T'Challa, Vision, and Obi-Wan were already distant figures, sprinting toward the volcanic wasteland where lightning still split the sky. That left Ahsoka, Peter, the Father, and the Daughter behind at the ship.
"Alright," Ahsoka said, turning to Peter with a grin that didn't quite hide her exhaustion. "Let's fire up the engines and see if all this work actually paid off."
Peter returned the smile beneath his mask, giving her a thumbs-up. "Fingers crossed we don't explode."
The Daughter stood outside the ship's entry ramp, listening to their banter with a faint smile. But her expression shifted as her gaze traveled to the horizon. Dark clouds churned against Mortis's alien sky, thunder rolling like war drums. Lightning forked between earth and heaven in brilliant, violent arcs.
She could feel it—her brother's power surging, building like a storm. And this new thunder god matched him blow for blow. The question was whether Thor could hold the Son's attention long enough for the others to escape.
Only time would tell.
Inside the ship, the two teenagers ran through their final checks.
"Some of these systems are..." Ahsoka tapped a control panel that flickered uncertainly. "...let's call them 'temperamental.' But the engines look solid. Life support's green. Communications are functional." She glanced at Peter. "We could actually fly this thing."
"Hey, I'll take 'temperamental' over 'completely broken' any day." Peter leaned against the console, watching readouts scroll past. "We can—"
He stopped. Ahsoka's hand had moved to her temple, her montrals twitching with obvious discomfort.
Peter straightened immediately. "You okay?"
"Just..." She pressed harder against her temple, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "A headache. It's nothing."
"How long have you been getting headaches?" The concern in his voice was sharp, almost accusatory. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Because we have more important things to worry about." Ahsoka's words came out clipped. She opened her eyes, trying to focus on the controls. "The mission comes first. Always."
"Ahsoka, no." Peter moved closer, his tone firm in a way she rarely heard from him. "Nothing is more important than making sure you're okay. Nothing."
She stopped. Her hands stilled on the controls. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she turned to look at him.
The intensity in her gaze made him take a half-step back. "What? Did I—"
"What did I do to you?" The question was barely a whisper.
Peter blinked behind his mask. "What? You didn't—"
"What did I do to you?" Ahsoka repeated, louder now, more insistent. Her hand pressed against her temple again. "The headaches... every single time, you're there. In my head. I see you backing away from me. Like you're afraid. Like there's a wall behind you and—"
Her voice cracked.
Peter's throat went dry. His heart hammered against his ribs. He couldn't meet her eyes, so he looked anywhere else—the controls, the viewport, the deck plating. Heat crawled up his neck beneath the suit.
"I—" he started, but had no idea how to finish that sentence.
Ahsoka's knees buckled.
She crumpled, curling in on herself as sobs tore from her throat. Her shoulders shook with the force of them, both hands now clutching her head.
"Whoa, hey—Ahsoka!" Peter dropped beside her instantly, awkwardness forgotten. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest. "It's okay. You're okay. Just breathe. Don't—don't push yourself, alright? Just breathe."
"Is she alright?" The Daughter appeared at the ship's entrance, concern etched across her luminous features.
Peter didn't answer. His entire focus was on Ahsoka, on the way she trembled against him, on the tears tracking down her face. He could see the war happening behind her eyes—understanding fighting confusion, desire wrestling fear.
"Oh." The Daughter's voice shifted, understanding flooding her tone. "It appears my brother's influence has not entirely faded."
"What?" Peter's head snapped toward her. "What does that mean?"
The Daughter raised a calming hand, her expression gentle. "Peace, young one. She's experiencing echoes—fragments of suppressed memories trying to resurface. The headaches are a symptom of my brother's manipulation, nothing more."
Ahsoka's breathing was ragged against Peter's shoulder. She nodded weakly, wincing as another spike of pain lanced through her skull.
"The memories will return naturally, given time," the Daughter continued, stepping into the ship. "But the process will be... unpleasant. The headaches will persist as her mind fights to reclaim what was taken." She paused, then added softly, "I can help. Remove the barrier my brother placed and restore her memories in full."
Ahsoka pulled back slightly from Peter's embrace, looking up at the Daughter. "But..."
"Will it hurt?" The question came out small, vulnerable in a way that made Peter's chest tighten.
"It won't be easy," Peter said before the Daughter could answer. His hand found Ahsoka's, squeezing gently. "Maybe we should wait. Let it happen naturally. I don't want you going through more pain."
Ahsoka's jaw set in that stubborn way he'd come to recognize. Her eyes found his—scared but determined. "No. Do it." She squeezed his hand back. "Trust me, Peter. I can handle this."
Peter looked at the Daughter. She waited, patient, her gaze asking for his approval.
He didn't want to give it. Every instinct screamed to protect Ahsoka from more suffering. But he also knew that look in her eyes. She'd made her choice.
Slowly, he nodded.
His grip on Ahsoka's hand tightened. "I'm right here."
The Daughter knelt before Ahsoka, raising one hand to her forehead. Light gathered at her fingertips—the same gentle radiance that had freed Ahsoka from the Son's control before.
The moment contact was made, Ahsoka's entire body went rigid.
Her eyes rolled back. Her breathing came in harsh, labored gasps. Peter felt her hand clench around his hard enough to hurt, but he didn't let go. He held on, anchoring her through whatever storm raged in her mind.
Steam rose from her skin. Color drained from her face, then rushed back in a violent flush. Her lips moved soundlessly, trying to form words that wouldn't come.
Then, all at once, she sagged.
The Daughter withdrew her hand. The light faded.
Ahsoka's eyes focused, clearer than they'd been in days. Her breathing steadied. The healthy blue tone returned to her skin.
"You remember?" Peter asked quietly. "Everything?"
The way her face flushed—deeper blue spreading across her cheeks—told him the answer before she said a word.
She let go of his hand like it had burned her. Scrambled backward, putting space between them. "I—" Her voice cracked. She wouldn't look at him. "How could I... what kind of Jedi am I?"
"Hey, you couldn't help it," Peter started, reaching for her.
"But it was still me, Peter!" She finally met his eyes, and the shame in them was devastating. "The things I said. The way I..." She covered her face with her hands. "Force, I'm horrible."
"You're really not—"
"The Jedi Code exists for a reason." Ahsoka's voice dropped to something hollow. "Attachment. Possession. Jealousy. I felt all of it. I wanted—" She cut herself off, shaking her head violently. "I broke every oath I ever made."
"It is alright, young one." The Daughter's voice was impossibly gentle. She placed a hand on Ahsoka's shoulder. "Love is a powerful thing. A good thing. You have simply found someone worthy of that gift."
Both teenagers froze.
Ahsoka and Peter turned to stare at the Daughter, then at each other, then immediately away, as if eye contact might actually kill them. Peter suddenly found the ship's ceiling absolutely fascinating. Ahsoka studied the deck plating like it held the secrets of the universe.
The Daughter blinked, confused by their reaction. Such dramatics had been absent from her existence for... well, for eons. It was almost charming.
She opened her mouth to comment—
The Force screamed.
All three of them felt it. A massive surge of power, violent and chaotic, rolling across Mortis like a tidal wave. Peter's spider-sense exploded in warning. Ahsoka's montrals twitched frantically. The Daughter's eyes went wide.
They turned as one toward the monastery.
"What was that?" Peter's voice was tight with tension.
The Daughter closed her eyes, reaching out through the Force. Her body trembled. When she opened her eyes again, shock and something like fear flickered across her face.
"Thor and my brother. Their battle is..." She trailed off, shaking her head in disbelief. "This should not be possible."
"What?" Ahsoka pushed to her feet, all embarrassment forgotten. "What's happening?"
The Daughter's expression shifted to something Peter had never seen on her before.
Terror.
"We must go. Now!"
The urgency in her voice galvanized them both. Peter and Ahsoka scrambled for the cockpit, their earlier awkwardness shoved aside by more immediate concerns. Hearts pounding, they threw themselves into the pilot seats.
The engines roared to life with a sound that was half-growl, half-scream. The ship lurched, shuddered, then lifted off in a spray of dust and debris.
They shot toward the monastery at full thrust, racing toward whatever catastrophe was unfolding.
And trying very hard not to think about what the Daughter had said.
Or how neither of them had actually denied it.