The dim lights of the Temple's Archives buzzed faintly overhead, rows of data stacks and glowing holo-terminals humming in their quiet vigil. Eli stepped through the vaulted entry alone, the echo of his footsteps muffled by the massive chamber's stillness.
He hadn't slept. Meditation had failed him. The rage had settled in like a fever, dull and constant. He couldn't sit still anymore. Couldn't watch his friends laugh unaware. Couldn't watch the Jedi walk like nothing was wrong.
He needed answers.
The Archive rotunda opened before him, a circular vault of knowledge built high into the dome of the Temple. Light spilled from the central pillar, where holocrons hovered and flickered gently in their containment shelves.
He hesitated for a breath—then moved toward the index banks.
A quiet voice spoke behind him.
"You're up early for a youngling."
Eli turned quickly.
Master Jocasta Nu stood between two shelves, arms folded within her robes. Her gray hair was tightly coiled, and her eyes sharp behind the wear of age and discipline. He hadn't even sensed her presence.
Eli straightened his back. "I couldn't sleep. I thought studying might help."
The archivist raised a brow, walking toward him slowly. "And what is it you're hoping to find in the Archives at this hour, young Kaen?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I just… I feel like I'm not learning fast enough. Like something's missing."
Jocasta Nu looked at him for a long moment.
"You're Master Tallis's youngling, aren't you?"
"Yes, Master."
"She teaches you well. But knowledge alone is no replacement for wisdom." She gestured toward the public data terminal. "Still, I'm not one to keep curious minds away from the Archives—especially not in times like these. The galaxy has grown darker."
Eli nodded. "That's why I need to understand more."
She narrowed her gaze slightly, then turned and gestured for him to follow.
"Come. Let's see if I can guide your curiosity before it burns too wildly."
He followed her past the public terminals, deeper into the Archive where the shelves narrowed and fewer younglings dared to roam. She tapped a code into a wall panel, revealing a hidden lift that hummed quietly open.
"This level isn't off-limits," she said as they descended, "but few come here. It's where the older philosophies are kept—the writings of Jedi who walked less traveled paths."
Eli's heart beat faster.
She knows something.
They arrived in a chamber lit by soft blue crystals and scattered with ancient datapads, books, and holocron mounts. No sleek architecture here—just rough stone shelves and the smell of dust and time.
Jocasta moved carefully, plucking a data-scroll from the wall. "You want to learn quickly," she said, handing it to him. "Try reading from those who questioned the same things."
Eli took the scroll, opening the projection with reverence. A swirling text formed before his eyes:
"The Force is balance not by denial but by understanding…"
The rest expanded in sections—writings attributed to a Jedi named Thomek Suri, exiled centuries ago for beliefs considered too divergent from the High Council. He'd believed that light and dark were not opposites, but threads of a single truth.
"Why was this hidden away?" Eli asked, scanning the passages.
"It wasn't hidden," Jocasta corrected, folding her hands. "Just… discouraged. The Council has long chosen to focus young minds on clarity of purpose, not complexity of belief."
"But what if clarity isn't enough?" he muttered. "What if the Order's too slow? Too blind?"
Jocasta's gaze sharpened.
"I've heard too many Jedi speak like that in the last year. Most of them now carry blue lightsabers for the wrong cause."
Eli's face tightened.
She sighed and sat beside one of the ancient holobooks.
"There's a danger, young Kaen, in thinking you can outrun fate by cutting through it. I see it in your eyes. Something haunts you."
"I've had… dreams," he said, sitting down. "Of darkness coming. Of Jedi dying. I try to change it—every time—but nothing works. I don't know if it's even real anymore. Or if I'm just going mad."
Jocasta Nu leaned forward. "And how far would you go to change it?"
Eli didn't answer.
His fingers curled around the edge of the scroll.
"Knowledge," she said quietly, "is power, yes—but not salvation. There's no secret in these shelves that will undo war or stop death. Only understanding can."
He looked down. The passage beneath his fingers read: "Only by facing the fire can one reshape the blade."
She stood, brushing dust from her robe. "You may study here for the next hour. But I suggest you remember—what you feed will grow. Choose what you nurture carefully."
She left him in silence.
Eli turned back to the scroll. His heart beat loud in his ears.
Understanding wasn't enough. Not anymore.
He needed action.
He needed change.
His fingers danced across the data-scroll controls, pulling more forbidden works forward—accounts of Jedi who had turned, returned, exiled, or disappeared. He pulled names, philosophies, Force experiments, thoughts once considered dangerous. He memorized all he could.
Because if death was inevitable… then next time, he would be ready.
Even if it meant becoming something the Council would fear.
Far above, the Temple's sun-spires began to dim—the time of day edging closer to the same hour. The moment when the air would shift. When the halls would fall silent. When boots would march and blades ignite.
Eli stayed until the very last second.
And then the silence came.