The gunship engines were closer now—no longer a distant hum but a low, thrumming growl in the air. Eli could feel the tremor through the floor of the Temple.
He pressed his back against the wall of the alcove, heart hammering.
It's happening.
He peeked out.
Clone troopers had begun moving—quietly, methodically—toward their checkpoints. Their steps were too measured. Too ready. Not the casual patrols they were supposed to be.
No Jedi gave them orders.
They didn't need any.
Because the order had already been given.
---
Eli turned and sprinted down the corridor, weaving past empty meditation rooms and darkened training halls.
He burst into the dormitory where the other younglings had begun to settle for evening.
Niyala looked up, startled. "Eli?"
"We don't have time!" he shouted. "Get up, now!"
"What—"
"They're coming!"
He pulled her up by the wrist, startling others. Tavi, the quiet boy with freckles, backed toward the wall. "Is this another game?"
"No game! Grab your sabers and run!"
The door behind them hissed open—and blaster bolts flashed into the room.
The clones had arrived.
---
The first bolt struck the wall over Tavi's shoulder, scorching stone and sending him shrieking.
Chaos exploded.
The younglings screamed and scattered—some diving under beds, others toward the side doors. One clone stormed in, raising his rifle—
Eli shoved him with the Force.
It barely worked—a weak push, a stumble—but it bought a second.
Niyala was pulling Tavi now. "Come on! Move!"
"Follow me!" Eli yelled.
He led them through the side door into a servants' corridor, narrow and dust-lined. His memory burned with images of the last time—he'd taken a wrong turn and died.
This time, he knew.
---
They sprinted through the corridor. Eli took every turn with confidence, dragging the other two behind him. He didn't slow. His only thought was distance.
They passed a broken supply lift, then turned into a service tunnel. One level down, and—
A blaster bolt clipped the wall beside him.
"Down!" he shouted, tackling the others into an alcove.
More clones.
They're everywhere…
Eli yanked out the training saber clipped at his belt. The weapon wasn't meant for combat—it was low-powered, a tool for deflection drills—but it was all he had.
He thumbed it on.
The blue blade hissed to life.
He stepped into the hall, heart pounding. "Run when I say."
---
The clones advanced.
Eli swung the saber clumsily, deflecting the first bolt by luck more than skill. The second grazed his arm—he screamed, but stayed standing.
The Force swirled in panic.
He lashed out—wild, uncontrolled. One clone staggered under a sudden push, falling backward into his comrade.
"Now!" Eli yelled.
Niyala and Tavi sprinted past him.
He turned to follow—
—but the third clone stepped into view.
Too close.
Too fast.
The barrel of the rifle was inches from Eli's chest.
Time slowed.
Eli tried to move, tried to duck, but—
Fire.
---
Pain.
Agony tore through his ribs and lungs.
He collapsed, gasping.
The saber clattered from his hand. His body spasmed, then stilled.
Niyala screamed his name.
Tavi screamed too.
Then silence.
A second bolt.
Darkness.
---
The fall came again.
That strange weightless pull through the void. Cold and heat tangled. Light bled into black. His breath caught—but he had no lungs. No body. Just the memory of dying, again.
And then—
Stillness.
---
A breath.
Ceiling.
The dormitory.
Eli sat up with a strangled gasp.
Around him, children stirred in their sleep. Birds outside. Wind through the open slats. Peace.
Peace.
He staggered out of bed, chest heaving, hand going to his ribs—no wound.
He looked over.
Niyala.
Tavi.
Both alive. Safe. Still asleep.
His chest tightened.
He backed away from them slowly, heart pounding.
Then he dropped to the floor, head between his knees.
"I failed."
---
By mid-morning, he was sitting beneath the main atrium's central tree, watching light scatter through the glass dome above. His robe was still soot-smudged from the last loop—even if no one else could see it.
He remembered every scream. Every bolt. Every failure.
I tried. I really tried…
He'd trained for weeks in the last life—his whole life, technically—but that had all been as a Jedi youngling. Not a fighter. Not a warrior. He hadn't been ready.
And it hadn't mattered that he knew. He'd warned them. He'd fought.
He still died.
So did they.
---
Master Tallis sat beside him again, as he had the last time.
"You're staring at the sky again, Kaen," he said gently.
Eli didn't answer.
"I had another vision," he finally murmured.
Tallis chuckled. "You seem to be having quite a few of those lately."
Eli turned to look at him, eyes dull. "Do you believe in second chances?"
Tallis's smile faded.
"I believe the Force works in strange, patient ways."
Eli looked down at his palms.
"Then I hope it's not done with me yet."