Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sors would never tell anyone, but he was pretty sure that Azig was the dullest lightsaber in the galaxy. Why he had thought it was a good idea to shove Chanar into the nearest pool during meditation time, when Master T’rent was right there and watching, was anyone’s guess. Though Chanar wasn’t any better, he had dragged Aplel into the shallow water instead of Azig because he hadn’t seen who shoved him. Aplel had been furious, radiating baffled-annoyed-cross into the Force at Chanar. She had very quickly turned around to wrestle Chanar into the mud for the injustice, calling for Loohli and Ettana to help her hold him down so she could shove a slug she had found down his robes.

After that, all bets were off as the rest of his clanmates joined in. Sors had ducked behind Master T’rent, narrowly avoiding Ranera’s tail as she tried to rope him into the mess. He did not want to join them for this, there were too many slugs in this mud and clearly Aplel was way too good at putting them where no slugs should ever go. He was pretty sure he had seen one slide out of Chanar’s ear and land in Ettana’s mouth. Ranera had tried to grab him again, this time with Loohli’s help, but Master T’rent told them that Sors didn’t have to join them for their fight if he didn’t want to, and they’d get plenty more time to play later.

Ranera had chattered at him, tail whipping behind her, right up until Ettana entered the edge of her vision and stuck her tongue out. Sors had watched as Ranera let out a yowling war cry and flung herself at Ettana, leaving Loohli behind to have another slug thrown at her by Chanar. Sors had looked up at Master T’rent, nervously wondering if they were going to be given extra meditation time in one of the boring meditation rooms certain Masters preferred for some reason. He wasn't entirely sure that Master T'rent favored those meditation rooms, but he was sure they'd be finding out soon.

Sors knew they were supposed to be an easy creche group for the Master, they were injured after all. No one had really told Moof Clan that the Master was injured, but their brow had had a bit of sweat on it when Master Tevith had done introductions and the Master had seemed rather out of breath on their walk to the Gardens, which was weird because Master T’rent was much taller than any of Sors’s clan and they weren't walking very fast. Loohli had later pointed out that the Master had been a rather odd shade of pink, which she thought was because of their clammy skin, and all of his creche clan had decided the new Master was probably hurt. They were proven right within a tenday, because no Master stayed longer than that in-Temple unless they were too injured to be sent back out.

Two tendays into having Master T’rent around, and Sors had decided that if all the warfront Masters were like them, then they should all come back to the Temple more often. Even if they hadn’t shielded him from his creche clan’s attempt to put slugs where they don’t belong, Master T’rent liked to bring some of their troopers in to tell them stories. Major Fable was a really good storyteller, though Privates Doublecross, Verbose, and Jattyl were cool too.

Apparently, the 439th Battalion specialized in mountainous terrain and fighting on rock faces, so they spent a lot of their time climbing all sorts of places across the galaxy. Verbose had said that they weren’t allowed to use jetpacks either, and these troopers weren’t Force-sensitive so obviously they had the best stories. Jedi were better free climbers, but Master T’rent’s troopers had to get so creative to keep up.

Unfortunately for Sors and everyone in the vicinity, Azig and Ranera had been especially inspired by the clones' creativity and had taken to lurking on the creche walls and jumping on unsuspecting victims. Moof Clan had been having lots of shielding lessons recently, and the pair of Farghuls had put it to good use, muffling their mischief-giddiness and footsteps until it was too late to avoid them.

They had been wanting to test their newest tricks on the troopers themselves, but apparently they were all in trouble. Sors was pretty sure Master T’rent had said something about a fox, but Chanar said that was impossible because only the Temple and super rich Senators had real foxes, and Senators didn’t like the clones. Sors thought that was stupid, the clones were so bright and warm, and they always told the younglings stories when they visited the Jedi in the Temple. The clones didn’t seem to know that all the younglings and Initiates knew that most sentients didn’t like them, which meant there was an unspoken agreement that none of them would mention it. The Knights and Masters seemed to know that they all knew though, and no one had gotten in trouble for knowing, which meant it was a Jedi-feelings secret and there shouldn’t be any trouble for not talking about it ever.

It was a miracle that they hadn’t gotten in trouble for the mud fight. Everyone knew meditation in the Gardens was the best kind of meditation, why had his clanmates risked being put into those terrible meditation rooms? The only good part was that Master T’rent had been radiating wistful-fond-delighted while watching the chaos unfold. Sors had been pretty sure the Master couldn’t feel anything but exhaustion-mournful with the occasional faint pulse of pain, but this was much better and radiated warmth-affection.

Sors had stayed behind Master T’rent, even after they had called his clan back over and marched them all to the baths. His clanmates had slug juices and mud everywhere, and Sors may have been taught that sharing was part of being a Jedi, but he did not want any of the others to share the results of their terrible choices with him. The Master had passed the clan off to Master Tevith, promising that they’d wait and take them all to the refectory for latemeal. Sors had to join his clan in bathing after Aplel had put a slug down the back of his robe.

And now Sors was listening to Loohli regale a couple of unfamiliar Masters and a Padawan with the time Chanar had managed to swap around the boots of all the Junior Initiates about to go to Ilum. The Master and Knight that were escorting the Initiates had not been amused, and Chanar had somehow managed to implicate all of them while being scolded, which meant extra chores for a week for the whole clan.

There was a Knight close by that had been eating with them, but she had stepped away to take a call from her Captain. Sors could hear her grumbling, and obviously so could Ranera, because she was whispering to him now.

“Do you think that she’d let her Captain come tell us some stories? Master T’rent said that Doublecross is still in trouble.” Ranera’s eyes were dilated with excitement, her reddish tail swaying behind her.

“You just want to see if your new “climbing” skills will work on the clones,” Sors whispered accusingly.

“I think it’s a super awesome idea.” Sors didn’t flinch, because of course Azig had heard them talking about jumping on the clones. He was always at the scene of the crime, and his tail was lashing worse than Ranera’s was. A terrible sign.

“It’s obviously not, we’ve never even met her Captain,” Sors grumbled. “Besides, I think they’re talking about going away again.” At least that’s what the resigned-pained-regretful feeling usually meant in the Knights and Masters. No one ever wanted to leave the Temple, the Force was warmest here.

“Oh.” Azig’s ears were drooping now. He hated when any Jedi felt like that because they’d stay feeling that way until they left the Temple entirely. “Didn’t she just tell one of the Masters that she had just gotten back?”

“She did,” Ranera hummed. Ranera wasn’t as sensitive to the feelings of the Knights and Masters as Azig was, but she was very sensitive to all of Moof Clan’s feelings. Nothing happened to any of their clanmates without Ranera or Ettana knowing something.

“I wish they’d stay longer. Maybe they’d feel better if the Temple warmed them up more,” Sors suggested. He always felt better after the Temple warmed him.

“Oh that’s a good idea!” Ranera exclaimed, way too loud. Now everyone was going to know they were talking about something. “Let’s tell Master Tevith and he can tell someone else! Then maybe it’ll all be better!”

The Padawan that Sors thought had been listening to Loohli hummed in confusion. “What will all be better young one? Perhaps I can help you since Knight Forvun needs to speak to Captain Nortall.” The Padawan gently pushed interest-sincerity warmed with their amusement at the three of them.

Ranera froze. Sors knew she hadn’t meant to be loud, she just got excited. Her and Ettana did that quite often. Master Tevith assured him that they’d learn to manage their volume, but he still worried. Ranera looked like she was about to tell the worst lie anyone at the table had ever heard, but before she could, an odd feeling swept through the Force.

The few Jedi in the refectory froze, and stood abruptly. Sors had never seen Master T’rent move quite so fast. It couldn’t be good for them, they were still hurt. He reached out to tentatively tap the Master on their arm, before freezing when he heard a noise. It was Knight Forvun, who was tapping her comm, thick confusion-worry leaking into the Force.

“Nortall just cut our call,” she said. “They never cut our comms short, we were still discussing the resources we need before leaving Coruscant.”

Master T’rent’s brow was furrowed. “Something is wrong,” they stated. They poked at Sors and his creche clan with the Force, urgency-stress-worry pushing all of them out of their seats. “We must go young ones. I have a terrible feeling-”

Master T’rent never got to finish their sentence. The Force tore through the room with a howl, ripping its icy claws across anything in its path. All the Jedi in the room staggered, including Sors. He only felt a brief moment of fear-confusion-PA- before an unfamiliar set of shields wrapped around him, insulating him from the sudden chill. Azig cried out in terror, his sensitivity to strangers emotions in the Force hitting him harder now.

Sors and Loohli rushed to his side, bracketing him and pushing affection-strength against his tightly drawn shields. Not a good sign, Azig rarely drew his shields that high. It tired him out quicker than the rest of them, and he had always done best when he was feeling those around him. As the two of them held Azig close, Sors raised his head. Aplel had definitely noticed something, her head-tendrils were quivering. Sors had only ever seen them do that after a particularly bad nightmare.

Aplel turned to Master T’rent. “Master, I can hear something weird. It sounds like the droid fire when we put our helmets on for sensor training.” She was looking up at the Master with watery eyes, “I think I can hear crying, like when Lizard cried after he broke his paw in the Gardens that one time.”

Master T’rent’s eyes widened. Sors had never seen them make such an expression before. “We must go young ones. Now.” The Masters that had been sitting with them started herding Sors’s clan together, gathering all of them in a tight circle made up of his clan, them, the Padawan, and Knight Forvun. Master T’rent had pulled ahead, glancing back briefly at the older Jedi. Sors was pretty sure they were relaying instructions or something with the Force, but the howling shields around his mind were too high to guess at what it might be.

Master T’rent walked swiftly to the refectory doors, the group of Jedi following behind him. Sors wondered when they had all drawn their sabers. The glow of them was rather out of place in the hallways.

It took only a moment after they had all exited the refectory for Sors to hear it. Aplel was right, he could hear the sounds of droid fire down the hall. The older Jedi were all stiff now, Force presences tense against Sors's. Master T’rent didn’t pause though, just kept walking to wherever they were all going.

Master T’rent turned another corner briefly disappearing from view, and Loohli made an aborted attempt to reach for them. There was a noise and a bright flash someplace out of direct view. An odd smell, like cooking Nuna, filled Sors’s nostrils. The sound of droid fire was suddenly much louder, until there was a blur of green and the thud of a helmet hitting the ground could be heard. It sounded weird, Sors was pretty sure helmets usually rolled a bit after being dropped. The shields that had been wrapped around him flickered, and then immediately came back feeling different. Less like a fierce wind and more like tinted glass, but the kind that covered the Senate Dome; brightly colored and intended to inspire warmth.

Knight Forvun darted forward, leading their group now. Chanar gasped, before waves of distress-fear-loss rippled through the Force. Their procession came to a rapid stop as Chanar burst into tears.

“Master T’rent,” he gasped loudly through his sobs.

“Shhh, I know young one. But be brave, we must keep going, it is not safe here,” one of the Masters soothed Chanar.

“But- but he’s dead,” Chanar wailed.

Sors was confused, Master T’rent couldn’t be dead, they were just right there. But, as he craned his neck to try and look around the Padawan with them, he was blocked by a pair of legs.

“Do not look. You do not want to remember them like that,” the Padawan said, gently spinning Sors back around and nudging him back into the center of the group.

The Master that had been trying to soothe Chanar gave up, gently setting his hand in Loohli’s and instructing her to make sure Chanar didn’t fall behind.

“We must move quickly,” nodding to Knight Forvun as she began to lead them all again. “Something has gone terribly wrong.”

The older Jedi all looked grim, especially as Chanar’s sobs refused to stop. Then the other Master that was behind all of them froze and spun around, lightsaber streaking through the air.

“Run!” There was the sound of droid fire and a strained grunt.

Sors broke into a sprint as Knight Forvun immediately began to move. The Master that had been next to Chanar fell further behind them, urging their Padawan to keep moving as whirls of green light began to light the hall.

There was the sound of loud boots, like when Doublecross and Fable would reenact some parts of their stories for Sors and his creche. But this time, it wasn’t accompanied by dramatic, funny voices and muffled giggles. The sound of someone falling hit Sors’s ears as they turned another corner, and a pained cry came from the Padawan behind them.

“Master!”

“Keep moving Padawan,” Knight Forvun yelled. “There are too many of them.”

“But my Master-” it sounded like sob, but Padawans didn’t cry, they were older and better at being in control of their emotions. Sors had been sure of it.

“It’s too late, we must keep the younglings safe now.” Knight Forvun only looked back briefly, but Sors could tell that she was relying on the Force to keep her aware of Moof Clan’s locations. Sors thought that she might be tugging on the Padawan as well, the glass shields between him and the Force were more transparent than they had been when they’d left Master T’rent. He feared what would happen if they shattered.

The Padawan whimpered, before speeding up to catch back up with the group. Their eyes were shiny, and Sors could see their grip on their lightsaber tighten. He saw a flash of white and blue behind the Padawan, and shrieked as a streak of blistering heat shot by him.

Knight Forvun’s eyes widened, and she nearly stopped before the Padawan screamed at her.

“Go, get them away from here. I’ll hold them back.”

Knight Forvun made a sound that Sors had never heard before. It was something similar to the cry of a bird Master Tevith had helped him remove from beneath a branch in the Gardens once. Its wing had been bent in a direction it was not supposed to be, pools of red running down its feathers, making them tacky and cool to the touch. Master Tevith had brought it to one of the Garden caretakers and had assured him they’d do their best to help it. Sors didn’t think he could help Knight Forvun like Master Tevith.

They kept running for ages, Sors’s legs burned worse than any lightsaber practice he'd had with Battlemaster Drallig. He could hear Aplel and Ranera panting loudly on either side of him, and Loohli and Chanar were starting to lag in front of him. Knight Forvun had already had to tuck Ettana’s hand into Azig’s and tell him not to let her fall behind. Then Sors heard it again. The sound of thudding boots and droid fire.

Knight Forvun’s Force presence spiked. Sors thought it might be terror, but she was a Knight and Knights did not fear, but something glistened in her eyes where the moonlight peaked through the windows of the Temple. She sent a bolt of adrenaline through the Force to him and his clan, hastening all their pace, and directed them towards a small alcove in the middle of the hall. They all skidded to a halt and she ushered them into the shadows of the statue standing proud in the shadows. It held a really ancient lantern in its hands, one that Sors was pretty sure could have lit candles tucked inside and it would emit fun patterns.

“Now young ones, draw your shields high. Do not leave this spot for anyone other than another Jedi,” she was rushing through her word, fumbling as she tucked them all away. “If you see any of the clones, run.”

“But the clones are our friends!” Ranera interrupts. “Private Jattyl is so nice and-”

“Not right now young one. The clones are very sick, they will not know you are their friend. You must stay hidden, and run if anyone finds you.” Knight Forvun ran a hand through Ranera’s fur with one hand, straightening Aplel’s askew robes with another. “I’m sorry, I cannot take you any further than this. They want me, and I cannot let them have you.”

Sors clutched at Aplel’s hand, a strong current of fear running through him. The clones were sick? Verbose said that they rarely got sick because of the Kaminoans, so it must be a bad sickness. He let go of Aplel and reached out his hand for Knight Forvun as she finished checking them over.

She caught it gently, and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. Sors knew she was crying this time. He could feel a dampness on his hairline that was not from the gentle press of lips. Knight Forvun was sad, and Sors was so very afraid.

“I’m sorry dear ones,” she choked out. “I’m so very sorry.”

Sors let her draw away, but clung to her hand as she pressed a kiss to the rest of their heads. Then she gently released him, tucking his hand into Aplel’s and making sure their fingers caught each others.

“Watch out for each other. You are the brightest and warmest lights in the galaxy, never doubt that.” Knight Forvun was crouched on her feet now, muscles tensing as droid fire grew nearer. “Pull your shields up, I must go.”

Sors felt the press of devastation-apology-love against him. The clunk of boots grew louder, and Knight Forvun darted away, hidden in the shadows of the wall. Then she broke into the dim moonlight, sprinting down the center of the hallway. Chanar reached a hand towards her retreating back, before Loohli caught it and held it tightly in hers. Sors closed his eyes tightly as there was shouting from the hallway that Knight Forvun had just disappeared into. The glass that had covered his mind had retreated as the Knight had, but for a brief moment as it finished fading away, Sors thought he felt a bite of cold in its cracks.

Sors and his clan spent a long time tucked in the shadow of the statue of some long-dead Master. They all jolted with each shriek in the Force, the Temple was deafeningly loud with pain and it was no quieter now then it had been when Knight Forvun had tucked them away. Sors’s eyes ached, his tears had long since dried up. Chanar’s somehow hadn’t, he was still sniffling from where he was tucked against Loohli. Azig’s fur was probably going to mat, he kept it too long around his face for that much liquid to not mess it up.

Then Aplel pulled away from him. Everyone snapped their heads around to look at her, small spikes of fear poking at Sors’s shields. Aplel had the best hearing of all of them, she would be the first to know if someone was coming. A pair of misty, terrified eyes turned back to them and zeroed in on Azig.

“I don’t think that’s a Jedi coming this way, but you’re good at feeling new people. You’ve gotta check for us,” she whispered. Her hand clutched Sors’s almost painfully, but he hardly noticed it after he saw the raw despair in Azig’s eyes.

Azig nodded slowly, and Sors could vaguely sense his presence unfolding, reaching beyond the shadows they lay in, before he physically recoiled and shoved himself further into the shadows of the statue. “There’s something terrible and cold nearby and I think it felt me,” he whimpered.

Sors felt Ettana gently tuck Azig into her shields, pulling him against her chest as she smoothed down the fur that had risen along the back of his neck. “Then we have to go somewhere else. If it knows we’re here, it’ll come for us.”

“But where will we go,” Ranera whispered despairingly. “The Force is too loud to follow anywhere. Everyone goes to the Gardens and the Archives and the Salles, it’ll be even louder there.”

“What about the Council Room?” Chanar whispered.

They all turned to look at him. Chanar hadn’t spoken since he had said Master T’rent was dead. Sors was very worried, Chanar was normally like fire sparks in the Force, crackling with warmth and boundless energy, but he felt more like dim embers now.

“No one ever goes up there, and maybe Master Windu or someone else is still there,” Chanar sounded desperate. Sors didn’t think anyone would be there, the Masters would have gone to investigate the concussive feeling of pain in the Force. But Ranera, Ettana, Loohli, and Azig were all nodding.

Aplel sighed, “It doesn’t hurt to try. And no one will go there in case one of the Masters is there.” She looked about as hopeful as Sors felt, but what else could they do? She nodded to herself and then looked at all of them again. “Ok, we go in pairs. Sors and Ranera, Ettana and Azig, and Loohli and Chanar. I’ll go first cause I can hear best and Azig will go in the back cause he can hear good and feel strangers best. Loohli will guide me cause she knows where it is”

They all nodded and grabbed each others hands. Sors had never let go of Ranera’s, but now he laced their fingers together, careful not to pull at Ranera’s fur or catch his skin against her claws, but holding tight to her all the same. Ettana helped Azig to his feet and checked him over before gently removing him from her shields and pulling his hand into hers. Loohli and Chanar were up as well, though only Loohli looked ready to move.

Aplel looked over them and nodded, before hesitantly sticking her head out of the warm darkness that cradled them. She pressed a clear-good-move quietly against the rest of them, and they all started running through the shadows like they had seen Knight Forvun do. Sors was mindful of the noise he made, using every trick that Azig and Ranera had been talking about using to sneak up on everyone from the walls and ceilings. The sound of firing was fainter now than it had ever been, but Azig was still tensed up, so something was still off nearby.

Aplel led them down several twisting corridors, allowing Loohli to tug her in the direction of the Council Room through her shields. Echoing footsteps followed their every movement, even if they never drew too close. They stopped several times, heaving for breath as the sounds of the Temple grew quieter and the frigid fear crept forward again. The Force did not quiet though, it wailed and thrashed and kicked, even as the Jedi within it ceased all movements.

Eventually, they reached a lift that Sors had never seen before. Loohli had though, she had visited the Council last year with Master Tevith for some reason that Sors had entirely forgotten. Ranera was the tallest, so she made herself as tall as possible, rising up on her toes, and pushed the buttons on the pad next to the lift.

The door slid open, and Sors and his clan entered. The doors closed behind them without a sound, and then they began to rise further into the sky than Sors had ever been. When the doors opened again, it was to a dark room. There were no Masters up here, but no one else was here either.

“Let’s hide behind the chairs,” Ettana suggested quietly. “Like how Knight Forvun showed us at the statue.” She looked more tired than Sors had ever seen her, even more than the time she bet against one of their Nautolan crechemates that she could swim for longer.

They all nodded and slid into the shadows behind the chairs in the room. Two behind each chair, except Aplel, Sors, and Ranera were all together. Sors leaned against the chair, and Ranera tucked her fluffy head into his neck. Her fur was damp with sweat, and Sors swore he could feel the phantom press of devastation-apology-love kissing his skin where the top of her head rested against him.

They sat there in silence for a long while, until Aplel stiffened. When they looked at her, she nudged attention-bad-look and turned towards the lift that had brought them there. Dread crept its way down Sors spine, as he and his clan tucked themselves further into the shadows of the Council’s chairs.

Sors saw Azig squeeze his eyes shut and lean into Ettana, Chanar grab onto Loohli’s hand and press his hand over his mouth to muffle any cries, and Aplel reached across Ranera and to grab onto Sors’s free hand. He squeezed it, and felt as all his clan flattened themselves down and into the Force.

The footsteps that entered the room were whisper soft, worn leather boots instead of military-grade plastoid ghosting across the floor. Sors strained his ears and swore he could hear the soft swish of robes, and looked over at Aplel to confirm. Her eyes were scared, but Sors could see the hope in them. He looked over his shoulder at his other clanmates, who bled soft rivulets of the same hope he could see on Aplel. Sors moved as quietly as possible, barely peeking an eye around the edge of the chair, where the hems of dark robes and the momentary glint of metal could be seen.

He pulled back, and nodded to his clanmates. They nodded back one by one, and Sors stood and stepped out of the shadows cold embrace. He let go of Ranera before he did, making sure her form stayed safely tucked behind the chair.

It was Master Skywalker! Sors heart soared when he saw him. Master Skywalker could help them, he was the Hero With No Fear. Sors and his clan were so very afraid, but there was someone here who could help them, who could drown out the howls of the Force.

“Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?” Sors could feel his clanmates poke their heads out of the shadows as he said the name. He could feel their relief at having someone there. Sors was pretty sure Knight Forvun was gone like Master T’rent, but now there was someone new here to protect them with wind and glass, and perhaps he could help the clones feel better too.

Then Master Skywalker ignited his lightsaber. Sors was confused for a moment, had they missed one of the sick troopers coming up the lift in their relief? He looked up at the older Jedi for reassurance, and stumbled back. Master Skywalker’s eyes flashed yellow. They were not yellow like Master T’rent’s. They did not remind Sors of the sunlight in the gardens, of Master Tevith’s favorite flowers, of an extremely boring stone Ettana had found a couple of months ago and had with her ever since. They were cold, biting and fierce.

Sors stepped further back, pressing alarm-distrust-escape-URGENT at his clanmates. But before they could do so much as blink, the doors to the lift slammed shut. There was no other way to leave the Tower, Sors realized. Azig keened, low and painful, sending a bolt of worry through Sors. And then he felt it, a frigid, roiling presence. It was near rabid, biting and tearing at Sors’s shields.

As he recoiled from the feeling, he heard an aborted screech of fear. Master Skywalker was gone. Sors whirled around and watched as Loohli’s head hit the ground. Chanar’s scream and the lashing feeling of fear-despair-loss was cut short as the glow of a saber cut across his throat. His body fell as well, and Sors watched as the tears that had yet to cease stopped before they dripped onto the floor of the Council room.

Sors looked at Master Skywalker, at a complete loss with tears falling from his aching eyes once more. Master Skywalker didn’t even glance at him, stalking towards Azig and Ettana. Ettana shoved Azig behind her, as he tried to hide his larger body in her small shadow. Sors watched as the blue glow pierced both their hearts at once, their bodies perfectly aligned. Master Skywalker didn’t deactivate his saber, but yanked it messily from their bodies. It left a jagged, open path towards their rib cage as it was ripped free.

Sors turned away then, looking for his other clanmates. Ranera had jumped up and was running for him. Aplel was right behind her, and Sors's eyes widened. He lunged for Ranera and tackled her to the ground as a sweeping strike of a glowing blue lightsaber went through where she had just been, and completely through Aplel’s torso.

Ranera wheezed beneath him, before she rolled over and grabbed him in her arms, darting for the lift. She did not get far before an invisible hand latched onto Sors, yanking him from her grip. Sors could feel the tear of her claws through the skin on his arm and legs as she fought to hold on. They burned warm, unlike the freezing chill that had soaked into the cracks of this room.

Sors flew across the room and rolled to a stop across the floor. He coughed and opened his eyes to see a worn pair of boots. They were soaked dark on the bottoms, with a few darker spots further up. Sors choked on a cry, looking up into the blue glow as a piercing cold stabbed into his stomach.

Skywalker withdrew his lightsaber and stepped over Sors towards Ranera, who Sors could feel was frozen where she had been when he was pulled from her. Sors rolled his head in her direction and shoved love-exhaustion-RUN as hard as he could at her, hoping it would burn itself against her shields and spark her energy to keep moving. Skywalker stumbled and Ranera turned to run.

He was too fast. He was between Ranera and the door before Sors could blink. Ranera keened lowly, a distress call of young Farghul that Sors had only read about before. The cold abyss advanced on his friend and then Ranera was right next to him.

Sors choked on despair this time. He didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Ranera’s glassy eyes bored into his, the terror fading as death gently wiped it away. He heard the crumpling of her body distantly, but could not bring himself to look away from his friend's face. Sors could hear the sound of the lift opening, a hollow creaking that echoed in the near silent room. The Force was quieting now, the maelstrom from before blurring at the edges and the new silence soothing against his mind.

Sors whimpered quietly. He wanted Master Tevith with his warm blankets and gentle hugs. He wanted Master T’rent, Major Fable, and Privates Doublecross, Verbose, and Jattyl with their rough laughter, comforting voices, and affectionate attention. He wanted Knight Forvun and her sad, loving kisses and glittering shields. He wanted to go to bed tonight in a pile with his clan, surrounded by the Force singing comfort-love-warmth.

It was so cold.