The Knight, Death, and the Devil

Chapter 25: Echoes And Shadows

The days passed, and Torin's training at the hands of Master Ziare progressed—as did his ability to draw upon the Force. Despite that, he felt a growing sense of unease in the week he had been awake on Tython. His days were spent in idyllic valleys and atop stunning mountain terrain, but at night he was drawn into a nightmarish dreamworld that grew more vivid each time he lived it.

He was in the courtyard he had seen so many times before, but it was not the serene garden where he had approached the Falleen girl. It was a battlefield, the grassy space cluttered with the bodies of children, their limbs twisted about unnaturally. They rolled around, screeching horribly. His head moved about as he scanned the courtyard, but he could see no attacker. As his vision shifted back ahead he saw that his arms were extended outwards in front of him, towards another young child whose feet kicked at the grass below her as her hands clawed at her throat. Torin's head turned to his right, and he saw the familiar—but much younger—face of Master Ziare rushing towards him. She gripped the sides of his head with both hands, and he awoke.

"What the hell..." he muttered, running a hand across his face only to discover that he was drenched in a cold sweat. His feet slid onto the floor as he whipped the covers off and left his bedroom, walking through the hallway into the common area. The barest hints of morning light shone in through the window, making him squint and cast his eyes downward.

"You're up early," came a voice to his left. Ziare walked out of a room beside the kitchen, and the door closed behind her.

"Ah, yeah," he muttered, pushing on either side of his chin to work out the kinks in his neck.

"Bad dream?"

Torin smiled weakly. "You could say that." He walked into the kitchen and sat down on a stool in front of the center island.

"Tell me about it," said Ziare.

"Oh, it's nothing interesting," he said.

She took a seat opposite him, and he saw that her forehead was creased in concern. "I'd like to hear."

"Well..." He looked upward, trying to recall the dream. The impression it left grew more powerful each time, but the details always seemed to slip away from him as soon as he awoke. "I'm in a garden as a little kid, looking for someone—a girl. I find her, and then the dream ends."

"That's all?" she said.

"No, there's other ones." He swallowed and looked out the window at the still forest. "I'm in the courtyard again, but I'm attacking other kids— murdering them, I think." He looked back to see Ziare staring at him. "And the girl is always so furious. I can never hear her, but I can feel her hatred."

"This girl—was she a Falleen?"

His chair scraped back against the floor. "How did you know?" he exclaimed.

She smiled at him. "You told me about the Sith you fought on Quesh—a Falleen, who forced you to burn your own face."

"Why would I dream about her?"

"An experience like that can leave a lasting impression," she said. "And dreams are not always literal."

He looked down and rubbed his palms together. "It seems so real. .. and there was something else."

The Jedi remained silent.

"The Falleen—the real one—she was angry at me. I'd never met her before in my life, but she hated me like no one else ever has."

Ziare stood up from her chair and circled around the kitchen island. "I would not give it more thought," she said, placing a hand on his back. "Dreams are for the night, and we have the entire day ahead of us."