#cere

--- Cal Kestis had been running for a long time. The feeling of being hunted had never left him, even in the moments when he thought he was safe. Even in the quietest moments aboard the Mantis or in the solitude of distant planets, that familiar sense of being watched lingered in his mind. He could never shake the thought that someone was always just a step behind him—someone who could see him even when he thought he was hidden.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was real.

He had felt her presence in the Force for weeks, always a shadow on the periphery of his senses, never quite revealing herself but always there. The dark side rippled with her power, a taunting reminder that no matter where he ran, she would find him. He had grown accustomed to the feeling, though he never admitted it to Cere or Greez. They didn’t need to know. Not yet. If he told them, he would just be a burden. If he told them, they'd insist on trying to protect him.

But Cal knew. No one could protect him from her. She was the one thing he couldn’t outrun. And no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many old Jedi temples or hidden corners of the galaxy he explored, she would always find him. He had been on the run for so long, but he knew that this time, the end was close.

The old temple he had landed on had seemed like a refuge at first—a forgotten place where time had dulled the memory of the Empire’s reach. He had hoped it might offer some peace, even if only for a few days. But he knew better now. Peace wasn’t something he could hold onto. Not anymore.

As he moved through the decaying hallways of the ancient structure, Cal couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. His boots echoed off the stone walls, his lightsaber hilt pressed tightly in his hand. The Force whispered warnings, sharp and insistent, urging him to move faster, to leave. But it was too late for that.

The darkness called to him, and it was only a matter of time before it revealed itself.

It was then, standing in the center of the temple's grand chamber, that she appeared.

A figure in black, her footsteps silent against the crumbling stone. The shadows around her seemed to swirl, feeding off her presence, the very air growing colder with her approach. Her crimson blade flickered to life, casting an eerie red glow that seemed to consume the light. The helmet she wore was polished, reflective, hiding everything but the harsh, glowing red lenses that locked onto him with predatory intent.

Cal's heart raced. He knew who she was. He had seen her before. Felt her before. She had always been a distant echo in the Force, a cold touch of darkness. But now… now she was real, standing before him, her presence overwhelming him in a way that made his knees feel weak.

"You've been avoiding me, Cal," her voice echoed from behind the mask, smooth and cold, every word dripping with an unsettling mix of amusement and malice. "But no more running."

He tightened his grip on his lightsaber, trying to steady his breath. "I won't let you win," he said, his voice strained but resolute. He didn’t have much fight left in him, but he wouldn’t give up—not yet. Not to her.

The Inquisitor tilted her head slightly, a dark smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "We’ll see about that."

Without warning, she surged forward with blinding speed, her crimson blade flashing through the air toward his chest. Cal barely had time to react, bringing his saber up just in time to deflect the blow. The impact sent a shock through his arms, rattling his bones, but he kept his footing.

“You’ve improved,” she mocked, spinning gracefully on her heel and striking again, each move flowing with the precision of a seasoned hunter. She was in control, and she knew it. Every strike, every movement was designed to test him, to wear him down.

Cal swung his lightsaber with all his might, each attack fueled by the desperate hope that he could hold her off long enough to find an opening. But no matter how fast he moved, she was always there, her strikes calculated and ruthless. Her red blade crackled with dark energy, every clash pushing him further to his limits.

"You’re fast," she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. "But you’re still so predictable."

Cal gritted his teeth, pushing back with all the strength he could muster. He was tired—so tired. His body screamed at him to stop, to rest, but he couldn’t. Not with her so close. Not with the memory of all he had lost hanging over him.

The Inquisitor’s next strike was aimed at his midsection, and this time, Cal couldn’t dodge fast enough. Her blade grazed his side, searing through his jacket and cutting a shallow wound into his flesh. He gasped as the pain shot through him, but he kept his feet, focusing on the Force to keep him standing.

"You’re slowing down," she said, her voice colder now. "I can feel it."

His movements were getting sluggish, his focus slipping. The dark side of the Force swirled around her, feeding her every move. She was growing stronger with every passing second, while Cal felt his strength draining away. His breath was ragged now, each inhale a struggle. His body was betraying him, but he refused to give in.

In one swift motion, the Inquisitor disarmed him, sending his lightsaber flying from his hand and leaving him defenseless. His back slammed against the cold stone of the temple wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

The Inquisitor stood before him, her saber poised for the final strike, her red eyes gleaming with anticipation. She didn’t need to say anything; her posture alone made it clear that she knew this was it. She had won. He had lost.

But instead of bringing the blade down, she took a step back, her gaze never leaving his. The silence between them stretched, thick with tension and something else—a strange, unsettling familiarity.

She chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill through his already frayed nerves. "Always so serious, Cal," she mused, almost fondly. "I’ve missed this."

For a moment, she simply watched him, as if savoring the moment before her next move. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she removed her helmet, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud.

Her hair—dark, wild, and untamed—framed a face Cal knew all too well. He could hardly breathe.

"No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "It can’t be."

Her lips curved into a cruel, knowing smile. "You remember me, then?" she said softly. "Good. I’ve been waiting a long time for this."

Her eyes—those eyes—haunted him. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t pull himself from the depths of the emotions surging through him. She was gone. This woman—this Inquisitor—wasn’t the person he remembered. The girl he once knew, the one who had smiled and laughed beside him, was buried beneath layers of darkness and rage.

The pain in his chest twisted painfully. "Why?" he breathed, unable to find any other words. "Why did you—"

"You know why," she interrupted, her voice softer now, almost tender in its cruelty. "Because I’m stronger now. Because I like playing with you." Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, a flash of something lost—and something darker. "You always were so easy to manipulate, Cal."

She stepped closer to him, her movements slow and deliberate. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of dread and something else, something far more confusing. He felt trapped in her gaze, like he was drowning.

And then, before he could say anything more, she reached out, her gloved hand cupping his cheek.

The touch was gentle—too gentle. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, and Cal’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to pull away, wanted to fight against the tenderness in her touch, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do with this feeling, this connection that made him sick and yet… yearn.

"You’ve always been too soft, Cal," she whispered, her voice dripping with a false tenderness. "That’s why you’ll always fail."

Before he could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek in a soft, almost delicate kiss. It was a kiss full of mockery, full of the past they had once shared and the darkness she had embraced. It was a kiss that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, she pulled away. Her expression hardened once again, the mask of the Inquisitor slipping back into place.

"I’ll be watching, little Jedi," she said, her voice cold and final. "I always am."

With that, she turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Cal alone in the cold, crumbling ruins. The kiss on his cheek burned, a reminder of the woman she had become. A reminder that, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t save her.

Not anymore.

He collapsed to his knees, his body trembling with exhaustion, pain, and the weight of everything he had lost.

---

The next few days were a blur for Cal. He moved through them in a haze, his thoughts constantly returning to that final moment in the temple, where her face—her face—was revealed. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing her again, or the terrifying realization of what she had become. It was the memory of the warmth they had once shared, the friendship they had built on their quiet moments together. He had never thought to ask where she went after Order 66, never imagined she would have fallen so far into the dark side.

And that kiss. The way she touched him—so gentle, yet so full of malice, as though she was both mocking and testing him at the same time. The memory burned like a wound that wouldn’t heal. It wasn’t just the pain of seeing her again. It was the loss. The loss of someone he had once cared for deeply, someone who had known him in a way that few others had.

Cere had been watching him for days, quietly observing his withdrawn state. The strength he usually held, the steadiness, had crumbled. He was distant, distracted, and she had caught glimpses of the pain in his eyes. It wasn’t just the physical wound from the fight—it was something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.

Finally, she approached him in the cockpit one evening, the soft hum of the Mantis' engines the only sound in the stillness. She sat down beside him, her presence steady and calm, a beacon in the storm of his mind.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Cal didn’t answer at first. His hands rested on his lap, fingers curling in and out, the stress of the fight still clinging to him. The memory of her face—her eyes—was too fresh in his mind. He wanted to say something, to explain, but the words caught in his throat.

Cere waited, letting the silence stretch between them. She wasn’t rushing him. She understood. She had seen it all in the Force, too—he was struggling, and part of her wanted to reach out, but she knew better than anyone that he had to speak for himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Cal spoke, his voice low and raw.

“I—I saw her,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I saw her again." He hesitated, eyes drifting downward, as if he could push the memory back down if he didn’t face it head-on. "The Inquisitor. She—she was her. The one I knew. The one I..."

His words trailed off. He could feel the weight of the truth pressing on him. The girl he had once called a friend was now a monster, twisted by the dark side, consumed by it. She had once smiled at him in the quiet of their shared moments, laughed with him, trusted him. She had been his equal, his partner. And now, she was the thing he feared most.

Cere’s gaze softened as she listened, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a quiet support that spoke volumes.

“Tell me what happened,” she said softly.

Cal let out a shaky breath, then began recounting the confrontation in the temple. He told her everything: how he had felt her presence in the Force for weeks, always lurking at the edges of his senses, never fully showing herself but always there, waiting. He told her of the fight, of her crimson blade and the way she moved with deadly grace, always in control. But most of all, he told her of the revelation—when she had unmasked herself, when he had seen the face of the girl he once knew.

He paused, his throat tightening. “I couldn’t understand it. Why? Why would she become this? I don’t know what happened to her, Cere. I don’t know how she turned. The last time I saw her, she was just a child. We... we were close. We shared things, feelings...” His voice cracked slightly at the admission, the rawness of it catching him off guard. "And now she's an Inquisitor. A hunter. I... I couldn’t save her. I don’t even know why she’s doing this."

Cere listened, her expression pensive but understanding. She had never known the full depth of Cal’s past, of the friends and lives he had lost along the way. She had always known he carried guilt, a burden that weighed heavily on him. But hearing him speak of her—hearing him admit that he had been close to someone, someone who had mattered to him—added a new layer to the pain she could see festering inside him.

“It’s not your fault, Cal,” she said gently. “You didn’t make her choose this path. And you can’t change what’s already been done. But you can’t keep blaming yourself for something you didn’t control.”

He shook his head, frustration rising in his chest. “But I should have known. I should’ve sensed it. I should’ve found her sooner.” His voice faltered. “I should’ve done something.”

“You can’t save everyone, Cal,” Cere replied, her tone firm but kind. “You didn’t know what happened to her. And sometimes, people... they fall. Sometimes the darkness is too strong for them to fight, and they choose to embrace it. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. It wasn’t your choice. It was hers.”

Cal looked down, the weight of her words settling on him like a heavy cloak. His hands trembled slightly, his heart still aching with the memories of their shared past. He had never expected things to end this way. He had hoped—no, believed—that the girl he had known could still be saved. That somehow, they could have had a future together, even after everything the galaxy had put them through. But now... now it seemed like a cruel dream, something that could never be.

Cere’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “You’re not alone in this, Cal. We’re all fighting our own battles. But the one thing we have to hold onto—what we can never lose—is the hope that we can still make a difference. Even when it feels impossible.” She paused, letting her words settle between them. “If you want to save her, if you believe she can still be saved, then that’s your fight. But you can’t do it alone. Not now, not with what’s at stake.”

Cal took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as the words settled within him. It wasn’t about running from her, or even about defeating her. It was about understanding what had happened to her—and maybe, just maybe, finding a way to reach her again.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered, more to himself than to Cere. “I won’t give up on her.”

Cere nodded, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “We’re with you, Cal. We always will be.”

And for the first time in days, Cal felt something stir within him—faint but undeniable. A flicker of hope, no matter how small. He wasn’t alone. And he wouldn’t give up on her. Not yet.

He had to believe that somewhere, buried beneath the darkness, there was still the girl he had known. Still the person who had once trusted him with everything. He had to believe that if he reached out far enough, if he held onto his own light, he could find a way to bring her back.

And with that, he made a silent vow to himself—no matter the cost, he would save her.

Bonus to get a feel for the vibes of my lore