#the young

Then one day, Master Vant was watching Obi-Wan and Quinlan spar in a lightsaber training class. Quinlan was much larger than ten-year-old Obi-Wan, but the boy excelled in lightsaber and acrobatics, which more than made up for the size deficit. The boys were living up to their skills, engaging in a quick-paced spar that was going on fifteen minutes of continued combat. She had half a mind to yield them for a break, but their creche mates (as well as a few curious younglings and padawans who wandered in to watch the commotion) were cheering them on. Master Vant saw the beads of sweat that dripped down both the boy's foreheads and soaked their training clothes, but she also saw the grins on both of their faces. Their mutual feelings of pride and accomplishment were palpable through the Force (something she would have to talk to them about later... Jedi do not dwell on pride, only revel in humility).

And then Quinlan swung his lightsaber sloppily, which Obi-Wan easily dodged and was able to knock his opponent off his feet and onto his back. Slippery from perspiration, Quinlan's lightsaber went flying out of his hand, clattering at the feet of Bant Eerin.

The room erupted in cheers. Padawans and younglings alike lept up, some cursing that their predictions of the outcome had been wrong and others cheering for Obi-Wan. But through the commotion, Master Vant felt a warning through the Force, and the next moment the yells of glee turned to panic.

She flew to her feet, trying to remain calm as she assessed the room looking for the source of distress that was pulsating through the Force. Her eyes finally focused in on Quinlan still sitting on the group looking frazzled, a limp Obi-Wan lying in his arms, face down.

"Clear the way!" Master Vant yelled, and the younglings parted for her to rush to the sparring ring. Quinlan looks stunned, sputtering over his words.

"He was... he was fine, Master Vant. Went to help-- he gave me his hand... Master Vant, he just went white, and it was like he wasn't there anymore-- and he fell forward."

She lays a comforting hand on the boy's back as she slips Kenobi's limp body into her own arms, flipping him over to look at his face in the process. "Quinlan, it's okay, it was not anything you did." she looks up at Bant, who is standing close by watching wordlessly. "Bant, my dear, go get a Healer. Swiftly. Garen, go with her." The two creche-mates nod and follow her instructions. Master Vant looks back down at the boy cradled in her lap.

His face is pale white as Quinlan had described, forehead slick with a cold sweat. Most concerning of all, his eyes remain open, staring blankly into nothingness. Vant presses two fingers against his pulse point, relieved that she can feel his heart beating rhythmically-- albeit, rapid, but beating. She drags her fingers up his neck to brush the hair slick against his forehead back, noticing his temperature is elevated, maybe even feverish.

Master Vant has seen this before. It's fairly rare, but she knows the signs. She closes her eyes, brushing up against the mind of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She can feel turmoil. A little bit of fear and sadness. But she is surprised to find his shields are surprisingly strong for a boy of his age and experience. She can't see the vision that has rendered him unconscious or find a way to pull him out of it.

"What is happening to him?" Quinlan says, his hand still holding the limp hand of his sparring partner.

"A vision, Initiate Vos. Just give him time to come out of it."

_____

When Obi-Wan awakes, he realizes he didn't remember falling asleep. As his sensitive eyes adjust to the brightness of daylight, he realizes he is laying in the Hall of Healing, a needle in his arm and pain in his head like he has never felt before. Groaning, he sits up, finding that this was a horrible plan. He is suddenly bent over the side of the bed, trying his best to aim the vomit forcing its way from his stomach into the tray on the side table, but ultimately being unsuccessful.

A hand is on his back, rubbing circles as the entirety of his lunch exits his body. Obi-Wan recognizes the Force presence of his creche-master Vant.

"It's okay, Obi-Wan, dear," she says, sending soothing feelings through the Force. "A common side effect of visions."

"Visions?" Obi-Wan rasps, dry heaving a few times before laying back into the soft pillow.

"Yes, you had a vision after your sparring session. You gave everyone quite a scare."

Obi-Wan inhales sharply, suddenly remembering everything. Battling with Quin, the smell of mint, and then everything became hazy.

Then he was transported. No longer in the training room with Quin and all his friends, but in a large field. It was a grassy field, none that he has ever seen on Coruscant or any training trip. In the distance, he saw smoke, and something told him he needed to check it out. So he walked through the hilly terrain until the sound of yelling made him stop dead.

"Go, go, go! The detonators are about to go off!"

Obi-Wan broke into a run, reaching the top of the hill before he was nearly blown off his feet. A small village lay at the foothill, smoke billowing from numerous buildings. Kids ran from the village with blasters and bags full of detonators strapped to their bodies. Obi-Wan recoiled in horror.

"For the Young!" one yelled. An explosion erupted, causing the ground beneath Obi-Wan to shake. He dropped to his hands and knees.

"For peace!" the chorus responded. With his hands on the ground, he could hear the vibrations of many people running. Right toward him. Obi-Wan looked up and was met by calm blue eyes staring back at him. The boy is thin and fairly tall, his chin-length auburn hair whipping in the wind. Obi-Wan sucks in a breath. Behind the ear of the boy is a thin braid that barely reaches his shoulder. A Padawan?

There was a familiarity to the boy. Something Obi-Wan couldn't quite put his finger on, but maybe the boy was a youngling, a few years older.

And then he woke up with a horrid headache and an upset stomach. Master Vant, rubbing his back.

"I remember," Obi-Wan says softly. He can still smell the smoke and hear the debilitating bang of the explosion. He looks at Master Vant. "I saw kids, Master. They had guns and bombs. A village exploded."

Master Vants looks calm, but Obi-Wan can see the subtle signs of her alarm. She puts a hand over Obi-Wan's. "I have never had visions, Obi-Wan. But what I do know is what the Force reveals to us is not fixed. The future is fluid, and there are billions of permutations that could happen in reality."

"An understatement, billions is," a raspy, croak-like voice rings out. Obi-Wan instantly recognizes Grand Master Yoda as he jumps up onto the end of the bed. The green Jedi Master smiles at Obi-Wan. "More like it, trillions is."

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan says in awe.

"Initiate Kenobi," Yoda says, sitting down cross legged. "Visions I hear you had." Obi-Wan nods. "Experienced this before have you?"

"Well... maybe? Nothing as strong as this. Just random snippits of things. Moments where I see or hear or smell something and then it happens later." Obi-Wan can feel Master Vant staring at him.

"Obi-Wan... you never told me."

He turns to his creche master sheepishly. "Sorry Master Vant. Honestly, I didn't think it was a big deal. I looked up on the holonet that sometimes people have these things before migrianes so I just thought it was that."

"Tell your creche master when you are not feeling well, you should do," Yoda adds, humming in agreement with Master Vant. "As for visions, counsel you we will. Help you learn what to do."

They discussed having him meet with various other Jedi Masters who also have had visions. And to see a mind healer to discuss his visions, which he is not thrilled about. It interferes with his usual saber practice with Garen!

He's gone almost five years on his own without help with these. He knows how to push through them, recognize when he smells the mint he needs to find somewhere to sit alone. (It's quite convenient when in the Jedi Temple and there's meditation rooms around every corner.) Obi-Wan also knows a cup of warm tea with honey is a good way to ease the headache, and he's getting better at lifting his grumpy moods.

He knows how to handle these visions. He doesn't need this spread around to every master in the order... what master would want to choose a padawan who could pass out at any moment? A shiver runs down Obi-Wan's spine. Yes, he can handle it.

______

The council meeting is nearing the end and Mace is ready to retire for the evening. There has been a lot on the docket for today and he is reaching the point where everyone is starting to sound like Yoda.

"Lastly," Adi Gallia announces, looking at the long agenda for the day. "Initiate Kenobi."

"Visions he has," Yoda says. "Frequent visions."

"How frequent?" Mace asks, intrigued. He heard about the Healers being called to the youngling training room but much of the details were not discussed formally.

"His creche master has been monitoring him this week and..." Adi Gallia looks up from the data pad. "Master Vant reports at least six this week alone."

The council falls silent. Visions on their own are rare, even short ones. For an initiate so young to have so many it's practically unheard of.

“Go ahead of me.” Obi-Wan met Nield’s eyes, and saw the flare of understanding there. He was never sure if Nield pitied him, in moments like these, or if he understood. Either way,  he never said a word in protest.

Cerasi, he knew, understood. But Cerasi was back at their base, already planning their next raid.

“Be careful. Remember, we can’t bring her—” Nield cut off. Because the acknowledgment of the fact that they couldn’t even give Eris a proper burial wasn’t something they needed to bring up while Eris was still breathing.

Nield gave Obi-Wan a final nod, before he gestured for the other survivors to follow him. It was risky, staying above ground any longer than they needed to.

Eris was dying, they couldn’t risk that the rest of them died with her just to ease her passing.

The rest of the group filed away quickly, shifting into the shadows to hide their movements as they made their retreat.

“We did it,” Eris gasped out. There was blood leaking from the corner of her mouth, and Obi-Wan wanted to wash it away.

He could still remember the way Eris had followed him around the first few days after he’d officially joined the Young. Remembered her awe at his clean robes and tunics, though they hadn’t stayed clean long.

She’d thought that being clean was a marvel, and Obi-Wan wished that she could have something more than a dust-covered, blood-stained death.

“We did.” They’d accomplished their objective. They’d taken another Melida weapon cache and stolen enough food to get them through another few weeks if they rationed properly.

Obi-Wan wished they’d managed to find a med-station, but the Young weren’t the only ones with no medical supplies.

The war, or at least this newest part of the centuries long war, had gone on so long that no one had enough medical supplies.

“Do you—” Eris coughed, more blood splattering across too pale cheeks. Obi-Wan held her closer. His gut felt like it was on fire, but he didn’t dare let go of Eris. “Do you think it’ll make a difference?”

Obi-Wan didn’t know. It’d been months now, and they just kept fighting an impossible fight. “Yes. It’ll make a difference.” Obi-Wan would do everything in his power to make sure of it.

Even if, over the past few months, he’d realized just how little power he truly had.

The evidence was dying in his arms.

Seven years old and Obi-Wan couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save anyone.

“I thought it would hurt.” There was still blood welling from her lips. “Dying. They always said it hurt.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, trying to smile even though there was nothing to smile about. “How would they know, huh, none of them have ever died.”

Though they’d certainly seen enough of it that they did know. Obi-Wan could feel the death eating at Eris.

Eris laughed, seven years old and dying, a laugh on her lips. “That’s true, isn’t it?” Her eyes were growing cloudy. Obi-Wan had seen death steal away the final breaths of so many children, he could recognize when death was close.

If Obi-Wan were a better Jedi—and it was a title he couldn’t claim, even though he still felt like one, his heart and soul divided between being Young and being Jedi—if he were trained, instead of an almost-washed-out initiate, then he might have been able to save Eris. Might have been able to heal her.

But all he could do was hold her tight. Hold her tight and take her pain so she wouldn’t have to feel it.

It was agony. Fire burning at his abdomen, weakness weighing down his limbs.

“I’m scared.” It was a whispered confession.

“Don’t be,” Obi-Wan told her. “I’m here. And when you leave me, you’ll be safe in the arms of the Force.”

Eris’ eyes crinkled. “I don’t know what that means.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know either. “It means warmth and safety. It means no more fighting. It means love.”

“Peace?”

Obi-Wan wondered if Eris even knew what that word meant. Even Nield and Cerasi, the oldest of their group, had no real recollections of peace. But Eris, so much younger…

“Yes.” Obi-Wan nodded. “It means peace.”

Eris’ eyes were blinking slowly. “I like that.”

Obi-Wan nodded again, the pain in his gut was fading away. It wasn’t a cause for celebration.

“Thank you.” Eris met his eyes, and she was so young, but she’d seen so much—too much, and nearly all of it bad—there was quiet knowledge in her eyes.

“For what?” Because what could Eris possibly want to thank him for; he’d failed her. He could have, should have, been more. Should have been able to protect her better, and when he’d failed at that, he should have been able to save her.

But he couldn’t.

“For making it not hurt.” Eris smiled, and she was too old for such a young girl. “For staying with me.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t realized she’d known, but then, she was young, not a fool. “Til the end.”

The Force whispered quietly to him; he could feel it gently pulling Eris away.

“I’ll see you again? In the Force?”

Obi-Wan didn’t think that was how the Force worked, but nor did he no with any certainty that it wasn’t. “Yes. You’ll see me again.”

The last thing Eris ever did was smile.

Obi-Wan held her several minutes longer, fighting back desperate tears.

Finally, minutes after she’d left, Obi-Wan set her body down. He pulled at his tunic, ripping a small strip off the bottom of the already ragged cloth. He wet it a little, a small dab from his canteen, before gently wiping at the blood on Eris’ face.

There was no time for a proper burial, and the sewers had no place for the growing number of Young casualties. Either the Melida or the Daan would be here soon, and they’d incinerate any corpses they came across.

Obi-Wan wondered if Eris’ parents, part of the Melida, he remembered Eris telling him, would ever know what had happened to their daughter.

He wondered if they would even care, or if they would dismiss it as the death of an enemy. If they would rejoice in it, the way they did the deaths of the Daan.

The thought ached.

He gently arranged Eris’ limbs, and it could almost look like she was sleeping, if not for the blood that stained the majority of her tunic.

The Force whispered in warning. People were coming.

He hoped Eris was at peace within the Force.