Control The Uncontrollable // The Acolyte

101. The Seperation

One Month Later.

"I believe congratulations are in order."

The words echoed softly through the high chamber, carried by stone older than memory. You stood alone before Grand Master Gios, hands folded behind your back, posture immaculate.

"Depends upon the eye of the beholder, Grand Master," you replied evenly. You've had 5 years to prepare yourself for this, yet today your heart was only heavy. 

It was going to be your last time in the temple.

He studied you in silence.

Time had marked him. Lines carved deeper into his face, his shoulders slightly bowed from wars that had cost more than victories ever gave back. And then there was you—unchanged, or perhaps changed in a way the Order did not know how to name. Your skin glowed with health, your presence lighter, freer. It was impossible—even for a Jedi as disciplined as Gios—not to feel a flicker of envy at the quiet freedom blooming behind your eyes.

He did not step closer.

If this were anyone else, he might have reached out—offered a hand on the shoulder, maybe even an embrace. But he knew you too well. When you needed space, it was not kindness to deny it.

"You wished for this," he said gently. Not a question—an anchoring reminder.

"It is why I could not make you Grand Master five years ago, Master."

You smiled faintly and let your fingers brush your hips, grounding yourself. You said nothing.

You wished for this.

You wouldn't have chosen that word.

In the future, you would be happy—yes. But standing here now, in the heart of the Temple, with what you carried quietly within your body, felt like betrayal. To the Order. To the life you had been shaping yourself into. To the ideals you had once believed were immovable.

And perhaps—if you were honest—to the titles you had relinquished. The home. The duties. The certainty.

But beneath it all, you knew the truth with unwavering clarity:

You had no choice.

You could not deviate from your path.

And the force no longer wanted you here.

Gios felt the shift before you spoke. He stepped forward instinctively, emotion slipping through his composure—affection, concern, empathy.

"You're wrong," he said simply.

You lifted your gaze.

"It's not too late to change the path," he continued carefully. "We can prepare—"

You raised one hand, calm and precise, asking him to stop.

"We have already discussed this," you said. No emotion. Just fact.

"That was five years ago," he replied patiently. "Your emotions are allowed to change."

You smiled then—not bitterly, but with warmth. "But a Jedi does not lead with emotion, Grand Master."

He stared at you, struck silent—not by defiance, but by the maturity in your voice. Slowly, he nodded. He understood. Your choice was made, and it was not his place to weigh it down further.

"In the eyes of the Order, my husband and I cannot exist anymore, for our safety," you said quietly, hands clasped behind you once more.

"But that does not mean our hearts are any farther from the Force."

You smiled, irony threading your voice. "I am still a Jedi. Even if a shameful one."

Gios shook his head gently. Shame did not belong to you. If anything, it belonged to an Order not yet ready for what you represented. Yet, Gios heart could not bear to tolerate that as it's truth.

"How is your husband?" he asked, a small smile breaking through. "Still doing that... strange trick with his lightsaber in his left hand?"

You laughed—soft, genuine. Appreciating that Gios moved on to a different topic. A ligther one. You had brought Qimir to the Temple months earlier for a mission, and somehow the two of them had spent half the day sparring while you conducted all the research. It had become a story neither of them seemed ready to let go of.

"Yes," you said fondly. "He's still doing it."

The silence that followed was warm. Earned. You had already spent nearly half an hour briefing him—updates, intelligence, warnings. This quiet felt like closure.

You nodded to one another. Then you turned toward the great doors, each footstep echoing with finality—

"Y/N," Gios called.

You stopped.

"Does he know?" he asked.

Your hand lifted instinctively, resting over your stomach.

"That I am with child?" you clarified calmly.

He hesitated. "With twins?"

Your fingers tightened briefly at your sides before you shook your head. "No. Not yet."

Silence fell between you again—heavier this time.

Finally, Gios nodded once, granting permission without ceremony.

You turned and walked on, the doors opening before you.

And the Temple, at last, let you go.