Master Yoda

for my ally is the FORCE. a luminous energy that binds all living things together. it surrounds us, penetrates us, & guides even the smallest of destinies through the darkness. yet even masters may falter. yet even legends may fail. the greatest teacher, failure is.

⸻ ⛧ 𝘏𝘌 𝘐𝘚 𝘍𝘜𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘚𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘖𝘕 the chair, wrists bound and tied to the table before him. It's completely unfair ( actually, entirely fair given the laws ) to have been inappropriately ( appropriately ) arrested for trafficking kyber & selling it for profit. He wonders if they figured out his documentation was false or if the crime syndicates in Ord Mantell City had done a damn good enough job for him to be a true enough citizen of Ord Mantell in the Republic's eyes. Though he doesn't think that falsified identification was as much of a crime as the kyber. ( & neither the drug paraphernalia that was, at least, personal & not intended for resale & yet they took his lovely spice & pipe from his pockets as well )

He wonders how difficult it would be to escape from the Jedi Temple. Then again, if he had any decent means of escape he would have done so during the route to Coruscant. Surrounded by Jedi, he doubts that even slipping between stone or metal floors would only get him so far. ( damn, they took his knives too... he better get those back somehow ) He could make a knife out of the table, actually. It seemed metal enough. Casimir could already make out the shape of what he would make. It could have a nice curve at the end that would make it hurt worse when it came out⸻

Yet his thoughts are interrupted by the opening of the door to the interrogation room. It is... a small sort-of man. Casimir does not think he has seen such a person in his handful of years in the greater galaxy, but he supposed there was always room to be surprised. It-- he looked rather old, but how was he to really tell? It was another Jedi & they were, seemingly, all the same really. He has come to know of some of their ideals & he had never found one that he agrees with. It is one of the reasons he likes Ord Mantell anyway. Not much of a Jedi presence. Not like Coruscant.

He decides... not to greet his new captor. That since he was not offered the dignity of escape he would not offer anything or unintentionally incriminate himself. So as an act of defiance, he presses his lips together & diverts his gaze. Maybe when this was over, he could break out of his chains & slip through the door before it locks again. Perhaps this great Temple was made of enough stone to come crumbling down.

there  existed  precious  little  beneath  the  endless  tapestry  of  stars  capable  of  stirring  true  surprise  within  one  who  had  watched  nearly  nine  centuries  ebb  &  flow  into  the  current  of  the  force.  kingdoms  had  crowned  themselves  eternal  before  surrendering  their  names  to  dust.  suns  had  been  born  blazing  only  to  die  in  silent  darkness.  countless  faces,  countless  wars,  countless  promises  spoken  beneath  banners  that  now  lingered  only  as  whispers  upon  forgotten  winds.  STRANGE,  the  galaxy  had  always  been.  stranger  still,  it  had  become.

yet  even  amongst  eternity's  endless  procession,  one  report  had  settled  upon  the  council  chamber  with  the  impossible  weight  of  a  falling  star.

kyber.  not  one  crystal.  many.  recovered  from  the  possession  of  one  who  bore  neither  braid  nor  robe.

the  spice  confiscated  beside  them  earned  scarcely  more  than  a  passing  thought.  smugglers  multiplied  as  faithfully  as  rain  upon  kamino,  forever  believing  themselves  clever  enough  to  outrun  consequence.   let  the  senate  trouble  itself  with  such  matters.  but  kyber ...  living,  kyber  was.  each  crystal  cradled  within  its  luminous  heart  a  song  carried  by  the  force  itself,  choosing  not  through  ownership  but  through  HARMONY.  they  did  not  belong  to  hands.

they  belonged  to  destiny.  BUT HOW had  destiny  found  itself  gathered  within  the  satchel  of  a  wandering  merchant?   that  question  alone  had  been  enough.

age  possessed  a  peculiar  kindness.  mercifully,  it  encouraged  assumption.  bent  shoulders, weathered  robes,  careful  footsteps  softened  by  the  reassuring  knock  of  ancient  gimer  wood  against  polished  temple  stone.  so  many  mistook  patience  for  weakness,  silence  for  exhaustion,  wrinkles  for  surrender.  they  saw  an  elder  whose  years  had  finally  begun  collecting  their  debt.

how   little  they   understood.   for  every  measured  step  found  its  strength  within  the  unseen  embrace  of  the  force.  every  breath  flowed  effortlessly  alongside  its  endless  tide,  behind  half lidded  emerald  eyes  rested  centuries  sharpened  not  into  blades ...  but  into  understanding.  mountains  did  not  endure  because  they  hurried.

the  chamber  greeted  him  with  silence.  before  ancient  eyes  settled  upon  shackled  wrists …  before  curious  ears  measured  the  rhythm  of  another's  breathing ….   before  a  single  word  could  bridge  the  quiet  stretching  between  strangers ... the  force  reached  him  first  ━ unexpected

not  the  roaring  supernova  that  had  once  blazed  within  young  skywalker,  forever  threatening  to  consume  every  horizon  it  touched.  nor  the  timid  flicker  carried  by  countless  temple  initiates  still  searching  for  their  first  uncertain  steps.  no ...  this  presence  unfolded  differently.  weathered.   foreign.  ancient  in  ways  the  republic  itself  had  long  since  forgotten.  it  drifted  through  the  force  like  an  old  hymn  surviving  only  within  a  language  history  had  abandoned,  familiar  enough  to  awaken  memory ...  yet  distant  enough  that  its  meaning  remained  wrapped  beneath  centuries  of  silence.

for  one  lingering  heartbeat,  nothing  was  spoken.  the  grandmaster  simply  watched.  not  a  smuggler,  not  a  criminal,  not  even  a  prisoner.  simply ...  another  soul  through  whom  the  force  had  chosen  to  sing.

only  then  did  ancient  ears  incline  ever  so  slightly,  the  faintest  ghost  of  warmth  softening  features  weathered  by  almost  nine  centuries  beneath  distant  suns  ❝  great  trouble ...  gotten  yourself  into,  you  have ...  young  one  ❞

new independent &&  headcanon heavy  HOWL JENKINS PENDRAGON     from  HOWL's MOVING CASTLE drawing inspiration from book and movie canon.       RATED M for mature.  ( 21+ only please )     cursed by poppins.

"HELP?" The word punched from him in an incredulous tone. Another piercing stab assaulted him behind his eyes, at the base of his skull, and Obi-Wan cried out, clutching at his head again. It hurt. Why was Yoda here? It hurt.

( GO AWAY. GO AWAY. GO AWAY. )

( MASTER KENOBI IS DEAD. )

The title hit like a stab to the heart as his breath was sucked out of his chest. All he could do was curl in on himself further and further as he continued to tremble and shake.

He could feel the oppressive cloud of the dark side swirling around him protectively, as if it were actively combating Yoda's light. It wanted him so badly and would not let go. The tendrils of the dark side curled around his neck, his wrists, his ankles, and he couldn't breathe.

Was he doing this to himself?

The ache in his chest opened again, and with it the vacuum began. He gasped and squirmed as he physically felt like his heart was slowly being torn from his chest. Body writhing, Obi-Wan gasped as the images played before his head. Horrible images of his own life, of others, of ones that never came to pass. All of the people he has lost. The people who have walked away. The people who would walk away.

At one point in his youth, Yoda had taught him how to hone his visions. A gift to be chosen to be a Seer, some told him. The dark side loved it too. At this point, what had been reality and what had not?

He didn't know.

Feeling a compulsion to look at Yoda, Obi-Wan was powerless to resist as jerkily his head turned to gaze at the former Grandmaster. The RAGE that flared deep within his abdomen, under his skin, and behind his eyes had a growl rising from within.

His eyes burned gold behind the tears that flowed freely into clenched teeth. Twisting in an unnatural way, Bron'ig started to rise, calling his lightsaber back to him.

his  gaze  wandered  somewhere  beyond  smouldering  stone  &  drifting  ash,  beyond  blood  soaked  earth  &   broken  steel,  returning  instead  to  polished  corridors  washed  in  morning  light.  there  raced  a  child  with  sea blue  eyes  &   untidy  robes  forever  dusted  with  grease,  forever  carrying  some  half disassembled  machine  beneath  one  arm  whilst  offering  the  most  innocent  of  smiles  with  the  other.  training  remotes  disappeared  without  explanation.  engines  found  themselves  rebuilt  into  curious  little  marvels  no  instructor  had  ever  requested.  librarians  sighed.  healers  despaired.  masters  exchanged  knowing  glances  whenever  small  footsteps  hurried  just  a  little  too  quickly  through  temple  halls. then  another  face  rose  beside  the  first.

all  sunlight  &  wildfire.

another  impossible  child  who  challenged  every  lesson  before  it  had  even  finished  being  spoken,  who  met  impossible  odds  with  impossible  certainty  simply  because  the  galaxy  had  dared  suggest  otherwise.  different  as  moonlight  was  from  flame  they  had  seemed,  yet  alike  they  remained  where  it  mattered  most.  stubborn   hearts.  restless  minds.  boys  forever  reaching  beyond  the  horizon  simply  because  it  existed.

the  faintest  smile,  fragile  as  frost  upon  spring  blossoms,  softened  weathered  features  before  fading  once  more  beneath  the  weight  of  memory ❝ choose you, qui gon did. not because asked, he was. because seen, you were. within one stubborn little boy, hope enough for two, he found. after great sorrow had visited him… believe again, YOU taught him ❞

then  came  the  words  that  hollowed  even  ancient  bones. 

THE JEDI ORDER IS GONE

silence  answered.

not  empty  silence,  but  the  sacred  hush  that  lingers  within  ruined  temples  long  after  the  prayers  have  ceased.  within  it  echoed  laughter  now  surrendered  to  eternity.  tiny  hands  clasping  training  sabers  for  the  first  time.  voices  reciting  the  code  beneath  vaulted  ceilings  kissed  by  coruscant's  morning  sun.  masters  whose  names  now  belonged  only  to  memory.  children  whose  futures  had  become  starlight.

the  old  master's  ears  lowered  almost  imperceptibly.  centuries  had  taught  him  that  grief  never  lessened.  it  merely  learned  new  names.  still  he  stepped  forward.  the  quiet  rhythm  of  cane  against  shattered  stone  carried  itself  through  both  ruin  &  remembrance  alike,  until  scarcely  any  distance  remained  between  master  &  student.

❝  cleaning...?  ❞  the  ghost  of  warmth  returned  to  ancient  features,  hidden  carefully  beneath  immeasurable  sorrow  ❝  obi wan  kenobi...  negotiator  of  the  republic.  master  of  the  jedi  order.  forever correcting one skywalker ... forever forgetting, i had not, another little kenobi once required much correcting himself. hmmm ? ❞  the  words  settled  softly  between  them,  almost  tender  in  their  familiarity  ❝   cleaner,  now  you  call  yourself.  strange,  the  stories  grief  teaches  us  to  believe ...  are  they  not,  master  kenobi?  ❞