The training room was quiet now. The only sound was the steady rise and fall of three younglings' breaths. Tavi flopped onto his back, arms outstretched, saber clattering beside him.
"I think I saw my life flash before my eyes," he groaned.
"You nearly tripped over your own saber hilt," Niyala said, wiping sweat from her brow.
Eli sat cross-legged a few paces away, watching them with a muted smile. "You both did well. Better than yesterday."
Tavi blinked. "Yesterday?"
Eli quickly looked away. "I mean—earlier. Just… technique-wise."
"Strange phrasing," Niyala muttered, but let it go.
The sunlight bleeding through the tall temple windows painted everything in rich gold. For a moment, Eli let himself forget what he knew. He let himself believe this was just another day, and that maybe if he trained hard enough, if he was strong enough, if he had just one more chance…
But the Force was uneasy. He could feel it. Like a hum deep in his bones. A warning.
The Temple was not safe.
He turned to his friends. "We should eat. Rest a little."
Tavi yawned. "Finally, something sensible."
They left the training room together, their laughter echoing through the corridor. Eli kept to the back, scanning the corners, reading the expressions of passing clones — the 501st. They were already patrolling. Already here.
He felt the tension coiling like a wire inside him.
This was always the day it happened.
Evening fell fast.
Blaster fire shattered the silence.
Eli stood frozen in the corridor, a small ration pouch still in his hand. Red bolts flashed in the distant hall. Screams followed.
His heart clenched. "Tavi. Niyala."
He turned and sprinted.
He found them where they always were this time of night — the meditation garden. Tavi was standing, eyes wide, saber drawn. Niyala was already backing toward the trees.
"What's happening?" Niyala asked, her voice sharp.
"The clones," Eli said, breathless. "They've turned on us. We have to move. Now."
Tavi looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Eli's face stopped him. "Where?"
"There's a stairwell through the inner sanctum. Leads to the underlevels. We can—"
Heavy footfalls. A mechanical rhythm. And then—
The blue glow of a lightsaber.
Eli's heart dropped.
From the archway stepped Anakin Skywalker, his robes dark, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the clones fanned out with terrifying precision, rifles raised.
"Master Skywalker?" Niyala asked, confused.
Anakin said nothing.
Tavi took a step forward. "We—we're under attack, Master. What are your orders?"
Anakin's saber ignited.
The corridor filled with its low, deadly hum.
Eli shouted, "Run!"
But it was too late.
Anakin moved like a shadow cast by lightning — impossibly fast. In one breath, Tavi was raising his saber. In the next, it clattered to the floor, his body following.
"No!" Eli screamed.
Niyala turned to run, but the clones fired. Her body spun, struck mid-stride. She collapsed near the edge of the garden pool.
Eli couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His body moved on instinct. His saber ignited with a snap-hiss and his scream tore from his throat.
The Force surged through him, wild and untamed.
His strikes weren't elegant — they were brutal. Wide, heavy arcs meant to kill. He fought the clones first, rage guiding his blade. He deflected bolts with practiced reflexes, driving himself forward with each step, each kill.
Somewhere deep inside, he felt the shift. The burn. He wasn't drawing only on the Force anymore.
He was demanding it.
The air grew colder.
And Anakin turned.
Their sabers clashed with a shockwave of power, and Eli staggered under the pressure. Anakin's strikes were merciless, mechanical. But Eli didn't retreat. Not this time.
"I'll stop you!" Eli shouted, his voice cracked and raw. "I'll kill you if I have to!"
Anakin's eyes narrowed. "You don't speak like a Jedi."
"I speak like someone who's tired of watching everyone die!"
He screamed, pouring his anger into his next strike. For a moment, Anakin faltered — surprised by the sheer intensity. Eli pushed harder, fed by sorrow, grief, desperation.
But it wasn't enough.
Anakin's saber turned, twisted, and came down across Eli's chest in a blinding arc.
Eli's world turned white.
Then black.
---
He awoke gasping in the dormitory, drenched in sweat.
His chest was unmarked. His breath was whole.
But his soul felt fractured.
"Eli?"
Master Tallis stood over him. Her eyes studied his face — not with impatience, but concern.
"You were screaming in your sleep," she said gently. "That's the third time this week."
Eli rubbed his eyes, avoiding her gaze.
"You've been... troubled lately," she continued. "More distant. Angrier. I feel your emotions fluctuating like a storm behind your calm."
"I'm just tired," Eli lied. "I've been training more."
"That much is clear. But you must be careful, Eli. The Force is not a tool for vengeance. Nor a crutch for pain."
"I know," he said quickly.
But the truth twisted inside him.
He didn't know anymore.
---
Later, he sat alone in the training hall, his saber resting across his knees. The practice forms were open beside him — illuminated by soft blue hololight.
He replayed Anakin's strikes in his mind again and again.
The strength. The precision.
Eli wanted that strength.
No — he needed it.
Because next time, he wouldn't hesitate.
And next time, Anakin Skywalker would bleed.