The Jedi of Today and Yesterday

Chapter 15: Brandon is a Tok'ra

A nightmarish landscape swallowed Brandon whole. Sleep offered no escape, for Palpatine's influence twisted his dreams. Barren and desolate, the world stretched endlessly, a canvas painted in shades of decay. The air itself reeked of death, a suffocating shroud that seeped into his bones. No life stirred, no sound broke the oppressive silence. It was a world devoid of hope, a chilling reflection of the darkness Palpatine sought to cultivate within him.

Miles bled into one another. No flicker of life, flora, or fauna dared to mar the desolate landscape. The stench of death wasn't confined to the air, it clung to him like a second skin, seeping into his very core. An unnerving silence reigned, punctuated only by the phantom moans of the deceased. These weren't human groans, not a sound he'd ever encountered. It was a chilling symphony of the damned, a chorus of lost souls beckoning him to join their ranks. A horrifying realization dawned — something twisted his love for life into a weapon, turning the beauty of his empathy into a torment. He was trapped in a nightmare woven from his own compassion.

Palpatine's dreams had always been an iron fist, dragging him through twisted landscapes. He'd learned to endure, a passenger on a runaway train. Some had left him shaken, convinced they'd shattered him, only to find his resolve renewed upon waking. This one, however, felt different. It reeked of originality, a shift in the script. A flicker of control, a nascent ember in the encroaching darkness, sparked a faint hope. Perhaps, for the first time, he wouldn't simply be swept along. Perhaps, he could fight back.

A flicker of hope — Jill Cantrell, a beacon in the darkness of past dreams. But the familiar comfort twisted into a cruel illusion. He searched for the young girl, her wheelchair a stark counterpoint to the desolate landscape. Yet, only death stretched before him, a suffocating presence that choked the air. This wasn't a place, it was a feeling, an embodiment of annihilation. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the Force. The usual map of life energies offered only a chilling emptiness. Pushing further, he attempted to see the planet from space, but the Force itself seemed blind. Even the celestial compass of the stars was absent. There was nothing. No light, no life, no hope — just an endless void of death.

The suffocating silence pressed in on him, a universe devoid of life. A stark terror replaced the comfort he usually found in solitude. He craved the warmth of connection, the buzz of life. The idea of a hermit's existence, once appealing, now felt like a desolate island in the void. It wasn't just the loneliness, though its grip was chilling. It was the whispers, the phantoms of voices that echoed from the emptiness — a chorus of the departed, more profound in their absence than any living sound. He craved the counterpoint, the messy symphony of life, a desperate need for the light that only others could bring.

Despair coiled around him, a tightening python squeezing the air from his lungs. He fought the urge to crumple, a silent scream trapped in his throat. Tears threatened to spill, a dam on the verge of bursting from the flood of darkness. Each step became a struggle, his legs leaden with a weight that threatened to crush him like a spent insect. Yet, he kept moving, a desperate defiance against the suffocating despair.

Right before desperately wanting to give up, a familiar voice came to him. The voice said, "Find the light."

It was more to whom the voice belonged to that gave him the most strength, which was not much at the moment. It was his Jedi Master, Her Majesty Sam Carter O'Neill. The voice said again, "Find the light within yourself. You can do it, my Padawan."

He was about to cry for joy. This would be a great undertaking since he was not known to cry outwardly unless it is very profound to do so.

"None of that. There's no time. Hold strong! It is the only way. You aren't alone. I'm with you always."