back, and it was no less calming to him than it had been five years ago. For a few moments, Cal just breathed deeply, but soon enough, Trilla's voice cut through. 

"What do you see?"

"Wait."

He hadn't quite meant to be so sharp, and Trilla almost flicked the switch again, but before she could, Cal started to sing. His voice was soft and smooth; the voice of a lullaby. He didn't sing in Basic, and Trilla seemed to realise that he was singing along with the voice of Shari in the Echo.

"Ka'ra, tion'vaii cuy gar?"

"Ka'ra, gar taab'echaaj'la?"

"An chur ca'tra,"

"Ni laararir gar laar,"

"Meh gar ja'hailir ni."

Though the way Cal sang was soothing, it was also threaded with a palpable undertone of sorrow. It would seem that Shari knew she would have to give her son up, but it was clearly the last thing she wanted. 

"Ka'ra, haaranovor o'r ca."

"An gar bu'cyarse ori dral."

"Meh tra utrel'a,"

"Ni kar'taylir gar olar."

"Gar ja'hailir ni."

Trilla could see tears in his eyes. She was getting a bit impatient, but she knew better than to try to hurry Cal. Electrocuting him now would likely pull him out of the Echo and stop his singing, but it would destroy her chances of learning more from the rest of the Echo. She heard him audibly starting to sob as he worked his way through the third and final verse.

"Ka'ra, shev'la o'r ca'tra."

"Jii ni tionir tion'jor."

"Tengaanar gar nau,"

"Ni parer an ca."

"Ka'ra, laararir ti ni."

He broke down into a fit of sobs before looking up, seeming defeated, yet determined. Trilla could see his legs straining against their bonds to mime walking, and his eyes squinting against phantom rain. Cal seemed far more exhausted than he usually was, even towards the end of these sessions, as he quietly murmured directions Trilla recognised: Shari Kestis was navigating the middle levels of Coruscant, just low enough that there were streets to navigate, towards an entrance to the uppermost catacombs of the Jedi Temple. As she seemed to reach a door Trilla knew had once been monitored by the Creche Masters, Cal spoke her words again. 

"I am sorry, Tsikala. Please be strong for me. I pray that I will see you again."

The clouds over Cal's eyes dissolved with the Echo, and they focussed once more on Trilla. 

"So, did you learn anything?"

She reached for the switch again. 

"Ah, sorry. My mistake. I retract my question."

"Show me."

Instead of asking what that meant, Cal just stared up at her quizzically.

"Your memory of the Echo. I heard it, now let me see it."

Cal seemed to realise that Trilla couldn't view what he didn't show her. He brought the soft, golden light and sad blue eyes back to the forefront of his mind, and opened his shields just a crack. He found he could feel her focussing in on bits and pieces: the silhouette of the ship his mother had landed in, the decor of its interior, some sort of document in a foreign alphabet, and every detail of Shari's face. Cal could tell that Trilla was searching for any clues as to who Shari had been. She also zeroed in on the lyrics of her lullaby. When she was satisfied, Trilla pulled back. 

"Most intriguing."

Cal looked at her again, almost pleading. 

"Whatever you learned from that, I never managed to discover. If you would be willing, I want to know."

"At the Temple, what did they tell you was your system of origin?"

He furrowed his brows. "They said they didn't know, which is weird, since the Jedi Archives contained enough information to at least figure that out."

"For most systems, that is," Trilla countered, "but not yours. Unless the language, writing, ship design, cultural objects, and traditional patterns embroidered on this blanket were an intensely elaborate hoax, your home system is perhaps the rarest among the Jedi Order. In all its recorded history, you share that system with precisely one other Jedi."

"Trilla, please." Cal was actually begging now. "Just tell me where I came from. What system?"

The Second Sister held her prisoner in suspense before one word passed her lips, and it definitely wasn't one Cal expected to hear.

"Mandalore."

"...What?"

"Congratulations, Tsikala, you're the first Mandalorian Jedi since Tarre Vizsla."

That made Cal pause, but not at the fact that he was so rare. 

"Tsikala. Tha— That’s... my name. My real name."

"Apparently." Trilla had started to pace. "It changes little, though." She laughed to herself. "I guess your dear buir didn't have the forethought to tell the Jedi that your name was spelled with a Krill instead of a Cresh. Once again, your entire life is built on a lie. Though I wonder..." She halted. "Was that actually the melody she used?"

Why did that matter? 

"Yes. Echoes show me things as they were."

CRACK. 

"That can't be true. Why would a Mandalorian woman be singing, in Mando'a, to the melody of a Jedi lullaby?"

A memory came to Cal, or Kal, he supposed. The same song, but with different words, sung by a serene Arilian in Jedi robes. 

"Kaital, verk tama keel krii."

"Kaital, tama keel ehnap?"

"Sehn foh uu valrael,"

"Foh kewan kewanyth kat keel,"

"Sehn keel eno veshah fahk."

Of course, it was the song Master Shen had sung to him in the cradle. The other Creche Masters had sung it too, but usually in Basic, rather than Dai Bendu. 

"Ghost Star, wonder where you are."

"Ghost Star, are you very far?"

"All night long,"

"I will sing your song,"

"If you watch over me."

He thought he liked the Mando'a version better. 

"Trilla, I have not a clue."

The button was pushed, the door opened, the Purge Troopers walked in. This meant another twelve hours rest. One of the Troopers spoke up. 

"Second Sister, the subject appears to have acquired a towel."

It was only now that Cal... Kal realised he was still holding the blanket like a lifeline, his body refusing to let it go. 

"It is no longer of use to me. I have seen the Echo it holds. Let him take it; his mother gave it to him, after all."

"Vor'e, Trilla. Vor entye." His mother-tongue was returning naturally to him, it seemed. His time with the Clones had made sure of that. 

That night in his cell, he thought that his guards must think he was finally going crazy, as his fingers traced the lilies embroidered at the blanket's edges and he repeated the words again and again. 

"Ni cuy Tsikala."

"Ni cuy Tsikala."

"Ni cuy Tsikala."

Chapter Text

He could swear that his allotted twelve hours hadn't passed yet. 

By the time the Troopers came to end his rest, his blanket was tucked securely in the vest under his poncho, and he had just about accustomed himself to his real name. Kal with a Krill stood straighter, didn't let the Purge Troopers drag him along. He felt stronger, and he walked like he was made of durasteel. No. Tsikala Kestis was made of beskar. 

Until he walked himself into the Interrogation Room, only to find that there was no Trilla. Instead, a Pau'an man with a venomous grin was waiting for the freshly motivated Jedi. Kal hadn’t seen him in person since... whatever he was before this, but he’d seen a few propaganda reels that included him. 

So this was the Grand Inquisitor. 

What did he want? 

As it turned out, he did not want to talk. A glare ordered the Purge Troopers accompanying Kal— now four instead of two— to grab him and force him to his knees, holding him still. The Grand Inquisitor walked up to the restrained Jedi and pressed the tips of each finger to Kal's temples. At the same time, spears of darkness pierced Kal's shields and began to pry them apart. The Grand Inquisitor was after something from his captive's memory. Kal could just barely force out the words: 

"What do you want?"

CRACK 

Kal wasn't anywhere near the chair.

How did he...? Oh.

The Purge Trooper retracted his still sparking electrobaton.

"Did Second Sister not get it through your thick head that we ask the questions here?"

Somehow, the Pau'an managed to convey his repulsion at having to converse with a prisoner through every word of his taunts. Kal panted. "Oh, she did. I just thought it would be quicker if I could show you whatever you're here for. She at least had the decency to tell me."

CRACK.

"Insolence will not be tolerated, Kestis." He thought for a second. "The Echo. Second Sister says she cannot show me the Echo's secrets. She may well be lying to keep information for herself, but considering as she managed to get it out of you, it's probably easier for me to go directly to the source."

Why was everyone around here so obsessed with his Echo? 

"If you're hoping for something that could help you track down my friends—"

CRACK. 

"I know that this Echo does not concern those traitors; it tells the story of your arrival at the Temple. Show me."

Kal scrunched up his face in concentration, once more bringing the memory to the front of his mind, but it was blurry, and the Inquisitor snarled. 

"Clearer."

Kal hazarded a request. "It would be clearest if I could review the Echo now. It's on something that I would need a free hand to reach. If necessary, I can guide the Troopers where to put my hand, but— and sorry for the question but please hear me out— may I touch this item to refresh my memory?"

The same Trooper from earlier readied his electrobaton to shock Kal again, but the Grand Inquisitor motioned for him to stand down. 

"I will permit this."

Kal managed a slight smile. "Vor'e. Under my poncho at the front, between the vest and the shirt. Over my heart."

The Purge Trooper holding his left arm jerked it up, ignoring Kal's hiss of pain, and pushed his fingers into the gap specified until they touched soft fabric and Kal entered the trancelike state that accompanied detailed Echoes. He could feel the Inquisitor probing each detail, just as Trilla had, but he focused on a piece Kal had never paid much thought to: just before she started to sing, Shari had gotten up from a desk. Trilla had observed the desk too, and the flimsiwork laid out on it, but that document in what was probably Mando'a caught the Grand Inquisitor's attention. The slight motion of Shari's arm suggested that she had written something just before tending to her son. Upon closer observation of the flimsi, she had signed it; the ink of the signature was still wet. He must be trying to find her name. Trilla mustn't have told him that. 

But the name Kal saw, the name his mother had signed, was the wrong one. It didn't say "Shari Kestis" like it should have, and it didn’t make any sense...

Oh, scratch that; if it was true— if Shari was a pseudonym— then it made all the sense. Why would a Mandalorian woman bring her newborn child to the home of her people's worst enemy? Given her position and its instability, Kal would have been a vulnerability for her enemies to exploit, especially since her apparent lack of close relationships meant that his father was unknown. 

Kal couldn't even pay attention as the Grand Inquisitor analysed the rest of the Echo, finding little of importance. He was too caught up on that name. 

Satine Kryze

He didn’t know much about the woman who was apparently his mother; only what she had been. Satine Kryze was the pacifist Duchess of Mandalore, who had rebuilt the system after a devastating civil war, kept the peace for almost twenty years, and been murdered by the rogue Sith Lord Darth Maul. She had founded the Council of Neutral Systems and she was the leader of the New Mandalorian movement, discouraging the ancient warrior ways. The only person more beloved by the New Mandalorians was their prince. Korkie; her nephew whom she had raised as her own. The nephew who apparently took precedence over her son. 

Korkie

The Grand Inquisitor had fixated on the name. Could he see more than Kal would let him? This fear was enough to bring the Jedi back to the Echo and the Inquisitor, but the latter was still completely engrossed in the former. Where had the name come from? There it was. A green journal resting open beside the document with Satine's signature. 

...

One personal revelation was enough for Kal today, but here was another. He may be a Mandalorian Jedi, and he may be a secret Prince who wasn't supposed to exist, but he wasn't alone. 

My little Tsikala, I am so sorry. The last thing I want is to say goodbye to you, but there is no other way. I cannot keep you close, like I have Korkie; another nephew coming into my care without explanation would be too conspicuous, and then I would lose both of you. For that, my heart cries.

I'm sure you would have loved to know your brother.

His mind was clamming up, forcing the Echo to fade. The Grand Inquisitor would punish him for this, certainly. But before he could try to stop it, a switch flicked in his brain and the darkness closed in.

He glared down in disdain at the unconscious young man before him. Clearly, the prisoner had not been as discerning as he; had not thought to investigate his mother's writings more closely. This, however, this was fascinating. 

It was time to bring his findings to his Master. 

Deep in the bowels of Fortress Inquisitorius, in a dark room set aside for this specific purpose, the Grand Inquisitor knelt as the holoprojection flickered into view. 

"This breakthrough had better be as important as you have implied, Grand Inquisitor."

Through the ambience of mechanical breathing, he began. 

"My Lord, I must inform you of my recent discovery regarding the captured Jedi known as Cal Kestis. He may well be the key to luring out a high-profile target. A Master."

"If this is all you can tell me, do not bother. I am well aware that Kestis is working with Master Junda."

"Not her. Another." The Pau'an paused as long as he dared to catch his breath. "Cal Kestis has revealed to me a Force Echo of his mother. From the information contained within, I have discovered that he is in truth the son of the late Duchess of Mandalore, Satine Kryze. Not only this, but the boy claimed by the Duchess as her nephew is her son as well, and Kestis's brother."

The sound of breathing faltered slightly, and the Grand Inquisitor could feel the renewed hatred of his Master surging on the other end of the transmission. 

"Take a blood sample, just to be certain. We shall run it against the database recovered during Operation Knightfall upon my arrival."

Smart. Cal's own database record could have been forged, considering those involved. 

"It will be done, Lord Vader."