Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You wake up to the sound of whispering.

Not the kind that comes from people, but the kind that hums through stone—low, ancient, and patient. It breathes through the cracks in the walls, through the dust coating the air, curling around your ears like smoke.

Your head throbs. The floor beneath you is cold, carved from black stone that seems to pulse faintly, as if the whole place has a heartbeat. When you push yourself upright, your palm leaves a faint print of warmth that vanishes almost instantly.

The air smells of burnt metal and age.

And somewhere in the dark, something laughs.

You freeze, heart thudding. For a moment, you expect a boom mic to drop from the ceiling, or for someone in a headset to yell, “Cut!”

But there’s nothing. No cameras. No crew. Just you—and shadows that feel a little too alive.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice echoing off the walls. “Creepy haunted ruin. Great. Spielberg’s really going method with this one.”

A whisper threads through the silence. You can’t tell if it’s a voice or the wind, but it’s close—too close.

Leave this place.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, that’s original.” You lift your voice toward the shadows. “Hey, listen, if this is supposed to be scary, it’s not working. I’ve watched The Conjuring at 2 a.m. You’ll have to try harder.”

The torches lining the walls flare to life, bright crimson flames licking at the air. The sudden light throws everything into sharp relief—massive Sith statues, carved faces twisted in eternal rage, and symbols glowing like molten rock.

You stare for a beat. “Oh. Cool. Lava lighting. Dramatic.” You brush off your jeans, glance around. “Spielberg really outdid himself with the set design this time. This isn’t Indiana Jones, right? Or is this, like, a crossover episode?”

The shadows shift again, and this time, you hear words. Not quite sound—more like thought.

“… the Jedi will not sense it here…”

You stop breathing.
Jedi?

The word hangs in the air, slicing clean through your confusion. You blink, then blink again, like maybe your brain misfired.

“Wait.” You stand up straighter, looking around. “Did someone just say Jedi? Like—actual Jedi?”

Nothing answers but the faint hum of red light crawling along the walls.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your pulse skipping. “No way.” You take a step forward, then another, a slow grin spreading across your face. “No freaking way.”

Your voice echoes, bouncing off the ancient stone. “I’m in Star Wars?” you say, half-laughing, half in awe. “I’m actually in Star Wars? Oh my god, this is insane.”

You whirl around, searching the shadows. “Okay, so—prequels or original trilogy? Please don’t tell me I got dropped in the sequels, I’m not emotionally prepared for that.”

A flicker of movement catches your eye. Something tall and robed glides forward, its form half-transparent, wrapped in crimson mist. A voice like a dying star rasps your name.

You point immediately. “Oh, wow. Sith ghost, right? You’re like—Darth Somebody. This is, what, Korriban? Or Moraband? Oh my god, I know this place. You guys have, like, temples full of dark side energy and ominous whispering, right?”

The ghost leans closer, the temperature dropping around you.

You grin. “That’s awesome. Seriously, love the outfit. Peak dark lord aesthetic.”

The spirit lets out an ear-splitting shriek that rattles the pillars. You wince, covering your ears.

“Okay! Okay, chill! You could’ve just said hi, drama queen.”

The air vibrates with power, the torches flaring higher—but you’re too busy staring, eyes wide, a wild laugh bubbling in your throat.

“This is so cool,” you breathe. “I’m in the freaking Star Wars.”

The ghost doesn’t leave. It lingers—tall, thin, and flickering in and out of shape like static on an old TV. The red mist thickens around it, seeping along the floor until it coils at your ankles like smoke.

“Okay,” you mutter, trying not to show how fast your heart is beating. “You’re doing that horror-movie thing again. Cool lighting, great atmosphere. I get it. Sith temple. Evil vibes. Got it.”

The air vibrates—low, deep, like a growl from something much larger than a throat could produce. The temperature drops again. The whisper comes from everywhere at once, overlapping, layered, ancient.

You… do not belong here.

You swallow hard. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m starting to pick up on that.”

The shadows move closer. A dozen translucent faces take shape in the dark, each twisted differently—warriors, emperors, ghosts of a thousand failed masters.

Yet the Force brought you. The Living Force does not err.

Serve us… and we will teach you what it saw in you.

You stare. “…Serve you? As in, what—be your apprentice? Minion? Possessed host body?” You fold your arms, trying to sound braver than you feel. “Hard pass, thanks.”

The nearest spirit glides forward, features blurring and reforming. You feel the chill of it on your skin.

You do not understand.

We offer power. Knowledge beyond the Jedi’s timid light.

You snort. “You’re literally the ‘Dark Side.’ I’ve seen enough movies to know how that goes.”

The whispers tighten, the sound becoming a hiss that curls inside your skull.

You could be greater than any Jedi.

Greater than the Chosen One himself.

The air thickens—then twists. The red around you bleeds away to black, and suddenly the temple isn’t there anymore.

You blink, disoriented, and find yourself standing in the middle of a city bathed in sunlight. Speeders zip between golden towers. The air smells of ozone and spice and life. You know this place even before you realize how.

Coruscant.

And there—down a wide avenue—stands him.

Anakin Skywalker. Younger than you remember from the stories, his hair shorten than you'd expected, the Jedi tunic hanging loosely as he argues with someone just out of sight. He’s alive, whole, still untouched by the darkness waiting for him.

Your heart lurches.

He laughs at something, the sound carried by the wind. You remember that laugh—what comes after it. The fall, the fire, the breathing mask. All of it.

The ghosts whisper at your ear, honey-sweet and venomous.

He is strong, but flawed. Fear drives him. Love breaks him.

You could surpass him. You could save him—or rule where he failed.

You shake your head. The vision trembles around the edges, red bleeding back into it.

“No,” you say softly. “No, I wouldn’t save him by becoming what destroyed him.”

The city dissolves like smoke. You’re back in the temple, the torches blazing scarlet.

The ghosts scream this time—furious, shrill, the sound of stone cracking and stars dying.

FOOLISH MORTAL! YOU WERE CHOSEN!

The floor shakes violently. The air turns heavy, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe. The red light burns brighter, pouring from the glyphs, wrapping around you like chains of molten iron.

Your knees buckle. The cold burns now, cutting into your skin. You can feel them trying to reach inside you—pulling, clawing, digging for a place to anchor.

“Let—go—of me!” you shout, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

The whisper becomes a roar.

SUBMIT!

And then—

Light.

Pure, blinding white light explodes from above, slashing through the darkness like a blade. It sears across the chamber, burning through the mist, scattering the shadows like ash in the wind. The screams of the Sith fade into nothing.

You fall backward, gasping, your vision full of white and gold. The cold vanishes. The air is warm again.

For a second, you think you hear a voice in the light—calm, steady, impossibly familiar.

'Breathe.'

Then everything fades, and you’re left suspended between light and dark, the echo of the Sith’s fury still ringing in your ears, your pulse racing like thunder.

Chapter Text

The darkness vanishes like it was never there.

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing—no air, no sound, no temple. Just light.

It’s not harsh or blinding anymore; it’s soft and gold, warm in a way light shouldn’t be. You feel it against your skin like sunlight on a spring morning, sinking deep until the cold is gone from your bones.

You breathe in—and it feels like life.

The roaring in your ears quiets. The last echoes of the Sith fade like retreating thunder. Slowly, your vision clears.

And there, standing in the center of the light, is a man.Tall. Robed. His expression calm, wise, but not distant. Hair shot through with silver. Eyes that hold entire skies inside them.

You blink, heart still hammering.

You know that face.

“Wait,” you whisper. “You’re—holy crap—you’re Qui-Gon Jinn.”

A faint smile touches his lips.“Indeed I am.”

“Oh my god.” You press your hand to your mouth. “You’re real? You’re like—Force Ghost Qui-Gon? Actual Liam Neeson Jedi mentor edition?”

His smile softens, patient in a way that makes you feel six years old and safe for the first time in forever.

“You are safe now. The dark will not touch you here.”

You finally notice your surroundings—no longer the temple, but a vast, endless field of light. No walls, no horizon, just warmth and a faint hum in the air like a living heartbeat.

“I… I was almost turned into a Sith popsicle five minutes ago,” you say, voice still shaky. “And now I’m talking to you. Okay. Sure. Totally fine. Not weird at all.”

He tilts his head slightly, that same calm expression that makes you feel seen, but also slightly scolded—like he’s the kind of man who would wait for you to finish panicking before telling you a life-changing truth. “You were brought here for a reason,” he says. “The Force chose you.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “The Force chose me? For what, exactly? I’m not even from this galaxy! I don’t have a lightsaber, I don’t speak ‘Force,’ and I definitely don’t do ancient ghost exorcisms.”

He studies you, his voice gentler now.

“The reason will become clear, in time. But you are meant for more than you know. You are not here by accident.”

You squint at him suspiciously. “Wait—wait, hold on.” You point at him, backing up a step. “You said chosen. Every time someone in this galaxy says that word, things go really badly. Are you about to, like, possess me? Please tell me this isn’t a ghost-possession situation, because I just got rid of a bunch of those.”

For the first time, his calm expression cracks into something like amusement. A small, knowing smile.

“No, child. I do not intend to possess you.”

“Okay. Good. Because I don’t think I could pull off the wise-old-Jedi look. No offense.”

He actually chuckles—a low, warm sound that vibrates through the light around you. “The Force does not make mistakes. You will see why you are here soon enough. But for now, you must wake.”

“Wake? Wait—wake where? I don’t even know where I—”

Before you can finish, the light surges again, brighter, weightless, folding around you like a tide. His form begins to fade, but his voice lingers.

“Trust the living Force. And remember—you are not alone.”

“Wait, no, don’t Jedi-cryptic me now!” you shout, but the words vanish into the brightness as everything tilts and falls away.

And then—
You gasp.
Stone. Dust. Wind. The faint hum of something distant and familiar—ship engines, voices.

The Sith temple is gone, or maybe it was never fully real. You’re alive. Shaken. Changed.

And somewhere in the distance, footsteps echo, voices grow louder and the next thing you know is a careful touch of hands that make you realize somehow you're still alive.