The Young Republic | A Star Wars Story

Chapter 34

Little gift

"He who seeks to control fate shall never find peace."

Ahsoka felt panic. And that's wrong. There is a tremble in her hands and a shakiness to her breath. There was darkness all around with woven blue and a glass bridge beneath her feet and really, Ahsoka had never felt so detached from reality.

Ahsoka felt panic, and that was wrong because she was done panicking. Ahsoka hadn't panicked about anything since she was a Padawan, young and inexperienced and vulnerable to things unchangeable.

The Fulcrum isn't supposed to feel panic.

"Did you get to her?" Ahsoka asked. And it sounds horribly weak. Feeble, childlike, and it's damn near embarrassing.

But Luke slowly draws back, slowly emerges from that pool of darkness, pale and light and real, and drags a body out with him.

A very

Very

Still body.

And the Fulcrum doesn't panic, because that isn't really allowed for her, but Ahsoka does. Ahsoka does panic.

Luke has sunk to his knees, and the body is laid out in front of him. She is pale and dirty, and her eyes are still open and staring a dull blue. Blue veins sneak out from paper-thin skin, and she is much much skinnier than Ahsoka remembers. There is no muscle, no fat, just bones and skin and a memory of a once strong body. Ahsoka can see new spots and freckles and beauty marks across her face and shoulders. There are two new wrinkles in the corners of her eyes, and she has smile lines, which were never there before. It would look very pretty if it didn't decorate a corpse.

Luke brushes frail, frail broken hair away from her face and body, and the whole nothingness around them shudders. His fingers linger on her cheek, and Luke finally closes her eyes.

"I got to her," Luke croaks, and it's more damning than Ahsoka had ever felt.

Ahsoka knew since the first time they met that the little Mandalorian wouldn't last. She had given too much of herself in her youth, demanded too much power, and so the Force would take all that she bargained for. Because it's all balanced with the Force, isn't it?

Even so.

It still feels so wrong.

Ahsoka thinks someone like Xena should never die.

Removing her cape, Ahsoka covered Xena's body under thick white fabric, showing some respect for the fallen Jedi. She was still warm and didn't lose color just yet. But soon porcelain would turn blue, and the fluids would all leak out, and her skin would sag, and those smile lines would cut so deep Ahsoka wished they were never there.

Luke brushes his fingers through dull hair, tears dribbling down his face. "I wasn't there," he whispers. "Not when it mattered."

And Ahsoka doesn't really know what to say to that.

It is quiet here, so quiet and lonely. It is dark all around, and if Ahsoka closes her eyes, she can hear the sounds of the veil shifting, moving, and time warping all around.