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Chapter Text

The Kilvo family consisted of two Togruta parents and three children. Their apartment was constructed in the same fashion as most upper-level Coruscanti apartments were: four levels, with the sleeping quarters at the uppermost level; the guest accommodations and entertainment were on the third level; the kitchen, dining, study areas, and entrance were on the second level; the first level was broken up into a personal gym and a laundry. 

The head of the Kilvo family was the matriarch, following Togruta tradition, even away from their homeworld. Also following Togruta tradition, it was she who kept the blaster strapped to the side of their bed. And, once more following tradition, she slept on the side facing the window, for on their homeworld that was the easiest entrance for a thief or a murderer. The same proved true on Coruscant.

The matriarch was Kaash’tii. She was a board member of a very large mining organization and was often off-world. Tonight was not one such night.

Their alarm system was expensive, but not anything remarkable. A basic infrared proximity alarm, activated every night at 1900 hours, monitored the balcony for the master bedroom. Thrawn deactivated it with a simple device he'd stolen from the Jedi. The balcony door would present the greater challenge. But not by much.

Thrawn crawled silently onto the balcony. He removed his gloves and hooked them on his belt, pulling out a device he’d stolen from the Jedi Temple. He attached it to the side of the door, where the sensor was hidden by an intricate wood doorsill. He activated it and pulled out another device. He placed it on the door lock, turned it on, and waited. The minutes passed, until with a soft, flashing light, the lock opened. 

Slowly, painfully slowly, Thrawn pulled the door open, careful not to make any sound. He listened intently for any sound inside. Nothing so far. Once the door was open enough, he pushed the curtain aside and crawled in, keeping low on all fours. He quietly unclipped the blaster and held it in his left hand, making sure the safety was on. Then he began going through the bedside drawers, slowly, quietly, and methodically. If he was right, the keys should be in her drawers.

They were, and at the very top. Thrawn allowed a small smile, then taking them out, he hurried to the bedroom door. He opened it, then closed his eyes. He focused, stretching out to the Force, and... there! He disengaged the two devices he’d set. With an effort, he sent them flying over the balcony.

The sound they made was loud enough to awaken the two Togrutas. They rose bleary-eyed and muttering. Thrawn didn’t wait. He dashed down the corridor, down the stairs to the second level. He disengaged the alarm system and backed out of the apartment, surreptitiously placing a device on the wall. He wandered down the corridor of the complex as though he hadn’t just broken into someone’s house.

It had been a cold business, climbing up to the apartment that he did. Cold and wearisome. But it served a good purpose. He looked, even with the assortment of tools at his belt, like a relatively average citizen, perhaps one going to a rock-climbing gym.

He felt a twinge of guilt. The Kilvo family were, as far as he knew, quite innocent. They simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, of talking too loudly where Thrawn could hear. 

No matter. It was necessary. It had to be done, and of all the plans he had, this was by far the kindest. 

Thrawn could hear panicked voices from the Kilvo’s apartment. He summoned the turbolift, standing casually, leaning to one side and placing a hand on his hips as though bored. The doors finally slid open with a ping and a swish. Thrawn stepped through and pressed the button for the rooftop garage.

He stepped out into a wide, pillared space with many speeders. Thrawn pressed the key fob, and in the far-right corner, a blue light flashed twice. He went and got in; the computer had several preset locations prepared. He scrolled and scrolled until he found a clothing store. He pressed it and went on his way. 

Once he was finished there, having bought himself a proper set of clothes, he searched for ‘Ezento Spaceport’. He found it, pressed it, and set off.

The journey was quiet and long. It was a two-hour flight, and once the autopilot was on there was little for the sundered Chiss warrior to do. 

He looked at his hands in his lap as he flew. They were not the hands of the Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy. Not yet. No, they were the hands he once knew, the hands that played with carven nightdragons and groundlions with his father in the waning hours. The hands that would pick up the little ball-spider and carry it outside, or would welcome the whisperbird to eat out of it.

They were the hands that would one day become hard, calloused, in his days in the Academy on Naporar. His knuckles would one day bear the callouses of hours after hours of combat training, the scars of manoeuvres too slow or too quick. He would learn to take care of his hands so that his fingers at least would not be too calloused to do subtler works, to wield a paintbrush as well as a charric. 

In time, they would be the hands that would clasp his brother’s hand, as they bid each other fair well, and gave each other the warrior’s blessing.

Thrawn pressed the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left, rubbing it back and forth, a habit of his stressful, distant childhood come back to haunt him; he could feel his face growing tighter, his heart beating faster, pain swelled in his throat. He had not thought of Thrass for so long during his time in the Empire. Only now and again did he permit himself the chance to close his eyes, to bring his brother’s face to his mind. But ever since he arrived here, so far in the past, so young once more, that face, those memories, had become more and more prevalent, and without his will.

And worse than the face, were the questions that it brought: what would you think of me now, Thrass? Would you approve? Would you understand my actions on Lothal? My decision with the Wookies? Would you approve of my alliance with the Empire? Would you disagree with my actions now?

With an effort, Thrawn wrenched his mind away from Thrass, deciding to go over his plan. He had not been idle over the past year and a bit. If there was one group who could help him, who could send him back to the time and place he belonged in, it was the Witches of Dathomir. In his time, they were a diminished people. Perhaps there were others, but he knew of only one: Morgan Elsbeth. According to her, the Nightsisters had been nearly destroyed.

Thrawn wondered what had happened to them. The question nagged at him; every time he thought of them, it was like pushing at a piece of wood that had been hollowed out by termites. He should know why they were gone; he would never have approached Morgan so ill-informed. He put it down to the effects of whatever brought him here.

Nevertheless, the knowledge that they would be destroyed was useful, and that may be enough to bargain with them. 

But first, he had to go to Iszumuth, an isolated planet on the edge of wild space. He had some items there, gifts for the Ascendancy. The best gift he could give: information. Information he'd squirrelled away over the past year and a bit from the Jedi. 

Now the spaceport came into view. It was a wide, tall building. The roof was shaped like a many-petalled flower – seven hundred and twelve petals, to be exact. And on them were ships, all fuelled, but only one ready for Thrawn to take. 

Thrawn took back control of the speeder, angling down to the garage. He parked the speeder, took out the I.D. and ship key from the compartment, and got out. Now came the most perilous part of the plan.

Once he made his way to the top level, he went to the front desk. 

“Ah, hello, how can I help you?” asked the being at length. They have a long way of talking, their words seeming to melt into one another, in much the same way that a welder may unite two pieces of metal via friction welding. An odd choice for the front desk.

“Greetings, I am Jawan Smith,” said Thrawn. “Madam Kaash’tii Kilvo has asked me to fly to Silus Va on her behalf. She granted me the use of her starship. I have verbal authorization from her, if you wish to hear it. She has also given me the keys to the ship, and her I.D.”

Thrawn took them out and displayed them to the being. 

The being frowns and produces a high-pitched growl from the back of their throat. “I’ll have to call Madam Kilvo to confirm,” they said.

“I would advise against that,” said Thrawn coolly, taking a gamble now. Lying, he said, “Perhaps it is different for your species, but Togruta follow a very strict sleep cycle. Disrupting it could be disastrous.”

The being shrinks back; the gesture is minute and fleeting. Their pupils dilate. “Very well,” they said. “You may go.”

“You do not wish to hear the recording?” asked Thrawn.

“I believe you,” said the being. “You may go. The ship will be on platform one hundred and eleven; you may need a shuttle.” They reach below the desk and pull out a key. “They’re to the left,” they added. 

“I thank you… Rushkivvolu,” said Thrawn, eyeing the nametag. He took his items and the key and left.

The shuttle was pleasantly heated. Its designers, Thrawn noted, paid special attention to comfort over practicality. A fair enough compromise, since the shuttle was not meant to go far or fast. Still, an uncommon design choice for a purely utilitarian vehicle.

He reached platform one hundred and eleven, and let the shuttle return to its place. He swiped the I.D. and the ramp lowered. He went aboard, going straight to the cockpit. He inserted the key, twisted it, and began the startup routine.

“Hi, Thrawn,” said a voice. Thrawn froze.

The voice was cold and had a casual air to it. It is familiar, but that is impossible. No, not impossible, but immensely improbable. But the tone of voice is hostile, despite the casual air; there is definite anger in it. How did I not notice him? 

Thrawn raised his hands and slowly turned around. There, sitting casually on a chair, was a figure, their face hidden within the shadows. The figure reached up and switched on a light. They were garbed all in earthen brown, a thick beard on their brown face; anger was in their eyes. Thrawn very nearly reacted.

“Lieutenant Commander Vanto,” he said, allowing some measure of surprise to enter his voice. “Or should I say: Jedi Master Vanto?” He felt more surprise slip through than intended. Or was that another emotion?

“You should,” said Vanto. “Wish you’d gotten here earlier. I owe Yoda fifty credits. I’m guessing it was the clothes that set you back.”

His conversation is casual, as is his posture. But his voice is hard, and his facial glow is abnormally bright.

“How came you to this place and time?” asked Thrawn.

“I didn’t,” answered Vanto. “I arrived thirty years ago. I… disappeared, I guess, just after the whole Grysk incident with you and that Ronan guy, and the... the Death Star. I was a kid again, a baby, if you can believe it. And I think you can.”

“Interesting,” said Thrawn. “Quite interesting. I did not arrive as a babe.”

Vanto shrugs. “I guess whatever time storm, or whatever you wanna call it, did this doesn’t follow our rules,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve been here a little bit over a year, with that friend Doctor of yours. That so?”

Thrawn nodded. “A year and one month.”

“It took you a year and one month to figure out an escape?” asked Vanto. He raises an eyebrow, and his voice raises in disbelief.

“Not at all,” said Thrawn, shaking his head. “This took me only a week. But I have spent the time learning all I could about the Force, and gathering and storing that information. It will, I expect, aid the Ascendancy greatly.

“But it seems that my efforts have been largely unnecessary,” he continued. “As a Jedi master, you are in possession of far more knowledge than I could have hoped to acquire in only one year. We can therefore bypass that part of my plan entirely.”

“And do what, exactly?” asked Vanto. His facial glow increases. There is a considerable tightening to his facial muscles, and also his hands.

“It would be unwise for us to go the Ascendancy now,” said Thrawn. “The consequences that might have are too great to contemplate. However, it might be possible to return to the Ascendancy in the future.”

“I’ve tried that,” retorted Vanto. His voice is sharp. Once again, there’s a considerable tightening of his hands. “It’s not possible. Believe me.”

“Not for you, perhaps,” said Thrawn, his voice gone darker than he intended. “But I may have a way. The Nightsisters of Dathomir.”

Vanto’s face becomes taut. His posture becomes somewhat closed off. “The Nightsisters don’t have good relations with the Jedi. Maybe you could convince them. But I doubt they’d even let me near their village.”

“I would vouch for you.”

Vanto’s lips compress. His eyes narrow and move searchingly. It is a familiar face that he makes – he is searching for reasons to refute me, reasons that I’m wrong. His lips open, then close. He has grown a great deal since I last saw him, if he can guess my thoughts so well. 

“We can try it,” said Vanto at last. He sighs, a look of defeat on his face. The anger and tension leave him. He groans. “Fine,” he said, louder now. “We can try it. I’ll take you there personally. But on one condition, and one condition only.”

Thrawn nodded. Vanto shook his head. “No, say it. Swear on your word as a warrior, you’ll agree to my condition.”

“Tell me your condition first,” said Thrawn, narrowing his eyes.

“No,” said Vanto. His voice is firm, his eyes hard. He does not raise it, but there is an authority to it I had seldom heard, even when he was a lieutenant commander in the Navy. “Either agree, or don’t.”

“I cannot agree to a condition I don’t know,” said Thrawn.

“Then know this, Thrawn: it’ll be to your benefit,” said Vanto. “Yours, and ultimately, the Ascendancy’s.”

Thrawn shook his head. “Not enough. What is your condition, Vanto?”

Vanto closes his eyes. His brow is furrowed. There is once more a tightening of the facial muscles and an increased facial glow. He is silent for three seconds.

“No,” said Vanto at last. “No, you are either going to trust me, or I am going to leave you to your own devices. Those are your options, Thrawn. I hope, after all the years I’ve worked with you, that I’ve earned your trust.”

Thrawn sat in silence for a time. Why was Vanto so angry? The anger was directed towards him, of that Thrawn was sure. But why? And what could the condition be? If they couldn’t return to their own time, he and Vanto were, effectively, bound to the Jedi, and… ah. Could it be? An interesting proposal. But was it acceptable?

Thrawn turned the chair around and gazed out the viewscreen. If it didn’t work – and there was every chance it wouldn’t – what were his options? Precious little. There was no worthwhile military. He had not the skill nor interest to join the Republics political spheres. There were several prestigious art galleries where he would find work. But how would that help the Ascendancy?

But Vanto’s proposal, if he guessed his old friend's mind correctly…

“Very well,” whispered Thrawn. “I will accept your condition.”

“If this doesn’t work,” said Vanto, “I want you to become my apprentice.”

And now it was in the open. Thrawn reached a hand to his ribcage, the memory of pain returning like a ghost, but as vivid as—no, no, better not to think of them now. He brought his hand down

“So be it. But tell, master Vanto, why should I ally myself with them?” he asked. “The Jedi are the very reason I am here. I agree to your condition and will take up the mantle of Jedi, if you think that is for the best. But tell me why I should.”

“Because that’s what you do,” said Vanto. There is a subtle rise in pitch, suggesting confusion. His voice keeps rising, growing in strength and anger. “That’s what you do, Thrawn. You sent those cadets to a better academy, even though they attacked you. You tried to get Nightswan to help the Ascendancy! You made Ronan join them, you—you—you make allies that no-one else would, you make decisions nobody else does! Because they’re good decisions!”

Thrawn didn’t answer, a familiar ire rising up at the mention of Nightswan. His loss was a terrible waste, and the galaxy grew much darker as a result; he did not mourn governor Pryce as much as his old foe. As for Ronan and those cadets…

“The cadets had the potential to serve the Empire,” he said. “I merely gave them the chance to serve the Empire to their fullest. Nightswan was too useful to merely kill, but he could never be an Imperial officer. Ronan was a danger to both the Ascendancy and the Empire, and needed to be removed to a more controlled environment. But the Jedi… the Jedi—”

“The Jedi aren’t really warriors,” interjected Vanto. “They aren’t soldiers. They’re a lot more disorganized. They’re definitely not what they used to be. They won't push any major reforms on the Senate, and they have their limits on their authority. But, like it or not, they are the most powerful force in the galaxy at the moment. They can go just about anywhere; they can talk to just about anyone. And people listen! And besides, you know they can help the Skywalkers.”

“They still fail to use their immense powers for what is necessary,” said Thrawn. “There are evils in the galaxy, in the Republic, that they could fight, but they choose not to. They permit the Republic senate to hinder them when it is necessary that they act.”

“They take on pirate gangs on the regular,” countered Vanto. “They fight smugglers, criminal gangs, they resolve major conflicts on planets, and help clean up major natural disasters. They do everything you did, just without a fleet, or a crew, or a uniform. And besides, it's not like the Empire didn't stop you from doing things you thought were the right thing to do. Or at least, the Empire tried to stop you.” Vanto's lips twitch upwards in a smirk. "Everywhere's got rules, Thrawn. You telling me you couldn't bend any one of the Republic's rules and regulations like thin wire? Besides, Jedi get more leeway than even a Grand Admiral would."

Again, Thrawn was silent, his chin resting on his steepled fingers. Vanto was, of course, right. If he did work now, he could make things a great deal easier for the Empire in the future. And, of course, he could return to the Ascendancy and help the ozyly-esehembo – help nurture their powers, perhaps even retain them. Perhaps even expand them.

Perhaps a day might come when children would not need to be taken from their families. Perhaps Chiss like Vah’nya would become the norm. And who knows? Perhaps he could smuggle a few Jedi into the Ascendancy, save them from whatever catastrophe awaits them. Certainly one like Master Yoda, or Master Windu, would be a great asset to the Ascendancy, and ultimately to the entire galaxy.

And what's more, the technological benefits would be truly something. The Chiss could soon become a much greater technological force than ever before. They wouldn't even need to reverse engineer anything if Thrawn could bring back the blueprints.

“Very well,” said Thrawn. He turned back to Vanto. “Once again, I accept your condition…”

He paused, then releasing a breath, inclined his head. “Master Vanto,” he said, respectfully.

Vanto squints briefly. “You think this won’t work?”

Thrawn shrugged. “It seems unlikely. But I would rather exhaust the option than not try it at all.”

Vanto nods. The muscles of his right cheek contract for a fraction of a second.

“Alright then,” he said. “Let’s go. You can give the keys and the blaster back to the family you robbed, I’ve got my own transportation.”

“They are here?” asked Thrawn.

“Yep, in the reception area,” said Vanto. “I called them as soon as you left.”

Chapter Text

Thrawn had returned the stolen items with his usual inhuman (and, Eli had discovered in his time serving Ar'alani, unchisslike), calmness. The Kilvo matriarch’s expression changed from wrathful to confused in a split second; she plainly didn’t expect a child to be the thief. But she accepted the stolen items – and the recording of her voice – without a word, only glancing at Eli's impassive face.

Now the pair were on Eli’s starship, a rusty-looking freighter he’d acquired from a pirate gang ten years ago, only a few weeks after his ascension to knighthood. Eli had upgraded it extensively, beyond even the pirate’s modifications, turning it into a deceptively luxurious and formidable ship; few could match it for speed, or hide from its scanners; it’s only weakness was its minimal weaponry -- he'd replaced several of the armaments with scanners or shields. The other Jedi were skeptical about it, feeling that it was becoming an attachment for him. He assured them it was just a tool, although he admitted that he'd feel a little sad if it was destroyed.

“Most interesting,” murmured Thrawn in the background. He’d returned to his usual self, and was looking over the ship, examining all its corners – peeking through every hair, as Eli's aunt Familda would say.

His usual self. Eli was beginning to wonder who that really was. All that time he’d spent with Thrawn, he thought he’d gotten to know the Chiss warrior, that he’d gotten a firm grip on him. Sure, maybe in the same way one has a firm grip on a sweith-fish; but still, Eli thought he knew his old commanding officer. But now…

Eli breathed in, sinking into the Force, letting it wash over him, like the warm rays of the Lysatran sun that he could rest under for hours, unshifting. He let it fill him, let it cover him and calm him, let it remind him why he was here in the first place.

“You are upset,” Thrawn’s voice broke into his meditation. Eli sighed.

“Didn’t know you’d picked up mind reading in the temple,” he remarked.

“I did not,” said Thrawn, a soft note of confusion colouring his voice. How often had Eli heard that tone? It had been comical once to hear Thrawn respond to a clearly sarcastic question with earnest. “But I have not changed so much since last we met that I have lost all my powers of observation. And I can see your facial glow as easily now as I did then. More, even.”

Eli cocked an eyebrow, saying, “What do you mean? Do Chiss lose their eyesight as well?”

“Most beings do,” said Thrawn. “The few that don’t… I expect they never had sight, to begin with. Moreover, I am not wholly disconnected from the Force, although I certainly don't have the aptitude or the training that others have. I can sense that you have... ntukali... with it, and when you did your tenseness lessened, and your facial glow dimmed. Why are you angry, Vanto? What have I done to anger you?”

Eli smiled halfheartedly. Ntukali was a Cheunh word that meant *to increase familiarity*, or *to become closer*, but on a spiritually extreme level. It was nice to know that, after all these years, Thrawn hadn't become a complete expert at Basic. “It’s not important,” he said. “We’re almost there. You’ve got your plan ready?”

“I do,” said Thrawn. “It is important to me,” he added, with unexpected earnest. 

That stung a little; guilt smote Eli’s heart. Damn the man, why did have to be so… so contradictory? Eli wondered if he should’ve listened to Yoda and let someone else do this, or perhaps meditated more. Too late now.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” said Eli carefully, as calmly as he could. Now was not the time to begin a therapy session with Thrawn. “We’re going into hostile territory – I am, anyway. We need to be ready. So, what’s your plan?”

“You know, of course, that in our time the Witches of Dathomir, the Nightsisters, are all but extinct,” said Thrawn.

“Yeah. You said Morgan Elsbeth might be the last one left,” said Eli. Then, keeping his voice cool, and bringing the full brunt of his Sight onto Thrawn, he asked, “Do you know what happened to them?”

There was a ripple in that alien mind of Thrawn's. For a second, the perfectly logical order of thoughts rippled, as though a bubble had risen from the depths of a still lake; the surface rippled, then became like ice once more.

“I did,” said Thrawn. “But not anymore. A side effect of the… time storm, I presume. But I was able to make a few educated guesses. It cannot have happened too early. Morgan Elsbeth was young when I met her, and she told me that her people were destroyed when she was a child. If it happened too early, her anger would have been… not necessarily lesser, but certainly different. It is difficult to explain. It is the same if it happened much later.

“So, the genocide must take place pre-empire,” continued Thrawn, a change in his voice. Eli turned to look at him; he was leaning back on a couch, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “I expect within a period of five, maybe seven, years, based on her age at our meeting.”

“Why a genocide?” asked Eli. “Why not a sickness, or a natural incident?”

“The Nightsisters of Dathomir are deeply connected to their home,” said Thrawn. “They are a part of the planet in a manner that few other species are. That, along with their dark magic, grants them a particular invulnerability, shall we say, to disease and natural disasters. Moreover, when Elsbeth spoke of her people's destruction, she spoke of revenge and enemies.”

“I see,” said Eli. He hadn’t been present for that discussion and had honestly been glad. Even now, a newly minted Jedi master, he still felt uneasy at the thought of dark magic. But now, at least, he knew more about it and felt confident he could handle most things they threw at him. “Continue.”

“The genocide must have been quick,” said Thrawn. “It must have been sudden, as well. I suspect that, sometime in the future, within roughly ten years of the empire’s beginning, a war breaks out. The Nightsisters are somehow caught up in it and are subsequently wiped out, probably through orbital bombardment. This is, of course, speculation.”

"I see. And how do you plan to make that information useful to the Nightsisters? It's all pretty vague; like you said, it’s all speculation.”

“We shall see,” said Thrawn. “Are you proficient in the use of the Force in combat?”

“I have a lightsaber,” answered Eli. “Jedi aren’t meant to use the Force for combat, except in self-defence.”

“I have not always found that to be the case,” mused Thrawn, a hard edge entering his voice. “But nevertheless, self-defence is what I anticipate. You will have to leave your weapon, as a show of good faith.”

Eli sighed. He figured he might have to. It wasn’t ideal, but this whole situation was a study in the unideal. And he’d been in worse with less.

Hopefully’, he thought sardonically.

“Alright,” he said. “Anything else.”

“Nothing that I can think of,” said Thrawn. “Can you look into the future, and see what lies ahead?”

Eli shook his head. “Not with any accuracy. I thought you’d know that – the future is always in motion.”

“But the Jedi do see into the future, and the past,” said Thrawn. “Both in combat and in matters of prophecy and information gathering. Is that not so?”

“It is,” said Eli, repressing a sigh. “It's different for everyone. I've never been great at the whole seeing into the future thing. But seeing, -- and I use that word lightly -- a few seconds, or hell, just half a second, into the future is a lot more different than seeing even an hour into the future. And those prophecies are usually quite vague. The Jedi have actually banned the making of new prophecies because they're so unreliable.”

“Indeed?” remarked Thrawn, then falling into what Eli remembered as a contemplative silence.

The silence lasted a while and Eli’s announcement of their arrival was the only thing that broke the silence. Skilfully piloting their ship to the surface, he landed on a hilltop only a short distance from the forest wherein the village hid. He unclipped his lightsaber and left it on a couch. He was loathe to leave it behind; the planet was steeped in the dark side, and he could feel its coldness. It was like being in the depths of ocean worlds, where light couldn’t reach, and the pressure was immense, nearly unbearable.

“Trust in the Force,” he thought. “Remember Yoda’s teachings.” Even after all these years, Eli still fell back on the ancient Jedi’s teachings. The pressure diminished, and Eli could see and breathe once more. But the planet was still dark, and the pressure was still immense. Eli squared his shoulders and joined Thrawn at the ramp.

“I trust the other Jedi know we’re here,” said Thrawn, as the ramp lowered to reveal the red planet.

“Of course,” said Eli, his stomach twisting. He took some deep breaths. The Force was his ally, his companion and his counsellor through the darkness. “Got a tracker on my ship. You think we may need rescuing?”

“It’s possible. There are many unknowns. Shall we?”

Eli sighed. “I forgot how comforting you can be,” he said flatly. “Let’s go.”                                                                                                                          

Vanto was changed. Thrawn saw that in all his old friend did. It was written into his ship; his mind and soul were on display for all who had eyes to see. It was full of bright colours, and luxuries that the Jedi Order did not endorse. They did not ban it, or embrace some militant philosophies regarding comfort, but neither did they hold too high a view of comfort and luxury, especially in this apparent excess.

And yet, there was a practicality to it all. The several layers of cushioning would provide protection, should they all be thrown around, and it would also dampen any heavy vibrations from direct hits. It wouldn’t be perfect, of course, but anything is better than nothing. Moreover, Thrawn had already identified several locations that were secretly storage compartments, and there were several panels in the floor that could be lifted up to hide people. Or, perhaps, more weapons.

The ship was designed so that one had to go around two corners before reaching the main room. Then there was a place for a defender to hide and strike from, just next to the doorway. A single defender could hold the passageway for as long as their blaster fired, or their lightsaber burnt.

There was also no lack of food and water. If the ship were stuck in space, then an inhabitant, or even a few, could survive for a week at least. There were cabinets full of medical supplies for every occasion, a cabinet dedicated to espionage and infiltration, another glorious cabinet filled with datacards regarding thousands and thousands of different species and cultures. There were a handful of disguises, too. Vanto had been busy.

And of course, the exterior of the ship was rugged and decrepit looking. It was, according to Vanto, an old pirate freighter, which he’d commandeered during an operation. He’d cleaned it up a bit so that it didn’t resemble a pirate’s ship any longer, just an “old, decrepit thing”. Thrawn wondered what other secrets it held.

There was a peculiar grimness to Vanto that wasn’t there the last time Thrawn saw him. His face was hard, his brow knit in concentration; no smile was on his face, and it felt like there hadn’t been one in a long while. His speech was different, too. He gave shorter answers, many very vague. His voice had gained a gravelly undertone. There was a hint of weariness. His eyes were ever wandering, as though he were looking for something invisible.

The question of Vanto’s anger plagued Thrawn as they trudged through the tall, red grass, burning more and more in his heart.

He couldn’t have heard of Thrawn’s actions over Lothal. That was all Thrawn could think of that would cause such a reaction, but it was impossible that Vanto was a witness to it. Had he perhaps seen it through a vision in the Force? That was plausible, but unconfirmable, unless Vanto told him directly.

There was something else about this situation. Vanto, in the beginning, obeyed Thrawn because Thrawn was his commanding officer. Later, he obeyed him because Thrawn had proven his worth as a military leader, and later because of their friendship. But now? Now it seemed more that Vanto was, quite begrudgingly, humouring Thrawn, as a father might humour their child’s antics only because their mother insisted upon it.

He was not the man Thrawn left with Ar’alani. He was harder and surer of himself, and much, much grimmer than Thrawn remembered. He was less like an officer of the Empire or the Ascendancy, and more like the Mitth’aran’udyr of Mitth legend, mighty spirits clad in bodies of Chiss, who in those tales wandered Csilla for countless years, guiding kings and queens in the eternal battle against evil. Thrawn had to study those stories, among others, when he joined the Mitth family and had to admit they had an appeal to him as a mid-ager. 

It was possible that Vanto had a vision. Jedi could receive visions, will they or nill they, and they were not always accurate, nor did they always display the full picture. Perhaps Vanto saw his… less subtle ways of dealing with the rebels, and only saw from a limited perspective. Of course, he’d be angry then. And Thrawn could explain everything to him, the desperate position he was in, and dispel all that anger.

Unless, of course, Vanto saw it from the civilian’s perspective. Thrawn’s right hand twitched, the only sign of his rising emotions. He was glad Vanto was in front of him right now. Could he sense Thrawn’s emotions? No, it was unlikely, even with all that’s happened. Thrawn knew his mental shields were still very much impenetrable; only the Emperor could slip through them, and even he could never glean all of Thrawn’s secrets or designs.

Thrawn knew he would be long dead if they could.

With an effort, Thrawn put the thought of civilians out of his mind, along with all that came along with them.

They reached the edge of the dark forest, going a short distance out of their way to find a path. The trees seemed to reach out to them, like the gnarled fingers of a starving horde, and they were scraps of food. Thrawn had struggled with the sensory and telepathic aspects of the Force, choosing instead - even though he gathered information on Jedi prescience for the ozyly-esehembo's sake - to focus on the physical aspects, but even he could feel the darkness within the forest.

Vanto feels it more acutely. His right hand twitches, missing his weapon. I myself would feel more comfortable with a blaster, my deathtroopers, or even the Chimaera in low orbit. Nevertheless, there is no other way. A show of good faith is necessary in any negotiation.

They had travelled for somewhere around an hour when Vanto twitched. In a hushed but casual voice, he said, “They’ve noticed us.”

Thrawn and Vanto halted. The Chiss scanned the red trees. There! Amid the groping branches, stood one of the Nightsisters’ warriors. He kept looking until he found all four of them.

They are difficult to see and are covered nearly entirely, so that their glow is hidden. Their clothes blend in well with their environment.

In a clear voice, somewhat hampered by his younger body, he spoke to the Nightsisters, saying, “Nightsisters of Dathomir. I greet you. I am Thrawn, of the Chiss Ascendancy. This is my companion Eli Vanto, a great and noble warrior, of the Ascendancy as well. We seek an audience with your Mother Talzin. We come in peace.”

For a time there was nothing but the faint hiss of the wind in the branches. Then, like ghosts, the four warriors dropped from the trees and surrounded them. Neither Thrawn nor Vanto flinched.

“You are Jedi,” said one, pointing their bow accusingly at them.

Thrawn inclined his head. “We are affiliated with the Jedi, yes. But I assure you, our allegiance is towards the Ascendancy. And in token of good faith, you see we are unarmed. And we come with gifts of information.”

“Jedi are never ‘unarmed’,” said the warriorwitch. “Even without their weapon, even with their preaching of peace.”

“We do come in peace,” insisted Thrawn. “We are entirely at your mercy. And we come with a gift of information,” he reminded.

The warrior witches all twitch. What it means is impossible to say; there is too little data, and my knowledge of them is… hampered. The Jedi had little information on them, even on their art.

“What kind of information?” asked the warrior witch.

“The kind that cannot be given by any other,” said Thrawn. “A kind that might prove vital to your people.”

“What you say is nothing but wind!” exclaimed another.

The warrior witches tense, drawing their bowstrings further back. The first speaker makes a gesture with her head, and the others freeze. She tilts her head. Then she lowers her weapon.

“Lower your bows, sisters,” she said. “We will take you to Mother Talzin. If you prove untrustworthy, you shall die.”

The sisters obey, but they are still wary. Their bows are held at the ready, to be drawn at a moment’s notice. The design of the weapon is most curious and speaks volumes. The Nightsisters evidently value tradition, and yet are able to imbue a level of modernity within said tradition. It is unlikely the necessary pulling action required to use their weapons hinders them much.

The Nightsisters led the pair into the forest. The crimson branches reached hungrily towards the travellers. Privately, a part of Thrawn wished he’d kept the blaster. The better part of him understood it was necessary. Still, that part of him that worried persisted. It was natural, of course – nobody was immune to fear, save a handful of medical anomalies. It was a warrior's job to control their fear, to overcome it. There were times when fear was reasonable, and times when it was imagined, an unfortunate side-effect of self-preservation and pattern recognition malfunctioning. In those instances, it was, where safe, a good idea to distract oneself.

So, Thrawn returned his attention to the Nightsisters, examining their uniforms, picking out details, weaving them together in a tapestry of analysis.

The clothing is soft and offers ease of movement. The material does not appear to offer much protection – their magic may remedy that, but I suspect they primarily rely on their agility and stealth. The uniform has a distinct flowing aesthetic to it; the hoods especially show this. The lack of real pants is unusual. They have wrappings, and they could easily have real pants to protect against the elements. Perhaps they felt it would restrict movement too much.

The leader has large wing-like structures on their back. Two of the others have similar structures, though to a lesser degree. If the fourth member has such structures, it is too small to be seen from the front, and at any rate, they are behind us now. Most likely a sign of authority, or status.

The structures resemble closely that of a scimitar, but only individually. Together, it looks more like the wings of a butterfly or some other four-winged creature. An argument could also be made for a flower.

The uniforms are all red, serving a practical purpose; they blend in almost seamlessly against the red sky and the trees. I do not believe it serves as a status symbol – two of the Nightsisters have more intricate uniforms, but the speaker’s is less intricate than the other’s. More likely, they were handcrafted by the Nightsisters themselves, and these two simply have more skill in that area. Of course, who receives training may be a matter of status, but that requires more information.

Despite the minor alterations on some of the uniforms, they all share the same overall design, suggesting a culture of unity. Most likely they believe that no matter one’s authority, none are truly above the other, and none are below the other.

They arrived, at last, at the village of the Nightsisters of Dathomir. The village, much like its people, bent more to nature than the other way around. On the surface, it looked ramshackle and discordant. But to Thrawn, it was a masterpiece. The layout of the buildings would make it difficult for an invading force to have any formation. The ground would be difficult for heavily armoured warriors to walk over. There was plenty of cover for ambush attacks. There was no fence, but the trees and shrubbery provided a natural border.

Mother Talzin greeted the warrior witches at the edge of the forest. Thrawn saw her from a while away. Her hands were clasped before her, in a fashion similar to the Jedi.

The Mother is a tall woman, with large wing-like structures on her back. They move slightly with her. She also has large shoulder pads on her, far more prominent than the others. This suggests, to me, both authority and personal power. She does not need stealth or speed. Her magic is, it seems, enough.

“Sisters, welcome back,” said Talzin. Her voice reverberated through the forest, and it seemed that she spoke with many voices. Vanto twitched. “You have done well to bring these strangers to me. Go, eat, and return to your posts.”

She turned to Thrawn and Vanto. “Come, strangers. I have been waiting for you.”

Turning, Mother Talzin strode down the dirt path, with strides so smooth she seemed to be a wraith. Thrawn followed after her, with Vanto following alongside, half a step behind. Thrawn noted that his old friend had changed somewhat. He couldn’t see properly, but Vanto seemed more relaxed.

Mother Talzin silently guided them to a large cavern. The witch held up a hand, and a great rock moved aside. Thrawn and Vanto shared a look, both plainly wishing they were armed. Nevertheless, they entered.

The Great Mother pointed them to a stone table, around which intricately carved chairs were sat. Thrawn and Vanto took their places, but the witch remained standing.

“I have been waiting for you both,” said Mother Talzin. “I have foreseen your coming. It is good for you, master Vanto, that you left your weapon in your ship.”

“I hope it remains good for me,” said Vanto, a warning tone creeping into his voice.

Suddenly he seemed to change. Thrawn could feel it, even through his weaker connection to the Force; Vanto was now far brighter, more present, as it were. Thrawn could feel his presence like wind in a tunnel. Vanto is once again… intikala with the Force. Interesting – I did not expect this much power; it is an impressive display. Mother Talzin’s eyes are narrower now; she may feel threatened. If she attacks, all hope is dashed. What will our chances be? Are the others aware of Vanto now?

“Of course,” said Talzin. Her voice is a little strained, but she maintains her composure. “I hope you did not take my words as threats. I merely meant that we are weary of strangers. Over the many years, we have learned not to be too kind to strangers bearing weapons. Unfortunately, we’ve learnt to be especially unkind to Jedi. I am grateful that did not need to be the case today.”

Vanto’s presence recedes. The grimness leaves his face. When he speaks, his tone is softer; the threat is gone.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mother Talzin,” he said. “I expect you’re taking something of a risk, letting us in.”

Mother Talzin waves dismissively, but not rudely. “Think nothing of it,” she said. “Tell me, what is the purpose of your visit? It must be very pressing for a Jedi to come here. And… a Chiss. We have legends of the Chiss, but we Nightsisters have long since believed you to be extinct.”

“Not yet,” said Thrawn. “Hopefully, not for a very long time.”

Thrawn gathered himself, shifting in his seat to a more comfortable position. “The purpose for our visit, Great Mother, is this: I have studied what little I could of the Nightsisters of Dathomir. What little is known of you and your people, either in the Jedi archives or in other libraries, has been mired with legends and myths, and I have been hard put to the task of separating the fact from the fictional. Doubtless, the Nightsisters had some hand in spreading these myths.”

Mother Talzin smiles and bows her head. She speaks with false modesty. “We have no control over what outsiders say, young master Thrawn.”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I was able to discern that you are exceptionally powerful and… insightful,” said Thrawn. “I expect that, if you put your great powers to it, you could see that Master Vanto and I are not native to this time.”

A new smile forms on the Great Mother. Her curiosity has grown, perhaps. Perhaps she already knew and was simply waiting for this part of the conversation to arrive.

“You are correct,” she said. “I do know this. I saw it a long way off, many years ago: something in the Thread of Destiny had changed. You and your master are like branches cut from one tree and grafted onto another. You did not belong here.”

“And that is why I have come here,” said Thrawn. “You and your people are considered powerful, even against the Jedi. If any have the power to send Master Vanto and myself back to our original times, it is you.”

Mother Talzin does not speak. She turns and goes to an alcove. If there is anything, I cannot see it. Curiously, it does not follow the pattern of the rest of the village; it is too angular.

“It is a terrible shame that you came all the way here for nothing,” she said at last. “To travel in time is not possible. At least, to travel of one’s own volition. If it were, and such power was within the grasp of the Nightsisters of Dathomir…”

Ambition suddenly fills her voice. Her hand makes a fist, as though she can grasp the power. Then she drops her fist and turns.

“But it is not,” she said. “I am afraid I cannot help you.”

Thrawn frowned. There is something about this conversation that feels off. It was too… too quick, perhaps. It didn’t follow its proper course. I fully expected Mother Talzin to deny me, but this was just too quick. In all the previous dealings, in all the art, the Nightsisters are seldom so swift. They probe, question, and interrogate, and only then do they dash your hopes. There should be some sort of back-and-forth. Moreover, there was something in Talzin’s voice that was off. Ambition I expected, but there was a note of something else, an undercurrent of something… something that escapes me.

“Well,” said Vanto, getting up, “It’s a shame, but at least we tried, right Thrawn?”

“Indeed,” said Thrawn, making sure his voice didn’t betray his thoughts. “A pity indeed, but not unexpected. I thank you for your time, Mother Talzin. And this was not a complete waste; I got to look at the architecture and art of your people, and that is always a joy for me.”

She bows slightly. “You speak with winged words, young Thrawn. It was no inconvenience. I am always glad when we have a good experience with outsiders. But before you go, I may be able to tell you something of interest.”

Thrawn inclined his head. Talzin continued, “It is true that you are not native here. As I said, you are like branches cut from one tree and grafted to another. And now, you are a part of the new tree. You are not native, but you are no longer foreigners, as it were.”

“What does that mean?” asked Vanto. His voice is soft, thoughtful. He crosses his arms, but not aggressively. “You mean… we don’t have to worry about how our actions affect the future, because we’re part of the past now?”

“Quite so,” said Talzin. A note of surprise is in her voice. “Though, I warn you, deliberate actions may still result in changes. But I believe the Force will go to great pains to avoid any… terrible changes.”

This was an interesting development. The Doctor would be happy to hear this. He’d been locked in his room for the past year and a month, afraid to take any action because of the effect it might have on the future. He was only ever seen beyond the confines of his room, if rumour was to be believed, at night, like some phantom, flitting from pillar to pillar, and hiding in corners in the library.

“Once again, thank you for your time,” said Thrawn. “And now, for your advice. In turn, I offer you a gift of knowledge. There will come a time when—”

Mother Talzin raises a hand. “Do not bother, Chiss. You understand little of the nature of Time, so I do not expect you to understand. But please, keep your knowledge to yourself. I do not want it.”

Thrawn hesitated. It was vital information. “It is quite important,” said Thrawn. “It—”

Talzin held up a hand once more. Now green mist rose from the ground and covered Thrawn’s mouth. Vanto didn’t move.

“As I said, I do not want your information,” said Mother Talzin. Her tone is threatening now, her eyes narrowed. She lowers her head, a common sign that one is in battle readiness.

Doubt gnawed at Thrawn. Her people’s lives may depend on this knowledge, limited though it was. But if the Great Mother didn’t want it…

He bowed at the waist, then he and Vanto left. On her own head be it, and all the heads of her people. As they left, the mist evaporated. There was a witch outside, waiting with a hand on a wicked knife. They guided Thrawn and Vanto to the edge of the village. From there the pair went alone to their ship, silently. Thrawn was preoccupied with the conversation, analysing it from every angle he could. By the time they reached the ship, he’d concluded that he didn’t understand what had happened. Bitterness swelled in his heart.

“So, how are you feeling?” asked Vanto, climbing into the captain’s seat.

“Disappointed, naturally,” said Thrawn. “But it was the expected outcome. Tell me now, how will this proceed? I presume you will have to convince the Council that I am worth the effort. That will be a difficult task, I expect. They very nearly rejected the Skywalker boy, and he was younger than I, and more powerful and important, too.”

“I already convinced them,” said Vanto. “Actually, my convincing them is the only reason you’re not in prison right now. The hardest part wasn’t convincing them to take you in, but letting me train you.”

“I see,” said Thrawn. How difficult that must’ve been. Over and over, the Jedi espoused the need to reject attachments, to overcome emotions and control them, not to let them overcome you. They must’ve sensed Vanto’s emotional ties to Thrawn, even if it were only his anger at him. “I… I thank you, for your effort.”

Vanto didn’t respond, initiating the take-off sequence in silence. Thrawn’s thoughts turned back to the Lothal campaign. Ever since then, so many of his plans had gone awry. If it weren’t the luck the Phoenix Squadron had, it was the idiocy or treachery of his own people. There was the traitor, Kallus, or the idiot, Pryce, or the most egregious, the treacherous idiot, Konstantine. Had it simply been his bad luck to be paired with them, the worst of the worst in the Empire? Or had it been something more?

The will of the Force. The Jedi spoke of it as though it lived and breathed, and controlled the turn of the galaxy. What if that was true? If some higher being was against him, how could he have won at all? But the Jedi could control it, it seemed. But if that were the case, how did they fall? The Force must’ve turned against them.

Possibly. Perhaps it was more complex than that. He was aware there were many “aspects” to the Force. Understanding it all would take a long, long time. Possibly longer than he had.

No matter. He could discover the necessary parts, and focus on them. Qui-Gon had spoken a great deal about the “cosmic” Force, and Thrawn had grown to respect him greatly. He was a great warrior, and the galaxy was colder without him. Thrawn would start there.

He would have to return to the planet where he’d hidden his stash of information for the Chiss. It was doubtful he’d forget it all, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Then he could direct all his energy towards figuring out how to wield the Force, so that the next time he fought the Phoenix Squadron, he’d have the upper hand.

The Phoenix Squadron, or perhaps some other Force user. Lord Vader, perhaps, or the Emperor. For Nightswan was right, they were evil. Worse, they were untrustworthy. It was more likely than not that the Emperor would, with Thrawn gone, feel empowered to attempt to conquer the Ascendancy. And how long would it be, then, before he found them? If he laid a trap for Ar’alani, it wouldn’t be too long.

Yes, they’d have to be removed, and the sooner the better. Thrawn had no desire to become an Emperor, but he could easily establish a new Emperor. Perhaps he could save Nightswan from Baton, and place him in charge?

He was thinking too far ahead now. He smiled to himself, and laid out his goals before him: learn to control the Force, survive in secret until he returns to his time of disappearance, and then find a way to dispose of the Emperor and lord Vader. Satisfied that his new goals had been established, Thrawn went to one of the quarters, sank into the bed, and closed his eyes. The hum of the engines lured him into treacherous sleep.

They were gone, away from the planet. Mother Talzin released a breath, glad to be rid of those two. She turned back to the alcove and waved a hand. The illusion flickered and was removed. The sister stepped out.

“It must feel good to see your old friend again, after all these years,” said Talzin.

The sister opened her eyes, and it seemed to Talzin that they glowed dimmer than normal. A clear sign that this particular sister was unhappy. She didn’t speak.

“They arrived sooner than I expected,” continued Talzin. “Earlier by two years. Perhaps the plan has gone awry.”

“No,” said the sister, her voice harder than normal, almost angry. “It has not. The plan is proceeding as expected; two years is no more a large divergence than a bend in the river.”

Smiling, the Great Mother said, “And yet, that initial bend hides the rest of the river from sight.”

“Perhaps,” said the sister. “But if one has a map, even if it is outdated, then what is there to fear?”

Mother Talzin stepped closer to the sister, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Sister, why are you so unhappy? What is the matter, tell me.”

A sob wracked the sister’s body. She bent her head, putting a hand to her mouth. She took several deep breaths, before raising her head.

“It’s just… it was just a shock,” she said, “To see Thrawn under the light of this new Sight. Perhaps I am still unused to it, even after ten years. There are so many… so many layers, it is like trying to read code made by some distant alien none have ever met.”

Talzin smiled. “There, there, sister. It will get easier, and you will see him again before too long if this plan of yours is going aright.”

Plasma seared the sky and smote the earth, sending red-hot chunks of it flying everywhere! A bit of the debris struck Alina in the cheek, burning her. She clutched her cheek with one hand and her mouth with the other, stifling her scream. She couldn’t afford to scream, couldn’t afford to be heard. If they found her, they were all dead.

Alina shuffled backwards, slowly, quiet as death. No, quieter. Death wasn’t quiet. It was loud, all around her, screaming in her ears. It was the deafening turbolasers that battered and broke the earth, that turned homes to rubble. It was the screeching blaster fire that tore through the air and Devaronian alike.

It was the screams of her people, every mother, father, and child; every friendly street-wanderer, playing their songs to liven the streets and make some money, every butcher, woodworker, or lore-singer; every friend she long knew. Death was not quiet.

She reached the children now. She reached a tremoring hand out to the monitoring device, groping around for it, keeping an eye on the battle raging outside. She found the device, brought it around. Alina almost sighed in relief – the four children were still asleep, the sedative holding strong.

The door broke asunder, sending splinters flying into her body! Alina couldn’t stop the scream that escaped her. Boots tramped around her. She tried to get up, to scramble over to her siblings and do something, anything! no matter how pointless it was.

A kick to the head left her reeling, though. She heard voices, yet they seemed far away.

“Five of the red-skinned karks,” said the stormtrooper.

“Sure there’s no more hiding under the floorboards?” asked another.

“Doesn’t look like it,” said a third.

“Eh, we’ll just get a strike here,” said the first. His voice changed, growing grim but excited. “After I just…”

Pale green filled the room. Alina saw the trooper, a misty figure through her tears, fire into her siblings, a continuous stream of death. She struggled to raise a hand, but all it did was get the other stormtrooper’s attention. He aimed his blaster. There was a flash of green.

Thrawn jolted awake! His sides were heaving, his body drenched in sweat. He raised a hand first to the side of his head, then to the top. Nothing. As always, nothing.

He shut his eyes tight, gripped the bedsheets until his knuckles were pale, and took a deep, shuddering breath in, held it for a count of four, then released it. He repeated this until his heart was no longer racing and his fingers stopped shaking.

He got up from the bed and checked the time. Half an hour before they reached Coruscant, enough time for a shower. He went to the ship’s bathroom, keeping a careful eye out for Vanto. Although, Vanto was apparently good at using the Force to hide himself. Thrawn looked forward to learning that skill.

Thrawn turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the warm water cascade over his shoulders. Another nightmare. He wasn’t sure if they were dreams or visions, but they began his first night in the temple and hadn’t let up since. There were brief moments of peace, nights where he could sleep peacefully. But only one or two at a time, and they were so few and far between.

Was this normal? Did all Force-sensitives suffer this affliction? Was it unique to the Jedi? Or was it sent by someone? A Jedi who disliked Thrawn, sensed perhaps the animosity the Chiss held towards the Order? Perhaps they foresaw, or somehow sensed, the Empire’s capture or kill mandate and wanted to punish Thrawn?

Or was it the Force itself? Had it set itself against Thrawn in all times? In it’s future, it worked against Thrawn and foiled his plans against the Rebellion. Perhaps now it decided to torment Thrawn with these visions, having fuller access to his mind.

No matter , thought Thrawn, stubborn anger rising; his fists clenched by his side as he breathed in, and out, letting the anger settle within, not boil over; it swirled in his heart, a steady stream. Whatever the case, Thrawn would persevere. For the Ascendancy, he would persevere. He became a warrior of the Empire for the Ascendancy’s sake, and so would he become a Jedi, no matter the cost.

“No matter the cost,” he swore.

Master Yoda was waiting for the pair when they landed. Thrawn walked behind Eli, keeping his mask as impenetrable as ever.

He is happy, it seems; he smiles, his ears are raised, his stick is to the side and he does not lean on it. Perhaps he hoped for this outcome.

“Master Yoda,” said Vanto, bowing. Thrawn mimicked Vanto.

“Vanto,” said Yoda. “Thrawn. Delighted to see you back, I am. Less bright, the temple seemed, without you.”

I cannot tell his true emotions or meanings. Master Yoda is enigmatic, as few I know are. The Emperor, the Doctor, and I alone could match him. “I look forward to learning the ways of the Jedi, master Yoda.”

Yoda’s eyes squint. He is analysing me, assessing my sincerity. Or perhaps looking for something else. “Hmm, difficult, it will be.”

“Respectfully, Master Yoda, you know my background,” said Thrawn.

The grand master laughs. He comes forward and pokes me with the stick. “Yes, a soldier you are, a warrior, hmm. Not afraid, is a warrior, hmm? Disciplined, yes, so very disciplined.”

Thrawn frowned. “Fear is a natural part of a warrior’s life, Master,” he said. “It is the warrior’s job to control fear, to overcome it. The only way to do that is through constant discipline.”

Yoda’s smile fades, but he does not grow grim, as Vanto does. Instead, he speaks softly, as one contemplating. “Strong-minded you are, Thrawn. Yes, strong-minded. Like a deep river, you are – hard to stop, when committed, you are. But set in your ways, you are, also. Change the course of the river, can you, hmm? Think you have overcome all your fears, do you? Think you can see them all, do you? Much to learn, you have, if a Jedi you intend to become. Much to learn. Much to unlearn.”

“I will do whatever it takes, Master Yoda,” said Thrawn. “I gave Master Vanto my word, and now I give it to you: on my word as a warrior, I will become a Jedi.”

Once more, Yoda smiles, but it is different. I have seen it often, especially the old Mitth patriarch, Thooraki. Hopeful, yet sad.

“Good, good,” said Yoda. “Then two new students, we have. You, and your friend the Doctor.”

“He’s finally left his room, has he?” asked Vanto. Vanto grins and folds his arms.

Yoda laughs again, and he is cheerful now. “Yes! Read enough, he has at last. Convinced him, your report did. The last straw, it was.”

Turning, Yoda led Thrawn and Vanto into the temple, and once more, Thrawn was reminded of the vastness of the place, its enormity a testament to the Jedi’s power and influence. All this power, all this influence, and yet they still perished. Why?

Down the wide, twisting halls they went, Yoda and Vanto silent as the sii’hembo in Irizi Kathu mythology, wandering spirits said to guide the worthy of the Irizi. Ar’alani had told him of her family's larger mythologies and religions when they were still in the Academy. She was a staunch atheist, as most Irizi are, but she was going through a phase at the time and had delved deep into their old religions, particularly Kathu mythology.

Thrawn didn’t dare let the strange pain in his chest grow any further. It was senseless to feel sad. She didn’t even know him yet.

He turned his mind towards the future. Vanto hadn’t spoken about what his training would include. It was, according to him, up to Yoda, but the diminutive Jedi master hadn’t said anything either. Thrawn, for his part, had been informed by Qui-Gon Jinn that younglings are separated into different “clans”, instilling a sense of unity with their comrades and playful competition with their rivals. They had regular classes, teaching everything from literature to arithmetic, alongside the necessary Jedi basics.

After some time, when they were ready, younglings were initiated into Padawanhood. They were chosen by or assigned to a master, either a Jedi Knight or a fully-fledged Master. While their regular classes would continue until their twentieth year, then being replaced with more advanced subjects such as diplomacy and investigation, they were given intensive, one-on-one training with their master.

But Thrawn was a, nearly, unique case. In a manner of speaking, he was even more unique than Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin Skywalker. The name rang like a distant temple bell. It was familiar, but it was like a word that had been yelled in a cave, echoed over and over and over, and was now too distant, too distorted, to be understood.

Thrawn wrenched his mind back. Skywalker had a good excuse for his late training, being alleged to be the Chosen One. Qui-Gon explained only a little bit, and Thrawn wasn’t too interested in the prophecy to dig deeper, having other things to worry about.

But Thrawn had no great excuse. He was just from the future. He had everything against him – age and attachments mostly. Why was it apparently so easy for Vanto to convince the Council? Why would they just accept him?

He understood why they were reluctant to let Vanto train him. Jedi were forbidden from forming attachments, and from letting their emotions control them. Vanto was Thrawn’s subordinate and friend for many long years and on many missions. Simple neurology said there was an attachment there. And then there was his anger…

“Thrawn!” cried a young voice. Thrawn identified it as Anakin Skywalker.

The young boy tackled Thrawn from the side, hugging him tightly. Reluctantly, Thrawn returned the hug, then gently pulled young Anakin back.

“They told me you ran away!” exclaimed the youth. There is an accusatory tone. His facial glow is immensely bright, and his hands are in tight fists; his face is contorted in a frown. He is upset.

“I did,” admitted Thrawn. “But I am back now. You will be glad to know I am joining you in becoming a Jedi.”

The facial glow increases, somehow, and the youth’s general expression changes – the raising of his eyebrows, mouth agape, fists open. His anger is forgotten.

“Really?” asked young Anakin. “Awesome! You and I and the Doctor are gonna do so much cool stuff! We’re gonna make lightsabers and fight pirates and slavers, and we’re gonna fly all over the galaxy, and we’re gonna see every star there is!”

Little Anakin’s youthful optimism is infectious; I give him a small smile, despite myself.

“We shall certainly endeavour to do so,” said Thrawn. He looked up; Obi-Wan was approaching. “But now, your master awaits; I expect you have classes to attend.”

“Ugh, I know,” said the child. “Literature! It’s so boring.”

“Anakin,” said Thrawn, softly chastising, falling back into his commander habits. “Literature is important. It is invaluable in understanding the wider galaxy.”

He pouts, a frown creasing his brow. “It’s just stories,” said young Anakin. “How’s that meant to work? They’re not even real.”

“Stories are a mirror,” said Thrawn. “They reflect the soul of the author, and the soul of the world the author lives in, its times and customs and beliefs. They offer fresh perspectives, and new insights into things you may never have known of, or have known of, but never considered. It is art, in a fashion.”

His lips compress, his eyes withdraw and look elsewhere, his eyebrows come down. “I guess.”

“But you are right,” conceded Thrawn. “They can be… dull, at times. Allow me to offer you a proposal: if what the Jedi offer is not to your liking, I will take you to Coruscant’s nearby public library. There, we can stay until you find something you like.”

Young Anakin looks back up, eyebrows raising once more. His facial glow increases again. The prospect of a library visit does excite him as much as the opportunity to socialize with me.

“Really?” exclaimed the young boy. “Alright!”

“As long,” said Thrawn, raising a finger, “As you study, and study properly.”

Once more, his expression drops. But not so much. “Alright,” said young Anakin. “See ya later, Thrawn!”

He dashed back to Kenobi, standing at the far side of the hall, who waved back at Thrawn with a smile, before guiding Anakin back on their original route.

“You seem to have made a friend,” noted Vanto.

“Perhaps,” said Thrawn.