Control The Uncontrollable // The Acolyte

94. The Separation

The echo of your boots and Qimir's steps rang through the grand corridors, the weight of the temple's ancient history pressing in on you from all sides. The air crackled with something more than just urgency—it felt like the Force itself was bracing for what was to come.

Qimir ran beside you, his breath steady despite the fast pace. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something far more serious, a tightness in his jaw you rarely saw. That alone sent another jolt of adrenaline through you. If he wasn't making light of the situation, things were far worse than even you feared. A pair of Jedi Knights turned their heads as you passed, sensing your alarm, but you didn't stop. There was no time. Not when the balance of the galaxy hung by a thread, and the High Council needed to know now.

The grand doors of the council chamber loomed ahead. Almost there.

Qimir's voice cut through the rush of your thoughts. "If they don't listen—"

"They have to," you shot back, heart pounding. "If they don't—"

But you didn't have time to finish. Because as you reached the doors, the Force lurched—a shift so vast, so suffocatingly dark, it felt like reality itself had tilted.

Then the temple shook.

The walls trembled, the floor cracked beneath your feet. The very foundations of the Jedi Order seemed to groan in protest, as if some unseen force was tearing them apart stone by stone. The ancient murals lining the corridor fractured, their figures twisting into something unrecognizable—watching. Whispering.

The weight of it crushed down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your knees buckled.

But no one else was falling.

No one else saw.

Qimir caught you before you could hit the ground, his grip tightening like a vice around you. He felt the shift too—you could tell by the way his heart hammered against your shoulder, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. But whatever he had sensed, it wasn't the same as what you had just lived through. The cold edge of fear brushed against the both of you, sinking into the marrow of your bones.

"Stay with me," he muttered, his usual arrogance stripped away, replaced with a raw urgency that sent another bolt of dread through you. His hand slammed against the heavy doors, desperation bleeding into every movement. They needed to open—now.

For one agonizing second, nothing happened. Then—

The door creaked open just enough for Grand Master Gios to step forward, his face lined with a distress he couldn't even attempt to hide.

"You sensed it?" he asked, voice low, strained.

Qimir gave a sharp nod, his arms tightening around you unconsciously. Gios' sharp eyes dropped to where your body sagged against him, your limbs weak, drained. A flicker of alarm crossed his face, and without another word, he stepped aside, ushering you both in.

"Y/N..." Master Sol's voice barely made it past his throat, his breath hitching at the sight of you in Qimir's arms. His usually warm composure cracked, fear flashing in his eyes.