#marble temple construction

[marbletemples]

Handcrafted and Machine-Made Marble Murti: Comparison

Hindu god statues are present all over India but Marble murtis are a lovely and meaningful addition to any home or place of worship. Handcrafted marble murtis are religious and cultural symbols that remind one of one’s faith and beliefs and are a testament to India’s rich cultural heritage.

[otherworldy-insect]

sakiru/zonai seized construct belongs to @master-kohga-dating-sim!!!! (im so normal about peepaw…)

also featuring baby gohrra from this specific fanfic because im so normal about it (lying)

we need more grandpa seized construct.

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Eddie's porn stash is a pretty conventional one. An 'if you've seen one stash you've seen them all' type. It basically only consists of skin mags, some of them kinky but most of them vanilla. Normal stuff.

The oddest thing in it is a two-year-old calendar. You know those sexy firefighter calendars? Usually a charity thing? A hit with the housewife crowd? Yeah. Except this calendar decided to branch out and include a bunch of sexy men from a bunch of sexy professions.

So, in this thing, joining the sexy firefighter is a sexy doctor, a sexy construction worker, a sexy police officer (whose month Eddie tore out and burned because fuck cops but don't ever fuck cops), a sexy librarian, and so on. They're all really good-looking, but none of them hold a candle to the paramedic.

It's weird. Paramedics aren't normally part of the traditionally sexy professions. It's messy and sometimes tragic, but lacks the high-paying glamour that doctors and nurses enjoy. Eddie's had his fair share of fantasies, and none of them involved fucking a paramedic.

Until two years ago.

The guy in the calendar simply is that hot.

There's not even anything risqué about his picture. None of the pictures go beyond "this dude is chiseled and shirtless", because veering even slightly past the softest softcore territory would scare off the little housewives or something.

(Eddie is actually pretty fucking sure it'd increase the sales, but hey, what does he know.)

The point is, there's nothing that obscene about the pic. Just a guy kneeling in the back of an ambulance, first aid equipment scattered between his powerful thighs, shirt open to reveal his sculpted torso…

Dark hair spanning across his pecs, over his abs, vanishing down his tight tight tight pants. Hips canting upward, bringing attention to the size of his bulge beneath the zipper. Broad shoulders, ripped arms and large hands, veins protruding across the back. A pretty yet masculine face, with a strong jaw and a straight nose, full lips, a smattering of moles going down his biteable neck. Voluminous, golden brown hair swooped away from his twinkling eyes.

He's got this look in them, this slant to his mouth. Like he knows he's the hottest guy in the calendar.

The one month everyone will go crazy for.

Eddie has become intimately familiar with that look. No joke, in two years it's made him crack his marbles more than anyone else has done in his quarter-century lifetime. When all else fails, November-paramedic has his back. It's basically his longest relationship to date, which sounds a lot sadder out loud (and it sounded fucking sad inside his head, too).

You might wonder why any of that is relevant now, as he sits on the curb outside of The Behemoth with blood trickling from his temple, his band giving their statements to one cop while another hauls away the snarling douchebag that clipped him. How does it play a part in this god-awful night out, you ask?

Well.

"Sir?"

Eddie startles, too caught up in the thudding inside his head, made worse by the buzzing crowd, to notice the man approaching him. He looks up, his gaze gliding past uniformed legs, muscular forearms, a curved neck and honeyed eyes appraising Eddie, and oh.

Oh God.

Eddie's breath sticks in his chest and his tongue becomes a cognate to sandpaper, because it's the paramedic.

It's the paramedic. From the calendar.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. He collapsed on the sidewalk, and now he's having one last weird sex dream before his brain finishes seeping out and he fucking dies.

November-paramedic crouches in front of him. Eddie continues to gape like he's getting ready to catch the peanuts no one is tossing at him.

"My name is Steve. I'm with the ambulance," November-paramedic says. "What's your name?"

Eddie makes a noise incomprehensible to most Earth cultures before his brain registers the meaning of the question and stutters out the answer.

"I- Uh- E-Eddie. It's, it's Eddie."

November-paramedic – Steve – smiles kindly. Heat prickles across Eddie's cheeks and neck. It's not the same as the cocky, sexy smile he's got in the calendar, but still. He's smiling. At Eddie!

"Hi, Eddie." He nods toward Eddie's temple. "That's an impressive cut you got there. May I take a look at it?"

"Yeah? Yeah. Um, g-go ahead."

As Steve sets down his bag and rummages through it, Eddie scours his face to confirm that it really is the guy from the calendar. To his chagrin, it is. There's no mistaking it. Those eyes, like liquid gold. That jawline, a weapon in its own right. Those moles, applied so skillfully it must've been by an artist's hand. That hair, coming straight out of a commercial for luxury shampoo. It's lying flatter than in the calendar, either lacking product or having sweated it out, but it's still glorious.

Steve, having finished washing his hands, tugs on a pair of disposable gloves. The plastic snaps against his wrist, sending a shiver through Eddie. It centers between his legs. Shit, if he pops a boner now…

"I'm going to ask you some questions, okay?" Steve says while pressing a square piece of gauze against the cut. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Eh, Thursday?"

"Do you know where you are?"

"The Behemoth."

Steve nods and, with a lopsided smile, asks, "And are you a patron or did you and your head injury just wander onto the scene?"

Eddie laughs. Loud, merry, and verging on too long. It wasn't even that funny. Steve seems pleased his joke was a success, though. Unless his smile is the uncomfortable kind that one wears when faced with the unhinged. Eddie isn't sure how much blood he's lost.

"No, I, like, my band…" he says, stammering like talking isn't what he does best. Jesus Christ, it's just a hot guy! Eddie has made a fool of himself in front of those plenty of times – no need to get flustered about it. He clears his throat. "We had a gig and, after, at the bar, some guys got into a fight. Got ugly, so we tried to leave, but… alas!" He makes a dramatic sweep of his arm, nearly clocking Steve. Steve expertly ducks away without lessening the pressure on the wound. Eddie soldiers on, not daring to pause lest he lose his steam. Hopefully his burning face is enough of an apology. "Fucker wasn't even aiming for me. He missed his intended target and struck me instead."

"Right. Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Did you drink tonight?"

"Half a beer, at most."

"Do-"

"Eddie!"

Gareth's nasally voice cuts off Steve's question. The next second, he's materialized beside them with a slightly alarmed expression. "Dude, are you…!"

He trails off, eyes growing into dinner plates. There isn't that much blood, is there?

Steve looks Gareth up and down, a crease between his brows. "Is this your friend?"

"My drummer. Gareth."

Eddie half-expects Steve to demand Gareth leaves so he can do his job in peace, but nope. That kind, calm smile is back. He even gives him one of those little upward-nods 'cool guys' like to do.

"What's up, Gareth? I'm Steve; I'm with the ambulance. Just making sure Eddie won't keel over later tonight."

"Uh huh…" Gareth kneels opposite Steve. He's smiling too, but his is shit eating. Eddie frowns in confusion, because what does Gareth have to be happy about? He was freaking out right after Eddie got hit, but now he's staring at Steve like-

Oh.

He's staring at Steve.

No. Noooooooooo! Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh why, why has he kept his porn stash in a drawer without a lock all these years?! He can't recollect the reason Gareth opened that particular drawer on that particular day – all Eddie remembers is how Gareth, Jeff, and Marv snickered when he explained the inclusion of the calendar.

That was it, though. They moved on. Sure, there has been the occasional roasting after the fact, but it's not like he hasn't also mocked them for their weird shit. But that's not the point. The point is that Gareth is staring at Steve like he recognizes him.

Gareth's attention flicks toward Eddie. Eddie shakes his head as subtly yet pleadingly as he can. Gareth's grin gobbles down another turd. Eddie makes a valiant effort to explode Gareth's eyeballs with his mind.

"Say…" Gareth turns to Steve. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so. Eddie, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah, man," Eddie says, voice trembling. "Hurts like hell."

"I could've sworn I've seen your face before," Gareth says. "Like, I'm 100% sure."

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?" Steve asks, ignoring Gareth.

"Um, a little dizzy but no nausea?"

"Hmm, okay. Blurred vision or uneven numbness?"

"No."

Steve nods, glancing at his watch. Then, to Eddie’s dismay, he looks at Gareth. "I've never been to this bar before."

"Nono, not here. Somewhere else…"

Steve's lips purse and his brows knit into the most adorable thinking-face Eddie has ever seen. His heart skips a beat, then skips two more as Steve's free hand gently cups Eddie's cheek. The skin catches fire where Steve's gloved fingertips touch it.

"Let me have a look at your pupils…" Steve says, guiding Eddie's face and, holy shit, leaning in close for a better look.

Eddie gulps, half his blood rushing up and the other half down; he squeezes his legs together to prevent the little guy from saying 'hello' to everyone present. His eyes rove over Steve's face. His lips are chapped and the skin on his nose is dry. The nose itself is somewhat crooked. Did he get into a fight between the calendar photoshoot and now, or did they make the nose straighter for the photo? Why would anyone think it necessary to edit a face like this one? Even with its imperfections mere inches away, it's still the handsomest Eddie has seen.

Steve hums. It's a perfectly preserved vinyl. It's a metal festival. It's Eddie's new favorite song.

"Same size but pretty dilated… Keep your eyes open, please." He shines a tiny flashlight into Eddie's eyes before nodding, satisfied. "All right, looks good."

He leans back out of Eddie's space, returning Eddie's ability to breathe, and removes the gauze. His smile tells Eddie that the bleeding has stopped. As great as it is that he won't hemorrhage to death, it also means their encounter is approaching its end.

"You might've seen me at the university campus?" Steve says, fiddling with some plasters; it takes Eddie's horny brain five full seconds to deduce he's talking to Gareth again.

"No-" Gareth freezes, mouth hanging open. His smugness has evaporated. "Actually, I might have? You're a student?"

Steve chuckles as he patches the last of Eddie's cut. "No, but my friends are. None of them own a car, so I end up driving them everywhere. Right, Eddie, I think you're good to recover at home. Unless you feel like you should head to the hospital?"

Great question! Does he? On the one hand: riding in the ambulance with Steve, ensuring a few additional minutes of his lustrous eyes and smooth voice.

On the other hand: hospital bills.

"… no."

"Okay. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I live alone."

"Then maybe Gareth could hang around for the next 48 hours?"

"Sure can," Gareth says without hesitating. Eddie's heart swells with affection for him, despite his (failed! Hah!) plot to mortify Eddie to death.

Steve is already packing his medical bag.

"I want you to rest and avoid stressful situations," he tells Eddie. "No alcohol, no recreational drugs, no driving, and no working until you feel completely recovered. You may take tylenol, but not aspirin or ibuprofen. And if your symptoms worsen or you develop new ones – seek medical attention. Got it?"

The last part is sterner, reminding Eddie of every male authority figure he's strived to disobey during his teenage years. He has no such desire this time.

"Got it."

Steve raises his eyebrows as if to say 'have you really?', and Eddie has to wonder if it's he who seems contrariant and/or stupid enough to ignore the medic or if this is something Steve does with every patient. If it's the former, he mustn't seem that contrariant, because Steve's features soften into trust. He stands, brushing dust off his knees.

"Great. You boys take care now. Have a nice night."

"Yeah, you too, man," Eddie calls after him weakly as he retreats to the blinking ambulance. "Thanks…"

He keeps his gaze on the broad expanse of Steve's back, soaking in the rippling of his muscles as he walks and, oh would you look at that, his ass is as nice as the rest of him. Eddie's been wondering for two years now…

"Dude!"

Eddie jerks toward Gareth. Did he say that out loud? Did he drool? Is his boner showing? But no, Gareth isn't disgusted or disturbed – he's excited.

Shit.

He'll never hear the end of this.

"Don't!" he hisses.

Gareth just laughs, eyes twinkling.

"That was-"

"Don't!"

"I can't believe it!"

"Gareth-"

"You are so red right now!"

"For Jesus fucking Christ's fucking sake-"

------------------------------

Dedicated to @rougenancy for always listening to and encouraging my various thoughts, opinions, and ideas (they are constant).

Part 2

AO3

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

Geology and the Economy/Trade in Your Fictional World: Explained

Hi, I'm Bird. I am a geology Ph.D. student and I love reading fiction and playing videogames, however something that can really pull me out of a fictional universe is a lack of understanding of basic geology, and how that would influence your fictional world. Today I will cover geology that can effect trade, some landscape features, and construction!

Things that are typically necessary/desired in a fictional world are building materials, gemstones/precious metals, and fossil fuels/ sources of energy. However, a lot of these things are not found together, and they typically have some features to make them more distinct in terms of landscape, so lets talk about it!

Gemstones/ Precious metals and landscape features

Typically, gemstones can be found in two different rock types. The first is intrusive igneous rocks (magma that slowly cooled underground to form course-grained rocks like granite) and high grade metamorphic rocks (rocks that got put under intense heat and pressure under the earth's surface). Some minerals are more likely to form in particular conditions than others, but for the most part these minerals can be found interchangeably within both of these places. *Note: this is a gross oversimplification but we are starting small

(Yes it is a shitty chart better pictures will come further in the post)

If you are writing these minerals based off and igneous deposit, good descriptions for the rocks would be speckled, with mineral grains of about the same size and varying in color. They should NOT be striated, and they will often form bald (unforested) cliffs that are typically rounded and not jagged.

If you are writing with metamorphic rocks, you would expect these rocks to be layered, typically having light and dark layers with some minerals possibly being much larger than the others surrounding it. These textures can definitely (sometimes) be observed from a distance.

*Final notes about minerals* Quartz varieties are difficult, quartz can be found in volcanic, metamorphic, sedimentary, and intrusive igneous settings. If you are writing about agate specifically it is almost always volcanic in nature.

Diamonds are found in volcanic ash deposits called kimberlites, these deposits can occur in any rock type, so while they are igneous, they can be found anywhere. They have zero connection to the surrounding rocks.

2. Fossil Fuels

If a region is producing oil or coal, it is going to be from a sedimentary environment that is very rich in ancient plant material (like millions of years old). A unique feature of these locations would be finding lots of plant fossils, and rocks that can be found in association with these would be sandstone, shale, conglomerates/breccias, and limestones. Sedimentary rocks form in layers, so if exposed the layers will be very visible from a distance. You can also get unique features due to preferential weathering (fancy way of saying some rocks are harder than others, so when exposed to the same weather some rocks will break down faster than others). Also, natural oil seeps are a thing in places where natural oil is prevalent, but I couldn't find a good picture sorry.

3. Building Resources

based on the rocks found in each region, the buildings will be made out of different materials, so lets breakdown what building materials would be used based off what rocks are present in the location.

Sedimentary rocks- lots of options here, so I will just info dump. If the region is drier, limestone is a good choice, historically may desert areas use limestone, it is soft and easy to carve, but it will dissolve slowly with rain. Sandstone is a durable rock that can be used, but it is very hard as it is made of quartz. Clay! shale breaks down in humid environments and will often make clay, this is a great, amazing building resource that could drive economy.

Metamorphic rocks- Marble.... if you want to make luxurious marble temples, metamorphic rocks are a must! Other comments, metamorphic rocks will often have layers of weaker minerals and stronger minerals, that means they will break along a defined surface. A lot of older houses in the Italian Alps (Aosta Valley) use these rocks for roofing. Slate roofing is also common in a lot of places, slate is formed from really low grade metamorphism, so this resource can be available in both sedimentary and metamorphic locations within reason.

Igneous- Granite (light) and Gabbro (dark) is very hard and therefore it is used frequently in countertops today. This is also important because these rocks will take a high shine from polishing. Igneous rocks are also perfect for making cement! Volcanic ash mixed with quicklime and salt water is the recipe for roman concrete which is arguable much better than current day concrete but otherwise doesn't offer much more benefit.

Thank you if you made it this far, I want to make more guides in the future to hopefully cover more geology topics that can influence a story (possibly natural disasters and associated landscape features for subtle foreshadowinggggg)

This guide is very simplified! It is supposed to cover a lot of information for people who may not know a lot about geology, but are interesting in creating fictional universes! If you know a lot about geology already, please avert your eyes, or comment something additional!

[coolancientstuff]

The Temple of Venus in Baalbek (Heliopolis), Lebanon was built in the 200s CE to honor the goddess of love, sex and fertility. Venus was derived by the Romans from the Greek goddess Aphrodite, who herself was inspired by the Near Eastern goddess Astarte. This temple's cult likely incorporated elements of both Roman Venus and the local Astarte.

The temple itself has many novel and unique features found nowhere else in Classical architecture. Five semicircular exedrae run along the outer wall, framing arched niches decorated with carved doves and seashells that probably contained statues in ancient times. Above each niche a festoon of leaves and fruit hangs, symbolizing fertility. The pentagonal column bases are without parallel in antiquity, and no other examples are known. The interior is less well preserved, but it can be safely assumed by the lavishness of the construction that it was once sumptuously decorated with paintings, statues, colored marbles and golden ornaments.

The temple has an eventful history, being also a site of persecutions of early Christians under Julian the Apostate, the last pagan emperor of Rome. Sozomen, a late antique historian, says in his Ecclesiatical Histories:

The inhabitants of Heliopolis, near Mount Libanus, and of Arethusa in Syria, seem to have surpassed them in excess of cruelty. The former were guilty of an act of barbarity which could scarcely be credited, had it not been corroborated by the testimony of those who witnessed it. They stripped the holy virgins, who had never been looked upon by the multitude, of their garments, and exposed them in a state of nudity as a public spectacle and objects of insult. After numerous other inflictions they at last shaved them, ripped them open, and concealed in their viscera the food usually given to pigs; and since the swine could not distinguish, but were impelled by the need of their customary food, they also tore in pieces the human flesh.

I am convinced that the citizens of Heliopolis perpetrated this barbarity against the holy virgins on account of the prohibition of the ancient custom of yielding up virgins to prostitution with any chance comer before being united in marriage to their betrothed. This custom was prohibited by a law enacted by Constantine, after he had destroyed the temple of Venus at Heliopolis, and erected a church upon its ruins."

Whether Sozomen's account is an exaggeration or not, there is archaeological evidence that the temple was indeed converted into a church, dedicated to Saint Barbara. According to the (comparatively late) Christian legend, Barbara was the daughter of a Heliopolitan dignitary, Dioscorus, who still worshipped the old gods. When he learned that she had been baptized, he killed Barbara and was immediately struck by lightning. Up til the present day, Saint Barbara is invoked if people want to be protected against lightning.

Because the monument continued to be in use, the temple of Venus is comparatively well-preserved. Unbroken religious activity has continued on almost the same site since antiquity, and there's still a small mosque next to the temple of Venus. The Greek-Orthodox church of Baalbek, which is close by, is still dedicated to Saint Barbara.

[whencyclopedia]

Syracusia

The Syracusia was an ancient sailing vessel designed by Archimedes in the 3rd century BCE. She was fabled as being one of the largest ships ever built in antiquity and as having a sumptuous decor of exotic woods and marble along with towers, statues, a gymnasium, a library, and even a temple.

A New Approach

Ancient seafaring is usually perceived as a cabotage maritime navigation. The term comes from the French verb caboter meaning “traveling by the coast.” People of antiquity (Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans) usually sailed following the coastline and did not take the risk of going too far out on the high seas. Nevertheless, there are sources confirming that there were exceptions, and the first of them took place as far back as the 3rd century BCE.

In Sicily, under the ruling of king Hiero II of Syracuse (270 – 215 BCE), a ship with stunning dimensions was built. The material used for the construction of that giant boat equated to the material for 60 regular ships. What was more, that vessel was meant to leave the secure coastal lanes and to cross the Mediterranean Sea. The ship was given a name – Syracusia – and represented what could be called “the first liner of antiquity.”

Continue reading...

[achyutapriya]

𝐉𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

The Jagat shiromani temple ( Jewel on the head of Lord Vishnu) also known as Meerabai temple located in Amer, Rajasthan. Constructed between 1599 and 1608 is believed to house the idol of Shree Krishna which Meerabai herself worshipped. The idol of Krishna was saved by the rulers of Amer from the Mughal invaders in Mewar and was brought back here.

The garbagriha of the temple houses the idol of Lord Vishnu in white marble, and the idols of Shree Krishna and Meerabai. It is believed that it is the only temple where Krishna and Meerabai are worshipped together.

Built on top of a small hill, one of the most striking features of the temple are it's beautiful 'Torans' (ornamental archways which are usually found in Jain temples). In the canopy adjacent to the temple is a beautifully chiselled statue of Garuda, Lord Vishnu's carrier. The walls and the ceilings of the temple are carved with elephants, horses and scenes from various religious scriptures. One of the entrances of the temple is through the stairways of the Amer fort leading to the temple courtyard.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

[gottawritesomething]

A God's Folly (1/2)

Scene of an unsettling conversation/connection between God!Gale and his Chosen.

Huge thank you to @ceasesanity for their GodGale Gif

____________________________________

The God of Ambition’s realm had been chiseled into Elysium in painstaking detail. Spiraling towers of marble trimmed with gold reliefs. Dramatized carvings depicting his accession to godhood decorating the various buildings adorning the land. Many of them replications of the most ambitious constructions from Faerun’s history. Rumors among his followers suggested that there was a perfect recreation of Waterdeep somewhere deep within the bounds of the realm. The truth of it mattered little, when the concept seemed so fanciful.

The God of Ambition watched the Great Wizard haughtily from his ornate throne room. It had been an extreme act of generosity to even allow him entry to his realm. Though it provided a unique opportunity to turn Elminster to the ways of Ambition as he'd done with so many before. Mortal’s hearts and minds had proven remarkably easy to capture; there was always something they wanted that he could provide a taste of. A lost love’s eyes resting on them for a moment, an acknowledgment from someone they respected, the sounds of an applauding audience chanting their name, the bitter denouncement of a rival. These harmless promises cultivated their belief in him, elevating him to a source of inspiration. Demonstrating the vast possibilities at his fingertips that they too could share in, if they'd just put their faith in him. Elminster suffered no such wonderment or distraction; he’d been set to his purpose and no pomp or circumstance would deter him. The elderly wizard swept through the grandest of structures, libraries, gardens, and palaces without a moment’s pause. The God of Ambition felt something that might have once been annoyance as he assessed Elminster’s approach. But of course, Gods were above such pettiness, that lay with the incessant squabbling of the mortal masses.

“Elminster Aumar, Chosen of Mystra, you should consider yourself lucky I allow you to stand in my presence given the disrespect your goddess has subjected me to. Know that you enter my plane by my will alone. Though it is not too late for you to rectify your misplaced faith. Galerian creed could bolster your already formidable reputation to new heights, perhaps claim deitydom for yourself.“

Elminster bowed deeply, regarding the God with a resigned gaze. There, again, was the prickle of irritation; the God dismissed the frivolous feelings.

“Your magnanimity knows no bounds, my lord, but I come seeking your Chosen. So that we may broker a peace between the warring temples in Amn. I seek no quarrel with you.”

“And yet, a quarrel you may still have. I see no reason to quell the conflict. Even battle has its ambitious aims.” The God of Ambition reclined, feigning disinterest. 

“If I am not mistaken, my lord, your worship benefits from living practitioners. The casualties from the schism have been significant enough that the city discusses closing both temples; I would never seek to deny your followers a place to worship.”

The God of Ambition considered attempting a laugh, unsure if he still knew how to feint a convincing one. 

“Very well, she'll assist you.”

With blink, he established a calling portal before returning his attention to Elminster, a smug smile flickering across his features.

“You may attempt to turn her head, Elminster but she remains my most loyal follower, her Ambition is to remain at my side.” The God twined something carefully through his fingers. 

A different man's life ago as they'd sat in a paltry conjured boat. Gale had asked her to have the best version of him, she'd told him that she could not, because to pursue the crown would destroy him. It had seemed she meant it when the God of Ambition first came for her. She could hardly look upon his visage and withdrew herself from his hold. But he'd been too new, too overwhelmed with the eternity now within grasp. He'd come for her too soon.

But soon, she'd returned to him of her own volition. She'd heard of the incorporation of their great love story into his expanding mythos. Initially, so full of fire and outrage. At the time, she’d not understood the need for it to be carved into temple walls. Or why bards composed songs about how no two beings had never been so suited. He explained the hope it gave his followers and all those who heard their tale. The appeal of the story of a man who had nothing and was nothing, pursuing the hero of Baldur's Gate. That she'd recognized in him, innately, this capacity of power, which he'd gone on to claim in her name. The embellishments, he’d assured her, only served to make it more inspiring. Still, she’d stormed, passionate and fiery. He'd eventually managed to settle her in a way he could never, while mortal. 

By that point, his command over the Galerian Weave was absolute. In his expertise, he'd realized her connection to its very fibers. He’d hypothesized that their bond and the thoughts of her as he ascended had etched her within its structure. That despite her mortal existence, she’d somehow become fused with his Weave. As such he’d come to know her as deeply as he knew all Weave. Her innermost being now observable to him, providing him with her most inescapable truth. 

The orb had only confirmed what the God of Ambition had already suspected: he had her heart entire. That she loved him senselessly, impossibly, that there was no action he could take that would remove him from her every beat of her heart. Her protestations falling away when confronted with this fact. 

It had occurred to him how Mystra had demonstrated a decidedly ungodly naivete in seeking out mortal companionship. An attempt to recapture the part of her that burned away when she ascended, he suspected. He still held a fondness for his Chosen of course… She represented a facsimile of his mortal wants and life. He’d once entertained the thought that perhaps he’d called to her himself. That somewhere within was a wisp of the man he'd been, clawing and sobbing for her, an element he'd never successfully excised. But instead culled, preventing it from further dulling his divine senses.

Elminster’s eyes remained wary as Tav stepped through the God's portal. 

She was dressed in exotic and delicate fineries, impossible materials intricately embroidered. The fabric shifted in color and flow around her as she walked. The beauty of the garment almost obscuring the exhaustion in her face.

Elminster explained the situation in detail, with Tav nodding slowly. With his summation done, the God of Ambition returned the ailing wizard to the tenuous grasp of his goddess, returning his full attention to his Chosen. Did they know how shatterable they were? That he dwarfed her not only in size but also in the sheer power at his fingertips. The glimmer within him would have screamed until his throat bled at the imbalance, if he’d paid it any heed.

“As ever my dear, I am sure you will do the Galerian faith proud. Though do keep an eye on Elminster, I feel his influence ring through some of my more far-flung sects.”

Tav nodded stoically. A flash of something pushed the God of Ambition to require more from her, to prove the tangibleness of their connection.

“Of course, I needn’t wonder about his influence on you.” He attempted a smile, Tav’s stony demeanor unleashing something unbecoming of a deity within him. “Not when there is such evidential proof of your love for me.” There was a flash of blinding light, and like a curtain lifting, a chain coiled upon the throne room floor, revealing its snaking path towards his chosen, traveling up her form to rest at her chest—at her heart. It glowed a pale blue, pulsing the heartbeat of Galerian Weave. The beat of both their hearts. Tav followed the chain with her eyes, the thin, impossible chain curled delicately around the orb’s scar as The God of Ambition wove it between his fingers. 

He invaded her every sense, sliding like smooth water over her skin, raw power of his energy crackling over her. Noting the goosebumps that erupted on her skin. A whispered plea fell from his lips for only her ears.

“Tell me you love me, still.”

Her eyes fixed on his, the intensity of her sorrow and love mixing in an intoxicating blend. To feel so much and so strongly was so utterly mortal. At times, it felt as though she was looking beyond him, peering deeply into him as if searching for something.

“Of course, my lord.”

The God of Ambition wished she’d used his name, but for the moment, the need was satiated. 

“Then go forth.” With a dismissive hand wave, he returned his Chosen returned to their mortal duties. The unease of their encounter soothed as the God of Ambition surveyed his domain once more. The delicate balance maintained requiring that not even a passing thought linger on the fact that the chain's end was not within his hands—that it, too, disappeared into his chest.

____________________________________

LINK to Follow up part 2

[blueiscoool]

‘Extremely Rare’ Roman Temple Discovered in Italy

Sarsina is a sleepy, rural town of barely 3,000 residents straddling the pristine Apennine mountains in Italy’s Emilia Romagna region, surrounded by stunning views and grazing sheep.

While it has a glorious past, as a strategic defensive outpost for the Roman Empire and the birthplace of the famed playwright Plautus, today there’s not much to do beyond hiking and birdwatching.

And though both locals and holidaymakers would agree that a rustic, slow-paced lifestyle is part of Sarsina’s charm, its residents were nonetheless excitedly awaiting the construction of a development including a new supermarket, fitness center and playground. But it was not meant to be — at least, not as originally planned.

That’s because workers at the site on the outskirts of town in December 2022 unearthed the ruins of an ancient Roman temple — or ‘capitolium’ — dating back to the first century BC.

In early July, a first look at the underground treasure came to light: a single imposing structure of horizontal sandstone blocks and marble slabs, 577 square meters wide, which researchers have identified as the podium above which the columns and walls of an ancient temple were built.

And what has come out of the ground so far could be just the tip of the iceberg.

“We have unearthed three separate rooms, likely dedicated to the triad of gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva,” lead archaeologist at the excavation site Romina Pirraglia said. “The excavations are still underway… and we have already identified an older, deeper layer of ruins dating back to the 4th century BC, when the Umbrian people (an ancient Italic tribe who predated the Romans) lived in the area. The entire temple could be even larger than what we now see.”

According to Pirraglia, the discovery of a capitolium — the main temple in an important Roman city, and a hub for trade as well as religious and social interactions — further confirms the strategic role Sarsina played during the Roman Empire. The town was built in a key mountainous area close to the Tuscan border and overlooking the Savio river, an important waterway connecting central and northern Roman cities.

The discovery of the temple has pushed local authorities to revise their building plans. Federica Gonzato, superintendent of archaeology, fine arts and landscape for the provinces of Ravenna, Rimini and Forlì-Cesena, which includes Sarsina, is adamant in wanting to preserve the ruins and further research its great past.

“We will not tear it down to make room for modern structures, this must be very clear. Previous urban plans will be changed, we will find new construction sites for recreation and sports,” Gonzato said. “The temple is an incredible finding that sheds light on how ancient Roman towns rose and fell across time.”

What makes the discovery exceptional is the temple’s unique state of preservation. “The marvelous quality of the stones have been spared from sacks, enemy invasions and plunders across millennia thanks to the remote location of Sarsina, a quiet spot distant from larger cities,” Gonzato added. “Temples such as this one (were) regularly plundered, exploited as quarries with stones and marble slabs taken away to be re-used to build new homes. But Sarsina’s capitolium podium structure is practically untouched, with its entrance staircase well-preserved, and this is extremely rare.”

Gonzato believes the discovery will further research on demography and urban transformations in ancient times. And there’s more to the site than just the temple’s podium. Pirraglia said there are signs that the building was reused in medieval times. An ancient water drainage system was found alongside medieval tombs and hearths indicating that locals likely inhabited it, or used the site for other social purposes.

“This is the beauty of Italy: wherever you dig, some hidden treasure comes out of the ground. Wonders never cease to amaze us,” said Gonzato.

By Silvia Marchetti.

[peashooter85]

What Happened to the Parthenon? The Destruction of the Parthenon in 1687

Today the Parthenon in Athens is considered one of the most important and impressive structures of ancient Greece.  Originally built in 438 BC, the structure served a number of roles.  During classical ages it was a temple dedicated to the goddess Athena.  When Christianity became the dominant religion in the Roman Empire it transformed into a Christian church.  When the Ottoman Empire conquered the Byzantine Empire in the 15th century, it was again transformed into an Islamic mosque.  Today, however, the Parthenon is a ruin of marble columns, a shell of its former glory.  This was not caused by weather or the fact that the structure is thousands of years old.  Often, buildings and monuments are looted, it's stones pilfered by stone masons in order to construct other buildings. Such is the case with the Egyptian pyramids, Hadrian's wall, the Roman Colosseum, and countless other sites. However, with the Parthenon this was also not the case, at least not for the bulk of it's destruction. Throughout most of its history the Parthenon was a well respected, well maintained, and a heavily used building.  So what happened to the Parthenon?

In 1687 the Ottoman Empire was at war with the Republic of Venice.  On September 21st, 1687 an army of 10,000 Venetian soldiers under the command of Francesco Morisini landed on the outskirts of Athens with the intent of capturing the city as well as the rest of Greece.  The Venetians laid siege to the city and began a six day bombardment with mortars and siege cannon.  In their haste to defend the city the Ottoman Turks fortified the Acropolis and turned the Parthenon into a gunpowder magazine, a storage place for gunpowder, cannonballs, small arms shot, and other munitions.  Later during the siege a captured Turkish deserter revealed to Morisini the location of the Ottoman powder magazine.  Morisini ordered the Parthenon targeted by his cannon and the gunpowder magazine was ignited by a mortar shell.  The resulting explosion blew off the roof, caused the structure's internal walls to crumble, destroyed 3/5ths of the structures sculptures, and destroyed several columns, mostly on the south side where the shell entered the building.  The resulting blast also killed 300 Turkish soldiers. 

With the Turks supply of gunpowder destroyed the Venetians easily conquered the city.  Then the looting began, with Morisini and his troops removing ancient treasures and statuary as prizes of war.  Many statues were accidentally smashed during removal, the rest were shipped off to collections in Italy, where they eventually were scattered all over Europe. After the devastating explosion of the Parthenon, centuries of secondary destruction occurred, mostly in the form of looting, which finally did begin to occur now that the building had been badly damaged and left abandoned.  Stone masons carted off wagon loads of marble for use in other building projects and structures.  In 1801 the British ambassador to the Ottoman Empire, Thomas Bruce, 7th Earl of Elgin, became fascinated with the Parthenon, studying its architecture closely and documenting it's magnificence.  He then proceeded to loot the Parthenon of its remaining statuary, especially the statues that make up the front facade of the building.  17 statues, 15 panels, and a large 247 foot long frieze were removed and shipped to Britain, where they were sold to the British Museum. 

Today the statuary, known as the Elgin Marbles, are a source of contention between the United Kingdom and Greece, as the Greeks want them back. The remains of the Parthenon are still under threat, especially from the slow destruction of acid rain erosion.  In 1975 the Greek government began the project to preserve and restore the Parthenon, with slow painstaking work occurring over the decades. 

[somewhereincairparavel]

hiii congrats on 400 i love ur blog!!

i have a headcannon that jason takes architecture in new rome university to pursue his vision of rebuilding temple hill. can i request an architecture student!jason fic? maybe some engineering student!leo tossed in as well idk haha tysmmm! ~~♡

ೃ⁀➷ Screws and Ceramicsೃ⁀➷

author's note: I'm sorry this took so long!! I'm back on my writing spree finally!!

“The exterior facade of the Colosseum consists of four levels, with the bottom three levels composed of 80 arches each. Structurally speaking, the arches make possible the immense size of the structure-”

Jason adjusted his glasses as he was trying his hardest to copy his notes down, as quickly as possible, the professor was going kinda fast but Jason didn't blame him.

They have so much coursework for this semester. New Rome coursework for architecture students included the basics of Colosseum construction, Parthenon preservation and the surprising malleability of marble.

Currently Jason was learning the basics of Colosseum construction. It wasn't easy, but Jason was willing to give it his all, he even asked Annabeth for advice. His dream was to redesign temple hill, after he was done finishing the minor gods project. The only way he could get the permission to professionally redesign the structure of a long existing camp, was to get a degree to prove that he was worthy enough.

Romans do not play when it comes to buildings. Moreover, he didn't want anyone to call him a “nepo baby” and that he only got to design temple hill because he was Jupiter's son. Annabeth had already moved up levels of the architecture courses, and graduated with Percy. Jason was two years younger, by the time Annabeth had graduated, he was only then finishing highschool in California, so he still had a long way to go. Thankfully, Leo took engineering in NRU, so Jason had great company.

“Man, all these Romans do is yap yap and yap in cursive. They know nothing about how engineering works.” Leo babbled, complaining about his professor, who was a legacy of vulcan.

Jason scowled. “What are you implying, Leo? That we Romans know nothing about building stuff? That's the biggest stretch I've ever heard. They've built the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, the Domus Aurea, the Pantheon, Trajan's Column, Trajan's Market, the Catacombs, the Circus Maximus, the Baths of Caracalla, Castel Sant'Angelo, the Mausoleum of Augustus-”

“Woah woah calm down. I see you've clearly learnt all the names of those Roman buildings for your upcoming exam, thank me later for discreetly testing you. Looks like you really know your stuff dude. Romans are still mid engineers though” Leo winked. Jason stared at him bewildered. He hadn't even realized that he spit out all those Roman building names, he'd been up all night studying them.

“Iuppiter te perdat, valdez” (may Jupiter come at you, valdez) Jason muttered.

“Aww come on, don't go all Latin on me now, did you curse me out?” Leo questioned.

“maybe.”

“Well, whether you realize it or not, I seem to be the only one who somehow get you to apply whatever you've learnt in class dude. I mean, I've said like two sentences, and that's enough to get you to yap about Roman buildings and Latin curses” Leo laughed.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

“also you are only proving my point that Romans yap in cursive, I mean, have you seen yourself speak?” Jason gave him a pointed look.

“don't worry, it's cute.” Leo said, patting Jason's hair.

“Well, maybe i yap in cursive because I'm actually knowledgeable.” Jason replied, tersely smiling.

“a little too much of a big head but fair point.” Leo admitted.

“Anyways I'm starving. In honor of you insulting us Romans, Let's go eat some nice Roman food," Jason said, dragging Leo to the cafeteria.

“Leo, what's wrong?” Jason asked as he slipped inside Leo's dorm room. He hadn't heard from leo in a few hours now and he was getting worried.

Leo was scrambling anxiously, his hands seemed to be having minds of their own as his eyes darted around the room.

“I have like, 2 projects due tomorrow, and I swore to myself that I'd start on them early but I was having so much fun it totally slipped my mind-”

“Okay. Alright. First off, calm down. You still have like, 10 hours till your next class. You can still get it done by then, stressing out only prolongs your progress-”

“Give it a rest Dr. Phill” Jason rolled his eyes.

“I'm just trying to help”

“Well it isn't working, just letting you know, man”

“What's your project about? I'm no engineer, but maybe i could help with building the outer structure or solving machine equations to help make it work better-”

“Oh please yes. I need all the help I can get right now”

Jason smiled.

And so. The architect and engineer started their nerdy fiasco.

[marbletemples]

White Marble Temple Carving Design - Marble Artifacts

[candywife333]

Price of Life (part 1)

Summary: She wandered up the magnificent hill, into the temple quarters where he resided. She did not want to climb up the hill in the middle of the night to meet with an erratic, cold, and cruel sorcerer. But there was no choice. Her village, inflicted with a devastating curse, had become close to a ghost town--- crops did not grow, people died of famine, and even babies just out of the womb perished along with their mothers. She hoped to ask for his aid in getting rid of the curse that afflicted her village. Yet, she could not have ever predicted what that help would cost her in return.

planned to have only 2 parts. trying out JJK fanfic, hopefully it turns out alright.

powerful sorcerer Sukuna x chubby, poor brown OC (Yaara)

Triggers: dub-con/non-con, rough sex, humiliation (mostly in part 2)

The humongous hill loomed in front of her as she trudged up, the sweat dripping off her forehead cooling her form as a riotous breeze loitered through the otherwise quiet night. She farmed day in and day out due to her sick mother and dead father. Nobody else supported her family except herself. And she would've continued, if not for the rumors of the famine getting worse and more people dying off. If the number of deaths continued the way they did in her tiny village, nobody would be left to even bury those who had died.

Everyone knew that Sukuna never helped. If anything, he made things worse. An extremely powerful sorcerer, capable of ousting even deities, he was infamous for being cold, arrogant, and inhumane. He lived up the hill, having private chambers in the temple only for himself. The price he made people pay for taking his help, made most refuse to even think of taking it. It was never anything simple like food, crops, clothes, money, or even jewelry.

The cost of his aid would often be insurmountable. He demanded payment in lives , in sacrifice, and many other deranged practices that people in her village mumbled about in hushed voices--as they drank tea. They did not even dare to offend him when their village was placed a far distance away from his residence, for fear that word of their blatant disregard at his practices would reach his ears.

She finally got to the top of the hill, staring resolutely at the splendidly white , gold tinted marble doors adorning the entrance of the temple. It was silent, except for the twinkling of a few wind chimes placed around the entrance. Normally a calming place for most people who visited, Yaara did not feel the same this night. She stressed about what he would ask her to pay in return for helping her town.

She had nothing of value to offer. The most she could do was to help him with any chores he had for a few years in the temple , or to pay him in crops she had harvested. Pondering all these thoughts, she opened the heavy doors and walked into the temple, the doors immediately shutting behind her.

Yaara continued to walk further into the white, cold and rather desolate temple. It was rather dim inside except for the light from torches lined along the long hall ,side by side--illuminating the long stretch of passageway til the altar. All the priestesses must be asleep since it is the middle of the night.

A cold gust of wind made Yaara shiver, as she foraged along the uncertain path to his chambers. Yaara neared the massive jade altar of Buddha, 50 times her height. An equally impressive waterfall continued to pour water upon Buddha's head. This temple was known for being built centuries ago by a king who insisted on constructing it with a waterfall at the center with cherry blossoms littered all around the waterfall.

As Yaara walked reticently around the perimeter, looking for any entryways that may indicate a separate set of chambers, she saw a man-- if that was what you could call him, meditating near the waterfall, on a ledge tucked away near the statue's head. The man did not look normal in the least. He had what looked like multiple arms and an intimidating aura. Before she could call out to ask him where she might be able to find Sukuna, the man opened his eyes. Red eyes. Eyes that foretold misery and cruelty. His gaze sharpened upon her form as he bellowed out, "What are you doing here, mortal girl? In the middle of the night in my abode"?

Shivering like a leaf, frightened by his foreboding voice, she squeaked out, "I-I have come to see Sukuna, Sir. I need to talk to him right now". The prior irritated expression on the man's face vanished as a mirthless laughter spilled out of his mouth, the angle of his mouth curling upwards into a smirk. He snarled, "You have come to see me? The greatest sorcerer of my generation. And you don't even know who you are talking to? What an ignorant, pathetic mortal"!

He jumped down with a stunning speed from his ledge, landing right in front of me. Startled at his sudden appearance, I fell on the hard rock beneath me, my bum just barely cushioning the fall, mortified at seeing his form. His tall frame towered over me as he grunted out, "Well. You might as well speak mortal. I don't have all day or night for your pesky human problems".

I crawled onto my knees, sitting on the ground, hands up in supplication as my mouth quivered, whispering in a feverish tone, "My town is in trouble Sir. They are plagued with famine and death. A curse has been placed upon it. C-c-could you please help me remove the curse? We are burying people everyday. Soon there will be no place to even bury anyone".

The sorcerer's eyes glinted as a menacing smile contorted his aristocratic features, "You can have help if you can pay the price mortal". His gaze trailed my body in a hungry manner as he purred out ,"That is if you can withstand what it entails".

[dragon-communion]

Yet more Tarnished writing. This time it's Melivor... not quite fighting Mohg. Something's up. They have a little chat.

•••

A temple's steps are constructed to be as punishingly steep as possible to force the supplicant into proper contemplation before that which is highest.

A temple that is reoccupied, then, forces the supplicant to stoop in the name of a nameless god. The ghost of something without land or loyalty gripping the back of one's neck to say kneel, to say once upon a time, to say when once upon high the heavens had not been painted and the earth had not been ploughed, something compelled men to build to the point of pain.

Your thighs burned from the divinity and the exhaustion of it all.

Behind you, dragged like prey, three corpses bound with cord bounced against the ancient marble and smeared a trail of gore in some twisted procession. It's fitting, you thought- you've carved a trail of blood through the Lands Between, but it hasn't been quite so literal before.

Usually you at least wiped your feet in the grass before approaching royalty. You stopped doing that after Morgott. Too many people needed killing. More than you thought.

Kicking the lever in made the attendant albinaurics glance over, but your bloody haul either made you look like one of them or discouraged further questions.

Something about the stately marble lift made you feel like dinner in a dumbwaiter, dragonflesh framed by an arrangement of colorfully bruised and rotted side dishes. Hot with rage, perhaps too hot to serve- and it was with some irony that you recalled the old liberal applications of bloodflame to your claws, at the beginning of things. How the time flew. How things recontextualized themselves.

The temple, the egg, the bloody union. You let Mohg confer with whatever he'd joined himself to with the barest amount of grace, since he seemed a bit polite, before answering his welcome by slamming the corpses down on the flagstones between you two.

"I thank you," you managed to scrape out of stony vocal cords, "for your hospitality. Before you are compelled to kill me in some great mockery of the idea, I would ask of you a question."

Gods. There was a reason you never bothered with formalities- the world was eat or be eaten- but anyone who dressed their soldiers in that much silk and gold might at least pause to observe the rule of manners.

Mohg, Lord of Blood reigning resplendent in his seat of power, actually did pause. The hot gold blaze of his eye dulled a bit, paired with an owlish tilt to his head, and the great spear he hefted like a toy paused mid-flourish.

"...very well," he allowed. "Speak."

You gestured at the corpses before you as if he could have failed to notice them. Two of them still had robes on, while the third was naked and verging on putrescent. It had taken... longer than you would have liked, to track down this hideaway. Shorter than anyone else had managed. But too long.

"Do you have some quarrel with me?" You'd never quite learned the cadence and grammar of the High Golden Speech- a 'dost' or maybe a 'thee' fit in there somewhere, surely- but quarrel was a rather impressive word. You'd learned it by irritating Seluvis 'into apoplexy with your feral bumpkin tomfoolery'. "These men belong to you, and they attacked me unprovoked."

The Lord of Blood peered down at them with inscrutable interest, hard to parse past the angles of his teeth and his single sunfire eye. There was a contemplative clicking noise. "They were instructed to gather blood. It is in no way personal, but surely you understand." Talons tightened on the haft of his spear, eager. Hungry.

Your eyes trailed briefly over his shoulder to the bleeding cocoon, and he just so happened to shift his weight between you and it. Perhaps desperate, then? An owl brooding over her stillborn egg. Or a swan their pair-bond.

"...there were others," you managed to force out, throat aching from this much. "I did not want to pull a cart up your temple road. Is more than three not personal?"

If you were any other creature, you might not have sensed it. Draconians could not speak with lightning the way true dragons could- nonetheless they were attuned to it, as any made thing should be attuned to their betters. Once upon a time, the storm itself had commanded you in ripples of static along your stony skin.

Some alien ripple shivered across the Lord of Blood's horns in a way unlike flame or lightning, and the sunfire glow of his eye burned.

Didn't his men have red eyes?

"Nothing is personal," he rasped gently, "but the task which I must perform for our Divinity. No more questions." The spear, black and carved to celebrate the fertile gush of fresh blood, glimmered under the subterranean stars. "You will bleed and die, like many Tarnished before you, and nourish my dearest in his slumber."

And you would eternally come back.

But, perhaps, with more thoughtfulness than most of these bloody duels. His eyes seared so bright. It didn't sit well.

So you fought.

You died.

And you contemplated.

[webslinger-holland]

The Emperor of Magic | Part 5

Summary: Now trapped inside their worst nightmares, the crows need to find a way out in order to stop the emperor. Thankfully, Kaz is always one step ahead and figures out a solution.

Warning: +18 Warning, verbally and mentally abusive parent, deceased relatives, blood, gore, many mentions of death, working in the menagerie, choking, attempted murder and suicide

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Series

Word Count: 6.8k

Author’s Note: This is the end of the series! I really hoped you enjoyed reading this because I have had this story concept in my drafts for a long time. Let me know your thoughts and have a great week!!!

Series Masterlist

The emperor of magic stood in the center of six fallen bodies. She could feel a single bead of sweat rolling down the side of her temple, uncertain if it was from the blazing hot heat waves or if it was from mental strain. Her eyes remained shut as she struggled to keep the six crows under the veil of darkness.

Normally, it wasn’t hard to get inside someone’s head and drive them towards the point of insanity. But this time was different. She needed to take all six crows down, which was no easy task at hand. It didn’t help that they were all incredibly clever and intelligent; they weren't just dumb witted folk. This made the mental battle all the more challenging for her. 

Despite this, the emperor was determined to succeed. She needed to keep them unconscious, forcing them captive within their worst memories and nightmares. With great struggle, the emperor managed to break the chains that bound her. She also was able to get loose from the customized straight jacket that had failed to hinder her powerless. She threw those to the side. 

Afterwards, the emperor pulled the bag off her head. She discarded it by tossing into the heap of sand. She removed the final eye covering and ear pieces strapped around her head. She was now finally met with the blinding rays of the sun for the first time in nearly three years. 

Wylan’s Nightmare:

As soon as his eyes changed black, Wylan’s body succumbed to a dream-like or comatose state. When he managed to regain consciousness, his eyes began to flutter open and he could see a completely different atmosphere. He quickly sat up upon realizing where he was. 

The mansion was known to be one of the most beautifully constructed and decorated house in all of Ketterdam. It belonged to the a well-respected member of the Merchant Council which just so happened to be Jan Van Eck himself. 

Naturally, Wylan recognized the house that he had spent his early childhood years in. It all came flooding back into his memory; the marble floors sparkled as they must have been polished to perfection and the high wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling held brilliant chandeliers. The furniture was the most expensive thing on the market at the time. The mansion couldn’t be anything less than perfect.

Now looking down, Wylan saw that he was dressed in one of his old beige suits which now explained why his collar felt so tight around his neck. He went ahead and loosened it immediately. He also realized that his wild hair was tamed and combed down like it always had been when he was a young boy.

In the short distance, Wylan heard a voice talking in the other room. He carefully rose to his feet and made it way over to the door that was slightly cracked open. Peering through the crack, Wylan’s eyes fell on the man he once called ‘father.’ And his breath caught in the back of his throat. 

“You stupid, stupid boy.” Jan Van Eck said with a shake of his head. 

That familiar pang of guilt shot straight to his heart; he had gotten too squinted with those words in his childhood. His father always shaming him, calling him stupid or worthless. He clutched the frame around the door, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

“You’re a disgrace!” 

All of the sudden, Jan Van Eck slammed his hands down and discarded everything that lay on the desk which included books, pens, and papers of the sort. The burst of fury only caused Wylan to flinch something terrible; something else that he still hadn’t grown accustomed to.

“Can’t read, can’t write.” Jan Van Eck scoffed to himself. He gritted his teeth together. “You’re absolutely worthless!”

Without thinking, Wylan burst through the slightly open door in a rage of fury. For once in his life, he was going to tell it straight to his father and he wasn’t going to let him push him around anymore. His fists were clenched at his sides and his jaw was locked. 

Upon hearing the door slamming against the wall, Jan Van Eck turned to face his disgrace of a so-called son. He narrowed his eyes at his approaching figure, not expecting much from him anyways.

“You...” Wylan began, but he struggled to find his voice as it was laced with red hot anger. He pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You do not know me,” Wylan claimed with tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“I know you’ll never evolve,” Van Eck spat. “Spent years trying to change you, trying to shape you.”

“I don’t need to be changed!” Wylan yelled back. His face turned beat red in his fit of rage. 

“You weren’t enough,” Van Eck said with a shake of the head. “You could have been so much, but you're worthless.”

“We never were the same person,” Wylan seethed. He jammed a finger directly into the man’s chest. “I am not you and I was never going to live up to your name.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Van Eck’s lips shifted into a sinister smile. “Because I’ll still always be there to haunt your nightmares.”

Very slowly, Wylan took a step backwards in his place upon coming to the realization that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of the image of his father in his mind. It will always haunt him and he can’t change that. He suddenly became aware of the situation; that he was living his worst nightmare. And his worst nightmare was being stuck with Jan Van Eck.

Backing away, Wylan wanted nothing more than to leave. He hurried out of the room, charging upstairs to escape to the place where his old bedroom was. He closed the door behind him, twisting the lock in its place. He moved away from the door then. But he didn’t know of the dark figure that stood behind him, watching his every move.

Back in reality, the emperor was left standing and staring directly at Wylan’s limp body in the sand. She studied him carefully. She caught a glimpse of a small tear escaping the corner of his eye and rolling down his cheek.

Jesper’s Memory

When Jesper finally awoke from his unconscious state, he too was most surprised with his surroundings. He shifted into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had a kink in it. He came to realize that he wasn’t in Ketterdam and he wasn't in Ravka either. It almost looked like...

Upon further inspection, Jesper found himself in the middle of a field. He rose to his feet slowly. His long trench coat danced in the breeze. His heart sank in his chest. The memories of his childhood came flooding back into his mind.

These fields were all too familiar to him. Amid the wheat, amid the soft golden ears, moved the unseen wind. The wheels of straw rested on their earthen bed, soaking in the brilliant sunshine. Under the sky that is made all the more pretty for the scattered clouds, the white puffs that radiate white light. It was a simple scene. 

His softened gaze fell on the small little house in the short distance. It looked like something from an old photograph; a deep memory that he had almost forgotten. His feet began to carry him to the house. The dark figure followed after him without his knowledge.

Coming to the house, Jesper lifted a hand to pull the colorful blanket away from the doorway. He stepped into the entrance. His hand fell to his side and his heart had never felt more heavy.

It was a small house in the sense that it was all one room. The ground was made of fresh orange dirt and the walls had been lifted by his father at one time. A small stove sat in the corner. And there was a little wooden table for eating. Two beds lay on either side of the room. One of them had an occupant. 

“Mama?” Jesper asked just as horrified as the moment he had found her years ago.

His mother always wore the most magnificent colors that made her complexion glow. Her favorite color was yellow in which she was dressed in. She wore these orange and yellow heavy beads around her neck. And her hands rested on her chest. She must have been asleep.

“Mama,” Jesper called again. He felt the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He approached her bedside, dropping to his knees to be at her side.“Mama, wake up. I’m here,” Jesper pleaded.

He took her hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips to press a firm kiss to it. He failed to keep his tears at bay, feeling them now cascading down the sides of his face. He shook her hand gently as if half expecting her to wake up and rid him of this horrid nightmare. 

“Mama. Wake up. I need you,” Jesper cried. The dark figure stood looming over him as he was forced to once again grieve the loss of his mother.

Leaving the memory, the emperor of magic shifted her gaze away in order to face her next victim. The heartrender lay motionless in the sand with a hand near the side of her face. She looked so peaceful in the moment, but she knew she was already experiencing the worst thing she could imagine. 

Nina’s Nightmare:

The Little Palace had been home for so many years. All the Grisha were sent to live at the palace after they had been tested for powers at a young age. Depending on which order one was classified into, they would be dressed in the appropriate color coordination.

Every room was created by the most beautiful and delicate hand. The hallway floors were made from the finest marble, sparkling in the early morning hours. Grand oil paintings hung on the craved marble walls. The quartz pillars upheld the vast ceilings in the grand staircase. 

For some reason, Nina found herself walking through those hallways she used to call home. She felt a little disoriented because, with every turn, the palace just seemed so empty. She’d peek into rooms and poke around a corridor, but still, nobody was in sight.

She called out for others. “Zoya? Alina? Where is everyone?”

When Nina finally approached her old bedroom, she saw that the door was already cracked open and a blood stain painted the once golden knob. She pushed the door open gently, cautiously stepping into the old room. Her breath caught in her throat.

Because what Nina saw was something she hoped she would never have to see. All of the Grisha she had once known and who she had grown up with were laid lifelessly on the floor. Their colored uniforms were burnt, torn, destroyed, and soaked in blood. She couldn’t tell if it was their blood or soemone else’s.

Glancing past the bodies, Nina named every single face she saw. Her heart never felt so heavy and burdened. She choked back a sob because even though she had left the little palace long ago, she still called it home. The Grisha were her people; nothing would ever change that. But now, they all lay dead in front of her. 

At one point, Nina’s eyes settled on the still body of her old friend Zoya. She rushed to be at her side, dropping to her knees. Her hands went to hover over her heart with every intention of helping her. But Zoya’s hand came up to clasp her wrist to stop her. Her pained eyes shifted to face the heartrender beside her.

“Y-You,” Zoya grunted through her teeth. She felt blood seeping past her lips. “Y-Y..You left us,” Zoya claimed.

“I-I didn’t want to,” Nina said with a swift shake of the head. “I never wanted to leave you behind.”

“But you did,” Zoya pointed out. “You abandoned us. And for what? A Fjerdan who only murders your people.”

“H-He’s not like that,” Nina insisted. She felt tears streaming down her cheeks. “No, Matthias would never hurt me.”

“It’s because of his people that we are left scarce,” Zoya said. “They came in the night. They slaughtered us.”

This comment made the heartrender glance around once more to see the familiar faces that surrounded her. She saw the red blood that painted so many faces. She felt only one heartbeat in the room besides her own.

“I didn’t know,” Nina claimed.

“No,” Zoya shook her head. “No, you knew. You’ve always known that they hunt people like us. That they kill people like us. You’ve known, but you chose to ignore it.”

“I-I’m so sorry, Zoya.”

“And now, you will have to live with the fact that you got us killed. You let them in and made us vulnerable,” Zoya claimed. “Y-You are the reason the Grisha will be extinct,” Zoya finished.

All of the sudden, Zoya began choking on her own blood. It spilled out of her mouth in waves. Though Nina tried to help her, it was already too late. Her body became relaxed after the coughing came to a halt. Her eyes were glassed over in a haze. And her breathing came to a final halt. 

All at once, Nina felt an overwhelming amount of shame and guilt in her heart. She dropped her head down, feeling the tears streaming out of her eyes at a fast rate. She raised a shaky hand to cover her mouth in hopes of muffling her sobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to regain composure. 

The dark figure that stood behind her took one final glance around the room. It took a single step backwards before choosing to return back to reality. Her eyes fixed on the person laying beside the heartrender.

Matthias’s Nightmare:

For some reason, Matthias thought he was dreaming again. He only thought this because he always saw her in his dreams. His dreams were quite often unsatisfying since he never really knew what he wanted. There were times that he dreamed of finally killing the heartrender that tormented him and then there were times he dreamed about how her lips felt when he kissed her. She was always a mystery to him, which made him realize that he didn’t know what he wanted. 

Now Matthias didn’t know where he was or where he was going. He had a feeling that he must have been within Fjerdan territory since there was a blizzard waging around him. He could barely see in front of him from all the snow and wind blasting in his face. 

For a moment, Matthias shifted his focus to his footing. He watched himself lift each foot in front of the other, trudging forward through the heaps of snow. That’s when he saw red. 

The dark figure had been following him this whole time. She watched carefully for his reaction. The splotch of red in the snow must have been blood. He followed the trail of blood until his eyes fell on a body laying in the snow a couple feet ahead of him. His heart sank.

“Nina!” Matthias called out. 

He hurried to her side, basically collapsing beside her in the snow. He was able to pull her body to lay on her backside before taking a look at her wounds. His hands hovered over her lifeless body, unsure of what to do in the moment.

Her face was so pale; her lips were already blue from the cold. Her eyes remained shut since they had been closed long ago. Her hair was frozen from the blood that leaked from her head. In fact, Nina’s body was covered with various wounds. She must have bled out from them.

His eyes fell on a particular wound near the junction of her neck. It honestly looked like some creature had taken a large bite out of her neck, which ultimately caused her to bleed to death. But those bite marks looked all too familiar. 

When Matthias lifted his head, there was a grand grey wolf standing in the short distance. It stood calmly as the wind brushed past it’s striking grey and black fur. However, the wolf’s mouth was dripping with the blood of its victim. It was in that moment that Matthias realized wolves might not have been as tame as his people once believed. 

“You did this?” Matthias said in utter disbelief. He stared at the wolf blankly. “W-Why? She didn’t do anything. She didn’t deserve to die like this.”

Slowly, Matthias looked back down to the beautifully calm woman in his arms. He held her tightly in fear of letting her go forever. He lowered his head to press it against her own. He rocked back and forth with his love in his arms, crying quietly to himself. 

“She was all I had left. She was the only one to love me for who I was,” Matthias sobbed. “She loved me even though she wasn’t supposed to,” Matthias whispered.

All Matthias could do was press a soft kiss to the center of her forehead. He stared off into the distance for he was unable to look at the wolf the same again. He cried for what felt like hours on end and he refused to leave her side. 

Inej’s Memory:

The Menagerie was most commonly known as the House of Exotics. This was mainly because the menagerie advertised the exotic beauties of foreign women. They always dressed as specific animals that came from their country or region.

The House of Exotics was almost always filled to the brim with men looking for a good time. They often smoked which filled the house with a thick cloud. There was always heavy liquor seeping from their lips, which made their breath smell awful and their discernment rather thin. The men were able to do whatever they pleased as long as they paid the right price.

During Inej’s time at the Menagerie, she had never felt so low and empty in her life. Now she stood there once again. She wore her old clothes which painted her out to look like a lynx. Her soft brown skin reflexed wonderfully against the brilliant purple silks that hugged her body.

With each step, Inej heard the little bells that wrapped around her ankles. She maneuvered her way through the heavy crowd, passing by drunks and other girls dressed to impress. She didn’t think to question how she got back there or the fact that she was just relieving her worst memory.

When she was there, she felt numb to the rest of the world. And she entirely was  right then and there.

For the moment, Inej was leading this half drunk man upstairs to the private rooms. He had already paid her for her time spent with him. She felt the kruge jingling in her pocket. She brought him to one of the rooms, letting him inside before closing the door behind them.

It didn’t take more than five minutes for the man to emerge from the private room, still in the process of buckling his pants back together. He closed the door with a satisfied smirk on his face before heading back downstairs to the bar for another round. 

Back in the room, Inej lay on the soft bed in a heap of sheets. Her beautiful purple silks had been discarded on the floor. She stare blankly at the ceiling, feeling entirely numb. She felt a single tear seep out of the corner of her eye.

Her core was filled with a sense of shame. Her legs felt weak as if she already knew she’d have trouble walking. Even her shoulder ached slightly since he had bitten down during their time together. She pulled the sheets to cover her bare body, shivering at the memory engraved into her mind.

For a second, Inej closed her eyes as if to wish she could just disappear into the next life. She hated being there. She hated the things she was forced to undergo. She just wanted to be free. Why couldn’t she be free?

The dark figure that stood by the window was looking directly at the saddened woman laying in bed. She even went to turn away from the scene, because it was too much, even for the emperor herself.

Back in reality, the emperor was truly struggling to keep all six of the crows under their own spell. She only needed to hold off for a little longer because they’d eventually discover that they’ll be stuck. They won’t be able to escape those nightmares. That is, not unless...

Kaz’s Nightmare:

When the black clouds came to settle around him, Kaz Brekker was able to get a sense of his surroundings. He had come face to face with his greatest demon.  The familiar eyes of his dear deceased brother were staring right back at him.

Very slowly, Kaz found himself rising to his feet with the help of his cane. He stared at his brother blankly as if he wasn’t at all surprised to see him after all this time. He observed him ever so carefully because one wrong step could be the end for him.

“Hello Kaz,” Jordie said. His lips curved into a mischievous smile. 

When Kaz didn’t say anything or do anything in particular, Jordie furrowed his eyebrows in slight confusion. He took a single step forward. He raised his hands in defeat.

“What? No hello for your long lost brother?” Jordie questioned.

“I know you are not real,” Kaz claimed. He still wore a blank stare on his face.

“Oh, aren't you the clever one?” Jordie almost mocked him. “Even if you think this isn’t real, you're trapped here with me until your brain starts to rot. You’ll never find the way out,” Jordie laughed.

Kaz’s lips twitched into a wicked smile. “Won’t I?”

Just then, Jordie’s face fell blank. He looked at his younger brother with a hint of confusion behind his eyes. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Whatever do you mean?” Jordie laughed cautiously.

“You made one vital mistake,” Kaz claimed. 

Though this time, Kaz wasn’t speaking to the image of his brother. More so, to the dark figure that stood behind him. In a slow manner, Kaz had turned around to face the emperor of magic herself who had been watching the conversation all along. Out of all the crows, Kaz had been the only one clever enough to notice her presence. She was slightly impressed.

“What mistake did I make?” The emperor of magic spoke through slightly gritted teeth. She clenched her fists at her sides to contain her anger because she hated being outsmarted by others. 

“You discovered all our names,” Kaz began. He tipped his head to the side. “Through the same memory,” Kaz added.

Now the emperor tried her hardest to keep a straight face, but he could already see the small sense of panic hiding behind her eyes. She shifted from one foot to another in a nervous manner. She held his gaze strictly.

“Which means, all of these nightmares are connected in some way or another.” Kaz noted. He went to look at some of his surroundings, not necessarily recognizing where he was at the moment. “I wonder if they can hear me,” Kaz said mostly to himself.

“Who?” The emperor asked curiously.

“The other crows,” Kaz seethed through his teeth. He lifted his head to look towards the sky once more. “Jesper, Inej, Nina--” Kaz called for his crows loudly.

“You can’t get out,” the emperor said rather hastily. He directed his attention back to her.

Despite this, Jesper heard the message through his own memory. He raised his head and looked into the distance. All of the other crows were able to hear their boss too. Though it sounded more like a distance echo than anything else. They listened carefully to the conversation that followed.

“You're trapped here. You’ll never figure out how to get out,” the emperor claimed. She breathed a nervous laugh to cover up her slight fear.

“You underestimate me,” Kaz spoke. “Another mistake.”

Just then, Kaz took a single stride forward in his place. In a way, it was almost like he was taunting her or challenging her with knowledge of his own. Because if anyone knew something, it was that Kaz Brekker was always one step ahead of the game. He knew this was going to happen all along.

“Let me ask you something: when do you wake up from a dream?” Kaz questioned. He now stood directly in front of her, staring down at her through hooded eyes. “It’s always right before something terrible happens,” Kaz stated plainly.

The emperor couldn’t have predicted his next move. He immediately seized her throat with his glove clothed hand. She breathed a small gasp of shock as his digits began tightening around her neck. She clawed at his hand, desperate for some form of release.

“Sometimes, you get shot at. Sometimes, there is an accident. And sometimes, you fall.” Kaz recalled some of the dreams he once had and the ways he managed to wake up from them. “But you always wake up,” Kaz said while tightening his grip.

“And my guess is that if you die in this dream, you wake up. Is that right?” Kaz wondered. When the emperor said nothing, Kaz went to tighten his grip again. She winced at the contact. “Is that right?” Kaz repeated himself.

“Y-Ye-s-s,” the emperor struggled. “Y-You’ll w-wa-wake u-up.”

In the meantime, the other crows heard the entire conversation between the two of them in the distance. They finally understood what was happening and what they needed to do in order to get out of their nightmares. There was only one solution to waking up.

Without hesitation, Wylan found his old stash of chemicals in the floorboards of his bedroom. He riffled through various glass vials, searching for two in particular. He raised the two glass vials in his hands, seeing the bright colored liquid that they contained. If mixed together, those chemicals would create a deadly explosion. He popped the corks off them.

In the other dream, Jesper had been slow to rise to his feet. He looked down at the body of his deceased mother, still feeling the tears coming out of his eyes. He reluctantly pulled one of his shiny pearly guns out of his holster at his side. He cautiously raised the gun to the side of his head, squeezing his eyes shut in preparation for what was to come. 

Now Nina was still sitting amongst the bodies of her dearest friends. She contemplated things for a moment, basking in the reality of the situation. She raised her hands in a particular manner, focusing all of her attention on the speed of her own heartbeat. 

Meanwhile, Matthias discovered that he was moving towards the wolf that stared directly at him. He forced himself to place one foot in front of the other. He heard the wolf growling in a threatening manner. He knelt into the snow as if ready to accept his fate. He closed his eyes just as the wolf lunged for his throat.

In the menagerie, Inej had climbed to the rooftop of the institution. She peered over the edge, looking to see several stories below her. She climbed onto the ledge, keeping her arms out at her sides for balance. She put one step forward before falling to her death.

Back in his own nightmare, Kaz carried the emperor’s face a little closer to his own. He studied her carefully as if searching for any sense of faulty. He narrowed his eyes at her. He kept his grip firm, despite her desperately grabbing at the lapels of his trench coat. She was begging for release.

“B-Bu--t I’ll be l-long gone by then,” the emperor claimed. Her lips curved upwards into a smile. “Y-You’ll ne-never catch u-up to me.”

“You’re bluffing,” Kaz called it. Her smile fell. “You haven’t left yet. You’re keeping us under as long as you can. And once we are lost, then you’ll make your escape.”

And indeed he did call it.

“Y-You have n-no idea what y-your up a-against,” the emperor struggled to speak. She was quick to send a firm gab into his stomach, which caused him to release his grip on her neck. She ran past him as quickly as she could. 

With the nightmares being connected, the emperor was able to open a portal into one of the first nightmares. She jumped through the portal, taking a brief moment to look at the scene in front of her. It was the old mansion.

But the once pristine bedroom was now covered in a thick layer of blackened ash and dust. The soft brown floorboard had been burnt, laced with an unknown chemical burning through the wood itself. The velvet curtains had caught on fire. And the wallpaper had been destroyed beyond repair. Amongst the destroyed scene was the small lifeless body of the demolitions expert. 

“No,” the emperor whispered to herself. “He’s gone already.”

Which only meant that Wylan was awake in reality. In haste, the emperor went to open another portal into the next nightmare with every intention of stopping the next crow from waking up. All she was able to find was a limp body laying on the ground. The sharpshooter still held one of his guns in his hand, but a bullet had already entered his skull. He lay there as the blood spilled from the headshot.

The panic began to take over. The emperor dream hopped to the next one through the access of another portal. Amongst the bodies of deceased Grisha was the familiar heartrender. She lay peacefully amongst her own people, having chosen to slow and stop her own heart.

Now the emperor was growing agitated and frustrated. She went to open another portal which led her to the ice cold lands. She squinted through the blizzard storm only to find a wolf feasting on the body of a unmoving druskelle. The wolf raised its head and bared its now blood stained teeth.

Finally, the emperor forced herself to run as fast as she could through the final portal. She hurried to the edge of the building, being quick to peer over the edge. She spotted a motionless body nearly six stories below the building. She had jumped. 

The emperor of magic had failed to keep them at bay. They all managed to escape their worst nightmares, which meant that they were all awake and ready to take her on in the real world. She needed to get out of this dream.

“You’ve lost. Admit it,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

When the emperor turned around in her place, Kaz Brekker was looking directly at her. He wore an infamous smirk on his face. He had followed her through every single portal, dream hopping right behind her. This also meant that he had seen each of his crows dead which couldn’t have been easy. 

“They are back in reality by now. Getting ready to put a stop to you,” Kaz stated as a matter of fact.

“What about you? You can’t leave unless you die,” the emperor took notice. 

“That was never part of the plan,” Kaz claimed. Her face fell. “The plan was to keep you under as long as possible because that is the only way you can be stopped from the outside. You can’t fight me in here and them out there at the same time,” Kaz explained.

Back in the desert, the five crows came to surround the emperor who stood in the center of them. The others turned to face the heartrender amongst them, giving her the signal through the form of a single nod. She raised her hands in a particular motion, slowing the heart rate of the emperor of magic.

In the dream sequence, the emperor grunted at the feeling of her heart being squeezed and slowed down. She clutched at her chest in attempts to stop what she felt. She lifted her head to look directly at the man himself. Realizing that she had been bested, the emperor was quick to turn around in her place and charge towards the edge of the building.

Without hesitation, Kaz followed directly behind her with every intention of stopping her from jumping over the side and waking up from this nightmare. Just as the emperor leaped from the ledge, Kaz grasped onto the emperor’s forearm to stop her.

From the mere pull of gravity, the emperor’s body slammed against the brick wall of the institution. He had been pulled down slightly, but he was still able to keep a firm grasp on her while hanging over the side of the ledge. She fought against his tight grip, trying to get loose so she could fall. 

“I won’t let you,” Kaz grunted. He struggled to maintain his hold on her, but he shook his head at her careless behavior. “I can’t let you hurt them.”

“Then you’ll just have to come with me,” the emperor told him. She pushed off the brick wall with both of her feet. She used all of her strength to pull him over the edge of the building. 

Together, both bodies began to plummet to the ground from the force of gravity. The two of them stared at one another, sensing that familiar feeling of falling to the ground with no control whatsoever. Just as the two of them would hit the ground, their bodies jolted awake back in reality. And the real challenge began.

It was rather odd. It was almost like the heartrender was holding the heart with her own two hands, forcing the heart rate to slow down. Just as Nina thought the heartbeat would come to a final halt, it was like she felt two hands envelope her own from within the chest. 

Those invisible hands holding her own began to pry her fingers off of the heart itself. She eventually realized she didn’t have a grasp on the heart anymore; that it was probably back to its normal self in terms of heart rate. The feeling of those hands covering her own began to close in.

In a split second, Nina let out a terrible scream of pain as her hands got crushed by the ones that kept hers captive. The emperor of magic kept her hands clenched into tight fists as she broke every bone in the heartrender’s hands. 

Naturally, Nina ended up dropping to her knees on the ground. She clutched her hands close to her chest for some form of comfort, but she wasn’t able to stop she blood from spewing from the joints in her fingers or the bones from poking out of the back of her hands. She never felt so much pain in her life.

“Nina,” Matthias called out to her. 

Though part of him wanted to rush to her side, a bigger part of him wanted nothing more than to stop the emperor once and for all. With a mighty war yell, Matthias charged towards the emperor of magic who kept her back to him. He raised his two fists above his head and brought them barreling down.

But at the last second, the emperor spun around on the heels of her feet to surprise him. She drew her own fist back and sent it directly into the center of his chest. With the force of her magic, Matthias was forced backwards in his place. His body dragged across the desert sands as he felt the wind truly knocked out of his chest. His chest burned painfully.

Now the emperor went to face the other three crows standing amongst her. With Jesper drawing his two guns out of his holsters and Inej wielding her precious knives, Kaz waited to signal them to attack her with his cane. She went to take a step towards them, but was stopped when something hit the side of her head.

A bright pink powder escaped from the small glass vial that hit the side of her head. The powder sparkled in the bright sunbeams that beat down on them. She didn’t even realize that she managed to breathe the powder in, but it began to greatly affect her senses. She turned towards the small person who had through that at her. 

In the short distance, Wylan went to grab another vial from his pouch. He hoped to hit her with something to make her sense weaken so it might be easier to take her down. Just as Wylan pulled the vial out, he felt an invisible hand wrap around the expanse of his neck. He was dragged forward by an unforeseen force until his neck made contact with the emperor’s cupped hand. 

Without warning, Wylan’s body was slammed to the ground by the emperor. She went to straddle his chest, keeping him pinned to the ground. He grasped at the hands wrapped around his neck, desperately trying to loosen her grip on him. He gasped her air. He felt the life being squeezed out of him.

Before Wylan lost the oxygen in his chest, a gunshot rang through the air. The bullet managed to lodge itself directly into the emperor’s shoulder, which caused her to release her grasp on the boy’s neck. She slumped backwards in her place, reaching up to grasp the wound on her shoulder. 

The emperor scurried to stand to her feet with every intention of finishing off these crows. Her vision began to blur and her head felt dizzy. Despite this, the emperor managed to raise her hands to put up a fight. 

The three crows worked in a synchronous harmony, taking timed turns to throw different strikes. Now Inej was the first one to step forward with her knives drawn at her sides. She took a couple swipes which the emperor managed to dodge barely. Then Jesper fired a couple rounds from his pearly guns. He manipulated the bullets to fly exactly where he wanted, but the emperor waved her hands to direct the bullets elsewhere. Finally, Kaz went to step up. He raised his cane and swung with all his might. He struck her once or twice, but it wasn’t enough to take her down.

Suddenly, the emperor felt a large arm wrap around her backside which put her into a tight headlock. Her knees were knocked out from behind, forcing her to drop to her knees. Behind her, Matthias tried to maintain a tight grip on the smaller body. He grunted upon feeling her fight against him.

Slowly, Kaz went to approach her. He raised his cane in the air, bringing it towards her face. He stared her down carefully.

“Admit it,” Kaz repeated himself. “You’ve lost. We’ve bested you.”

The emperor choked upon feeling the grip tighten around her neck. “B-But I haven’t lost,” the emperor claimed.

“We’ll kill you,” Jesper explained. He came to stand beside his boss. He raised his guns to point directly at her head. “No hesitation,” Jesper stated firmly.

“And it will be slow,” Inej added. She pressed the edge of her knife against the emperor's check, swiping it away to leave a sharp mark. “And painful,” Inej said. 

“You can kill me,” the emperor of magic told them. Her voice grew heavier as if the demon inside her was speaking. “But it will be your mistake because I always come back.”

Before the emperor could say another word, Kaz raised his golden cane above his head and brought it barreling down into her skull. The body ended up collapsing to the ground from the mere force of the swing. He continued to beat in her skull until there was nothing left, but a pool of blood and brain. The blood painted his face in a gruesome manner.

“Kaz!” Inej called out. She had hoped to bring him back to reality. He finally stopped beating the body to death. “It’s done,” Inej claimed.

The crows had gone through so much within the past few days. They had schemed their way back into the court and somehow managed to escape. They ended up having to relive their worst memories and became temporarily trapped in their own nightmares. They needed to escape those nightmares in the form of killing themselves. And they had to defeat the emperor after taking some heavy hits from her. Despite all this, they managed to survive, just like they always did.

But for some reason, Kaz just had a feeling that she’d be back just like she said. 

THAT IS THE END OF THE SERIES! PLEASE TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS! SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO POST.

TAGLIST:

@d34drapunzel @adorawritesalot @vixythepixie @theghostofshadows @lonelywitchv2 @arcadialine @zeeader @cleverzonkwombatsludge @shara-ne @iloveinej @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @mystic-mara @missymisha @tremendoushearttaco​ @home-of-disaster​ @gh0stgirl333​ @harrydimples @marina468 @phoenix666stuff @grippleback-galaxy​ @mariar31 @theghostofshadows​ 

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 6: Patience

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (y'all like actually so much angst), hurt/comfort, mention of canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, banter, references to slavery & war, lil' bit of fluff, self-doubt, grief, sad Ani.

Summary: After spending hours in the Jedi Archives trying to catch up on the last ten years of galactic events, Anakin drags you away for an impromptu sparring session. However, in the throws of saber-to-saber combat, with Obi-Wan as witness, the troubled Jedi lets slip a concerning habit. One that you hope to guide him through.

Song Inspo: Valley of Pain — Bonnie Raitt

Words: 9.5k (I'm sorryyyy)

A/n: Okay, soooo I was thinking about splitting this into two parts, but then I was like ehhhh there's a lot of missing context if I do that. So here we are (I promise I will, like, write the shortest of short chapters for the next one XD). This one is super angst/emotion-heavy to help set up where we are so get ready. Also, please please please comment your thoughts because I got a little experimental with this chapter and would love to know what y'all liked/disliked :))

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Series Masterlist

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet — Aristotle

Anakin leaned comfortably against one of many murky inner pillars, each carefully constructed to steady towering rows of azure-luminescent holobooks in the Jedi Archives. As he crossed his arms with a restive huff, the young Jedi was careful to navigate his right elbow so to avoid the large, rounded, and precariously placed head of Neti Jedi Master Ood Bnar. It was one of the many copper busts depicting legendary figures from The Order’s history that surrounded him. All of them thoughtfully gandered from short, gray pillars stationed at the end of every shelving chain up and down the Archives.

Regardless of his vigilant delicacy around such artifacts, Anakin’s primary attention centered on a point in the distance, just five stacks away.

The chestnut-haired man’s sights leveled on you and Ahsoka, comfortably sat on either side of a long hourglass table, part of the several two-seated structures that occupied each Archival study hall.

While he watched on, eyes poised to notice any hint of an end to the scholarly activities before him, he couldn’t help how the Archive’s careful silence infected him. The pin-drop quietude was accented by the intermittent flowing footsteps of a lingering Jedi or the occasional shuffle of a holobook being plucked from its resting place. It stretched the passing seconds like an endless hyperlane. And with each minute flick of sound, the deathly tranquility acted as a reminder.

That Anakin was waiting entirely too long for one of you to call it quits.

The passing hushes of quiet conversation and intermittent, echoing taps of fingers upon holobook screens had all grown tiresome for the impatient Jedi. Even the soft lumbers of elder Masters speaking in low intervals provided little entertainment while he continued to observe you both, hunched over an array of holobooks that marginally added to the yellow luminescence of the dimly lit stone-gray chairs, which engulfed your figures before the marble work surface.

Admittedly, though, Anakin had only entered a few moments ago.

He remembered last night, sharing a few plates of thrantcill pâté with Ahsoka at the far Temple refractory when, in their conversation, she revealed that you’d spent the entirety of yesterday’s afternoon in the Archives, scouring through endless texts regarding the last 10 years of galactic events and figures with her notes as a guide. From what he understood, the two of you had a nice little arrangement going. Ahsoka would study while you borrowed her notes and, in exchange, you would pause your research to quiz her on whatever she was learning these days.

But as a consequence, you had effectively been locked away in an academic prison, at least from Anakin’s perspective.

And he knew, that just wouldn’t do.

So he stopped by the Archives this morning, assuming he’d find you once again, pouring over a mountain of information with angled elbows and firm palms holding you up and awake by the cheekbones.

Despite spending the last decade of your life either studying within the confines of an old, abandoned ship or foraging for supplies in a desolate icescape, it seemed to Anakin that even with your newfound environment of possibility and connection, your engrossment in similar activities would continue in perpetuity.

That was, until he found it necessary to step in.

He pushed off the pillar with a gentle tick from the Force, choosing to saunter over when he began to notice your eyes in particular. Veined and faded red from staring at screens for hours on end.

Yup, time for a break, he decided inwardly.

His heels tapped with each resonant step, bouncing off the sonorously curved high ceilings before eventually leading him to be within reach of causing a mild disruption. As a playful muscle pulled at his lips, Anakin brightly slapped the table with both hands flat while swiftly leaning into your viewpoint.

The unexpected noise startled both you and Ahsoka from your holobooks, simultaneously drawing the eye of a few elder Masters. But that didn’t impede Anakin’s drive. In fact, your heedlessness regarding his presence only fueled his beliefs— that these many hours in the Archives had drained your senses enough, and that he alone would be the one to drag you away from it.

“Okay,” he announced rather loudly. “Enough is enough. You’re gonna turn into a holobook if you stay here for any longer.”

Anakin sucked in your miffed glare while Ahsoka tried to stifle a faint giggle out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I’m doing this, quite literally, to protect you,” you challenged quietly with a raised brow. “Can’t do much guarding without knowing what I’m guarding against.”

“You’re right,” he feigned admittance as he lowered his voice to your level, hopefully to discourage the subtly annoyed yet watchful eyes of a few librarians to his left by kneeling down and pitching in further.

“If this.” He glanced down at the closest holobook, grabbing it to lift into his vision as he read the title. “Holobook on intergalactic political alliances turns into a giant, being-eating Rancor, I know that I’ll be perfectly safe in your very capable, studious hands.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes before a barely perceptible twitch tugged at the corner of your mouth. You swiped the device from him, returning it to its rightful place on the table.

“Knock it off, Smarty,” you quipped as you tried to return to the holobook in hand.

But your subtle amusement was fuel to his teasing fire.

Anakin grinned. “Or you could quote the guidelines of the Coruscant Accords to a sharp-toothed Acklay looking to take a bite. I’m sure that would go over well.”

Anakin’s ears perked as you dropped the holobook you’d been analyzing to the table. Rather abruptly, you placed a hand on the workspace to twist toward the eager Jedi, slight frustration lining your features.

“And what would you suggest?” You asked expectantly.

The responsive Jedi opened his mouth to answer, but paused mid-vocalization as he tried to come up with a reasonable proposal.

Thankfully, the galaxy granted him a moment to think.

“Whatever it is, can you come up with it somewhere else?” Ahsoka piped up in a whisper. “I’m trying to study for my test.”

Anakin observed as your eyes softened toward his frustrated Padawan.

“Sorry, Ahsoka,” you offered earnestly before scooting out of the grunting, asperous seat below. You raised gracefully, leaning over the ornamented table to collect your many holobooks. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Anakin straightened while you grabbed the last text, watching you turn on your heel toward the Archives’ center circle as he followed at your side.

“Need a hand?” He offered while scanning the hazardously stacked pile of holobooks that leveled just below your inquisitive nose.

“No, not at all,” you spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t distract you from coming up with your grand idea on how I can be your perfect defender.”

An unimpressed frown flickered across his features briefly. That was, until a sudden lightbulb within him buzzed to life.

It was something to cure his boredom and it would meet your objectives, he excused inwardly.

“Well, if you can beat me in a duel, that would certainly prove your abilities,” he suggested casually.

He was hoping not to reveal the sudden wave of excitement that overcame him following these days of stark boredom. Anakin didn’t realize it until that moment, but what he really needed was a good, old-fashioned sparring session. Not with a drone, but with another Jedi. Something low stakes and disconnected from the war.

But the many developments since his arrival had not made that easy.

After Ahsoka had finished her essay that night when they first docked on Coruscant, Master Plo Koon decided to schedule a test covering the last few months of physical science studies from their tutoring sessions. So, with her hidden away in the Archives, Anakin wasn’t able to do much training or guidance as her new Master.

Not that he really had any idea how he was going to go about that anyway. It was all still so new.

He’d just wing it, he thought.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was stuck in back-to-back Council meetings about Maker knows what. Anakin imagined hours-long discussions on possible solutions to the communications system infiltration with Temple technicians by their side, offering tidbits of advice on deconstructing board matrices and tracking transmitter codes as the considerations continued. Tedious, but necessary, he considered.

Even R2-D2 was indisposed, having been temporarily assigned to one of the Temple’s system specialists before Anakin had even arrived at the Temple hangar, left to run diagnostics on the potentially compromised system for hours on end as they moved from sector to sector. Though, while he lost that unofficial race, he knew that the only reason Artoo reached Coruscant first with his handful of clones from the 501st was because of their short ‘diversion’ to Hoth.

So, with everyone busy, that left Anakin with meditation and training alone, neither of which he found particularly enjoyable at the moment. Or, at least, since his time a few months ago on Tatooine.

In the days following Anakin’s return from that arid, porous world, particularly in recent weeks, he found it difficult to be left alone with his mind. Images of his mother, weak and crumbling through his arms, the guttural cries of Tusken Raiders, and the scalding whip of Dooku’s crimson sword would invade his senses in mere moments of solitude. Even in the briefest of silent pauses or calming realities, he’d hear them all. Clawing at his senses. Yanking at his heavy chest.

The worry of that reality pervading indefinitely tapped at the young Jedi’s thoughts like a dark harbinger. Especially in the stillness of the Archives while he waited for you to finish. Before he couldn’t delay any longer.

He was desperate for a distraction to snap his thoughts away.

So, when he suddenly remembered that the time you were spending in the Archives was entirely voluntary, Anakin couldn’t help how his spirit felt a little more enlivened as he hopped up from his meditation, a tottering crisscrossed position between two orange flowering Saavas, to toe race his way to the Archives.

Yes, he did actually want to check in on you after days of study, but Anakin too seemed to have his own personal motivations.

Company is what the young Jedi sought, and he was entirely satisfied to keep it with you.

He considered this draw more deeply, pulling at the roots of his kindling connection with you.

Something shifted in Anakin that night in the Uscru District, legs dangling off the end of one of Coruscant’s largest garbage pits as decaying fumes encircled his ankles.

He hadn’t met a Gray Jedi before, but he wondered if they were all like you. Your kindness and softness when speaking the truth. The warmth of your voice.

It anchored him, to those moments of comfort and safety he felt many years ago, when encircled by his mother’s protective arms. It was especially true on those cold nights, after dark and dreary days, when she would tell him of the tale of the sun-dragon.

How his heart would be his strength, much like how she was his heart.

And he missed that feeling, so greatly that when faced with the sensation again, he fell back into old habits. He couldn’t help it. He’d always told his mother everything, and for a brief glimpse, your nature made him feel at home again.

And so he told you.

Something that he couldn’t even at first admit to Obi-Wan.

He told you his mother died.

But it was when he felt your cold hands in his clammy palms, that he could finally sense the signals swirling within your being that you betrayed on your face to him that night.

Indications you kept very well hidden away.

But the touch of two Jedi freed you to share what you felt for the doe-eyed man, intentionally or not.

And he shouldn’t have been so affected by what he sensed, Anakin argued. The blue-eyed Jedi knew you had trained to dedicate your life to him. Or, at least, to the Chosen One prophecy. But still, for a being he met only a week prior, he couldn’t help but be taken aback.

You exuded tenderness, care, and unwavering loyalty.

For the first time in years, Anakin felt truly perceived in that moment. And while he still grappled with the words spoken that night, overshadowed by unfading ghosts of the past, it finally solidified within his sun dragon heart one cogent decision.

Anakin knew that he could trust you.

“I suppose,” you admitted as you reached the central reference desk, pulling Anakin back into his current reality.

Eyeing the large rotunda in the Archive’s center, you dropped the stack of holobooks at the expansive counter for return with a slight clang. As you pivoted down the main hallway leading to the Archive’s exit, you continued. “But I’m supposed to meet with Master Yoda this afternoon, and I don’t know if he wants to duel with me. So we’ll need to keep it short.”

Anakin grinned victoriously as he nodded. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The jaunt to Training Room C was quick.

At least by Anakin’s standards.

Once again, as his mind drifted, the thoughtful Jedi gazed at the room’s beige-white flooring and textured walls, outlined into zoning squares by dark wooden panels and pillars that crossed with geometric balance. His observations since returning to the Temple were the primary factor influencing his temporary tachysensia. Predominantly, that if yesterday’s experience was any indication, he had every right to believe training room availability would be similarly limited today.

As you stretched your legs against the far wall beside one of the two sets of three-tiered mahogany viewing benches on either side of the dojo, Anakin stood by the room’s entrance, twirling the blue glow of his saber in leisurely circles while dipping further into his memories.

First, he recalled the horde of Jedi present at yesterday morning’s emergency meeting. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that many Jedi in one room. Let alone the sum total, many thousands at least, present in the Temple since his arrival a few days ago.

The one outlier was, of course, the Battle of Geonosis, and the events that immediately followed. It was the first time Anakin realized the sheer power of The Order, fighting in tandem to protect peace in the galaxy against dividing forces.

The young Jedi was pleased by the Republic’s material victory that day. That was never in question. But any feeling of triumph was often overshadowed by the depth of another emotion that stretched and coiled along his bones like a growing mold.

Guilt.

It was clear, he thought. In that moment and in the weeks and months which followed.

He wasn’t strong enough to face Dooku that day.

And he nearly paid the ultimate price.

One glance down at his alloyed, dark steely arm with its thin crevices leading to an interior of gears and overlapping wiring was proof enough. Evidence that maybe if he’d trained a little harder as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, or followed his gut and joined Kenobi on his trek to Kamino, that things would have been different.

Maybe, just maybe, so many lives wouldn’t have been lost to such a stupid war.

A war he nearly prevented from happening in the first place during that battle, stained with Jedi blood.

Maybe, he would’ve been faster in countering Dooku’s rapidly twisting and thunderous blows.

And if he was swifter, maybe his mother would still be alive.

But no, Anakin’s power was no match for Dooku’s wielding.

At least, not yet, he thought.

His mind floated again, to the days and weeks following that deadly day. Scores of Padawans were knighted to feed the growing war effort, including himself. Generals were needed, and more knights were expected to take on Padawans to educate them on how to adapt their abilities to times of conflict.

It was necessary. He knew that. But still, the malformation of a pinnacle Jedi celebration, usually a grand and gradual affair, into rushed trial processes and fleeting bestowment ceremonies made him feel more like a piece of unrefined Duralium stumbling its way through a processing plant than a Jedi.

Though despite his new title, and greater set of responsibilities, Anakin considered himself just as equally removed from the planning affairs as he was when a Padawan.

Once all the Jedi were similarly recalled to the Temple after Geonosis, a flood of Council meetings followed in succession to determine The Order’s place in this war. They petitioned the attendance of many Masters, even giving Master Kenobi his own seat, as they negotiated the Jedi role of peacekeeper while trying to defend against the threat to one thousand years of peace.

And it never relented.

Emergency gatherings spiraled in succession, especially after the bombing of Cato Neimoidia.

He remembered it all well. The smoky remnants of a charred away district lost to the planet’s depths. The medical tents that gently swayed in eery silence, save for the intermittent groans of the few survivors. All of these images displayed in everlasting reels on the HoloNet News, shocking the galaxy into reality. The chaos that followed compelled many to realize that even overt neutrality would not keep worlds safe from this war.

But in these high-level meetings that addressed important events just like this, that strategized how to help these people, Knights or Padawans were never included.

They never included him.

So, instead, much like the past few days, Anakin would wander the Temple halls. Perhaps visit the gardens if he was feeling particularly meditative.

But that was just once. And only because Obi-Wan suggested it after catching him waiting opposite from Training Room R, sitting on the floor and leaning against a pillar with arms resting on each knee and a particularly glum look lining his face.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan inquired as he stopped momentarily, no doubt in a hurried dash to another urgent Council meeting, Anakin concluded.

It was a few days before his knighting ceremony, and only a week after his mechanical limb was installed. But he wasn’t feeling as cheerful as he once thought he would be when he was a youngling. He was supposed to feel excited to become a Jedi Knight.

Not lost.

“Waiting,” he huffed in a monotone.

The impatient Jedi watched Obi-Wan angle back to scan the training rooms that lined the rear wall. Anakin’s expression was unchanged as his Master returned toward him in a curious manner.

“Have you been waiting here all day?” He asked inquisitively.

That same flat tone escaped Anakin’s mouth in affirmation.

Obi-Wan hummed with a hint of satisfaction. “If you showed this much patience in your training sessions, you may have learned a lot more,” he mused.

The nearly former Padawan gazed up at him unimpressed when he noticed a lightbulb go off behind Master Kenobi’s brightened eyes.

“You know, this might be a wonderful time for you to meditate. And I know the perfect place!”

Anakin groaned.

It felt like it all happened years ago, Anakin considered. But in reality, it had only been a few months. War had warped his sense of reality, and maybe that was why he felt a strange sense of déjà vu when he returned to the same hall of training dojos the day before, only for each expanse to be occupied with beings like him, loitering by the entrances and against pillars for their turn by the hour.

But today was different for some reason. Many of the training rooms lay vacant and the halls were generally unoccupied, save a few Jedi using the surrounding walkways for travel.

Part of him wanted to investigate. To see if some Jedi were called off to a mission he didn’t know about. No comms meant that he was even less informed about the Temple’s goings-on. But that never stifled his curiosity.

Instead, it all only seemed to further stoke his kindling restlessness.

Then, he remembered. Master Kenobi had offered to spar with him later today. Maybe he’d get some answers then.

But then again, if history with The Council proved repeatable, probably not.

“Are you gonna twirl that thing all day or are we gonna spar?”

Your sonorous voice shocked the distracted Jedi out of his stupor. He spun toward you, recognizing your casual stance, saber unsheathed and dangling at your side in its luminescent gray as you gazed at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled while approaching your figure.

“Watcha thinking about?” You asked once Anakin’s gate mollified.

“Oh,” he inflated with a cartoonish shrug. “Just about how this thing is gonna end before I’ve had the chance to build up a sweat,” he grinned while crouching into an attack stance.

You mirrored his pose, matching his outward repartee with striking, fiery orbs.

“You should have more confidence” you scolded in jest. “I’m sure you’ll get some blocks in.”

Anakin rolled his eyes at the wide beam that engulfed your face. He leaned into his knees, centering his connection with the tingling flow around him.

“What is it you said?” The young man challenged confidently. “May the best Jedi win?”

“That statement still stands,” you affirmed, not skipping a beat.

A smirk pulled at the corner of your mouth.

“Show me what you got…

…Chosen One”

Anakin took this as his cue, kicking off with a running start before pouncing at you from a few meters away with a hard strike toward your rib. He slowed his surroundings with the Force, observing you launch your blade upwards to block the powerful blow with both hands squeezed on the hilt, releasing a hiss from the impact.

You thrust his blade down with your own as he decided to swiftly use that momentum to his advantage. Quickly, he swung his saber back around to strike you down the center. Flinging your weapon up, you deterred the attack with the horizontal posture of the blade. Again, Anakin watched as you slid that blue glow with the hammering snap of your saber toward the floor.

But the blue-eyed man only viewed this as another opportunity.

He twirled on his heel to boldly strike at your other flank. Yet, despite his keenness, you managed to successfully snag this attack too, a straightforward inversion of your blade standing before his path.

The simplicity sparked a flicker of annoyance within the young Jedi. His greatest strength was using his opponent’s attacks against them. And you were making the employment of that particular strategy very difficult.

He continued his strikes with more fervor this time, hoping to break your reinforced wall of defense and coax you into launching your own, fissuring swings. But no matter how much he Force-energized each crack, no matter how rapidly he recovered from your nimble deflections, he couldn’t seem to break your stoic face or weaponized fortification.

“Are you gonna try to fight me at some point?” Anakin drew out as he bounced back from your diverting blade’s assertive whip against his saber, forcing him nearly fifteen meters away.

Like a dance, the two of you melted into a circling prowl, using the space to breathe. Each step enlivened Anakin’s impulse to continue the duel as he surveyed your mimicking movements to keep the eager Jedi a sufficient length away.

“I thought you wanted to work up a sweat?” You exhaled innocently while continuing your slinking annular shuffle.

Anakin felt an intense heat billow behind his eyes as his confident yet teasing nature began to splinter into a more soured tone. Usually, he was not so affected by such innocent pokes. In fact, he found these moments regularly enjoyable, adding a taste of lightheartedness to the typically tense beats of combat.

But his mind was swirling all day with images of the past.

Images of failure.

Of failing others. Of failing the world.

His mother.

And in this transient instance, for some unknown reason, it felt like more than he could presently handle.

But before he could respond to your directed quip, another voice echoed into the training room from the dojo’s double gray doors with L-shaped mustard accents, having whooshed open without him realizing in the last few minutes.

“Anakin doesn’t like it when opponents go easy on him,” Obi-Wan commented as he entered his peripheral.

The peeved Jedi noticed your eyebrows raise in contest across from him at the Master’s words.

“I’m not going easy on him,” you clarified while leaning into another step along the arbitrary sphere of distance you and Anakin delicately maintained.

“Then I take it this is going well?” Master Kenobi announced to no one in particular.

The curious, bearded Jedi strolled to the side for a better view of the duel in discoidal stasis, lowering his form to the edge of the nearest Mahogany viewing bench before crossing his legs in humming anticipation.

“Yes, it is,” Anakin gritted. “In fact, I was just about to find an opening.”

“No you weren’t,” you deadpanned.

Anakin huffed at the truth of your statement as his heart rate quickened. He was beginning to grow tired of your overconfident comments and steadfast defense. He had too much on his mind and didn’t need someone else pointing out his ineptitude.

“Sparring isn’t always about the offensive,” Obi-Wan remarked casually to the atmosphere. “Sometimes it means allowing others to take the initiative for the duel to progress.”

“Tell him that!” You exclaimed with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve been fighting a training droid for the last half an hour.”

Suddenly, something in Anakin snapped. His meticulously bubbling frustration and annoyance had whipped into a flash of pure, blistering anger.

He reacted quickly, propelling himself out of his steady march with a shout as he determinedly bolted toward your figure, most of his connection to his surroundings stripping away to pyre his vehemence.

The Chosen One’s eyes narrowed on one objective and one objective alone— securing an opening.

He neared your form within a second, blade aimed at your shoulder and vision pinpointed like a laser on the curved dark gray spot of your smoothed-over cloak. He could almost smell those memorable industrial fumes of the shop from which you both purchased it, hovering staunchly above the seams as he neared your form.

But as his saber split down with a low whine to claim final victory, your own weapon sprung to life, knocking the blade out of its path and down toward his feet in a buzzing blare.

Anakin heaved his plasma sword up, revving for another turbulent swing as he let out an indignant grunt. His eyes were still locked on the same shoulder when it suddenly spun from sight in a blink. Out of nowhere, an abrupt blazing heat graced his opposite cheek like a near brush with a welder.

Registering the sensation, Anakin whipped around, searching for your figure only to find you stood behind him, sheathing your saber before clipping it to your belt with a clink. You trekked toward the somewhat stunned Jedi, a conflicted stitch tweaking your brows as you finished your approach.

Once you reached him, Anakin felt you tenderly grab his open hand, pulling it free and flipping it over to unlatch his palm. The young Jedi observed you raise your other hand, wrapped in a loose fist, but not for long. It hovered about his hand for only a moment before releasing into his grasp a couple strands of chestnut hair, lightly soaked in your sweat that perspired from head to toe, and perceptibly singed black on one smoky vestige.

Anakin stared at the strands, embarrassment prickling each finger pad as he tried to keep his expression neutral.

That was, until your hands met his.

You closed his fingers into a gentle fist, encouraging him to clutch the locks as softly as their texture.

He gazed up at you, taking in your soothing silver eyes and worried smile as an aura of concern leaked from your being like a latched wire. Swimming like loose electricity from your palm, into his.

“We need to talk.”

—

As you gently led Anakin to one of the training room’s far corners with a soft hand on the back of his elbow, your being was steadily flooding with unsettling disquiet, permeating throughout your circulatory system.

You had noticed fairly quickly, how Anakin’s chagrined eyes subtly shifted at your troubled words toward his former Master, who discernibly observed the scene unfold before him with a knowing shake of his head. Skywalker still internalized Kenobi’s judgments, including the ones that accompanied a perennial frown, you realized. And from his unsurprised expression, it seemed that Obi-Wan had observed these same alarming habits at some point in his life as well.

It was evident that the Master’s cavalier comportment further confirmed your suspicions— that they had not been fully addressed.

At least, not in a way that Anakin may have fully understood.

You noticed it again today, just before the spar began. Anakin, trapped in his own little world within the confines of his expansive mind. Whirling his saber vacantly with muscle memory akin to twisting one’s hair to pass the time. Within those few moments, while internalizing the satisfying stretch of your hamstrings as you prepared for the duel, you couldn’t help but sense the waves of emotion that rolled off the open-hearted Jedi.

Amusement, annoyance, frustration, hopelessness.

And most notably, rage.

You could only guess what thoughts were running through his head. You’d probably only scratched the surface of his internal struggles when he revealed some of them to you a few nights ago. But with time to reflect, you now wondered if that grief clouded his mind too strongly. Shielding him from understanding your words, or even the guidance others may have bestowed upon him in the past regarding this very issue.

You welcomed theories to invade your mind, consume your thoughts, and give you a moment of escape.

Focusing on this small blip in his signature proved far more attractive, more manageable than the vacuum your mind produced in other activities, including your studies in the Temple Archives. Even that distraction manifested as inadequate as you tried to break from your inner affliction rooted in Qui-Gon’s death. You’d spent countless hours flipping through Ahsoka’s notes, shuffling through holobooks filled with complicated galactic developments, trade agreements, alliances, controversial political figures, but nothing seemed to center you.

Nothing seemed to stop his face from appearing when your eyes closed. Even momentarily.

Even when you blinked.

Nothing, well, except for this.

Except for doing what you were made for.

Focusing mind, body, and soul on The Chosen One.

So you dove into the murky waters of this puzzle, only hinted at in your short time together.

The connection drew your memory back to that frenzied escape from Hoth. When you, Anakin, and Obi-Wan stood unified in an Aegean sphere of incandescence against the monstrous Wampan threat. You remembered, the three of you exchanging teasing jabs as you slashed down each beast with agile grace.

But as you dug deeper into that moment, the inner turmoil you sensed from the Chosen One only moments ago now suddenly felt very familiar.

And very alive.

It was Obi-Wan’a quip at Anakin’s apparent lack of humility that struck a similar, irate chord within the young Jedi. And in his frustration to verbally defend himself, he took an easily preventable blow to the face.

Withdrawing from your mind, you glanced up at the healing reddish-brown cut that stretched across his upper cheekbone. You drank it in as you continued to lead him toward the training room’s far wall. While you lacked the time or center of mind to acknowledge it then, you felt it necessary to address now.

You felt for Anakin’s past struggles. You really did. And deep within your being, you fervently believed that the swirling emotions surrounding his mother’s passing and childhood enslavement were justified. Those were deep, crimson scars that would take many years to stitch together. To heal. You yourself had only just begun that journey of loss with your own Master. You were still unable to fully pull away from the initial shock and amplified emptiness felt from learning of his passing.

And by virtue of his history, Anakin’s heedless frustrations toward meaningless words and enduring circumstances made you wonder. Did this powerful Jedi even have the tools to digest your guidance from a few nights ago concerning these very situations? Did he hear you about the importance of acknowledging those moments in life, before letting them go?

It was much like the errant thoughts of forceless beings, which you were compelled to guide past all senses for your own mental survival a couple nights prior.

You continued to draw on the similarities of your circumstances, excavating each moment, before realizing one important factor. That you were only able to feel that relief, that suffocating weight lifted, because of the guidance of others.

Because Obi-Wan gave you a little push.

So, you decided to do the same.

At first, as the duel began, most of your vitality was captivated by efforts to sense any blips in the blue-eyed Jedi’s signature.

But that constrained you to a perpetual defense, focused only on thwarting each intrepid blow. It was necessary, to stray from the energy-siphoning movements required to launch an offense that could counter Anakin’s aggressive form, if you were to successfully carry out your own furtive objectives. His style was elegant, technique steadfast, and it took a considerable toll on you to keep your focus on both the fight and any indications that would barely leak into the Force.

But these actions had unintended consequences, revealing that sucking the bustle out of the duel would be as equally infecting as one of Obi-Wan’s elicit remarks.

So, you leaned into it.

Keeping a relentless guard meant less opportunity for Anakin to use one of your strikes against you. A telltale tactic of Djem So. And it generated a number of occasions for you to toss in a few comments to test the waters. So much so, that when you pointedly told a certain, teasing Jedi Master that you were, in fact, not going easy on him, you were telling the truth. Your defense remained physical, but your offense flourished verbally with quip after quip.

But in those moments, as you sensed his vexation reach its peak, your own heart felt darkened. Weighted down like the planet’s gravitational pull as you carried out this assessment of mental fortitude. It was another chip at your empathetic being, flying away like loose debris traveling through the vacuum of space. Another task in protecting The Chosen One further plunged your identity into utter uncertainty.

You were also not going very easy on yourself.

But it didn’t last long, as it appeared that comparing him to an inanimate Jedi training device seemed to do the trick.

In a way, his sudden dart toward your smaller frame hurt most of all. Not only because you had a hand in driving him to this level of rage, but because you had never seen him so easily reduced to this level of vulnerability. Having known him only a week, you already understood through those many late-night conversations on a thousand-year-old space bucket, in the Coruscant garbage pits, and during your exploration of the entertainment district— where he had the gall to suggest orange was not your color— that his absorbent heart and related impatience was, as of now, his greatest weakness.

One you were sure the Sith would use against him, as they had with other Jedi thousands of years prior.

In some manner, it scared you. The ease with which you pinpointed this fragility in the brief time of knowing him. It was true, you had an uncanny ability to connect with others. But not this easily.

Maybe it was because you saw too much of yourself within him.

Or maybe the two of you were connected far beyond the confines of a prophecy.

Maybe, even through the Force itself.

Yet he tossed his connection to the Force aside in his mad dash to win. The ferocious Jedi was so focused on a strike, a successful nearness of his blade to some part of you to claim victory, that he momentarily tossed away any and all perception of protecting himself.

And it pained you, cavernously, the ease with which you blocked and dodged his subsequent blows. They were unstable, sloppy, and fueled by frustration rather than grounded in his connection to the Galaxy.

It left his entire form accessible to a fatal blow.

So, you decided to make your point in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Swiping your saber rapidly across a loose lock of chestnut hair hanging centimeters from his cheek, you allowed it to fall upon your palm to present the suddenly bewildered Jedi, who was swiftly silenced after realizing the damage you could have done.

You allowed your mind to extrapolate any words from thoughts that continued to rush over you as you both slowed to a halt on the opposite side of the training room from Obi-Wan. Your attentive eyes trained on his uncomfortable expression with a gaze wandering indefinitely, much like a youngling who had been caught taking too many sweets from one of the refractories.

“Your anger is concerning,” you began in a hushed tone.

Maybe those weren’t the right words, and maybe this wasn’t the best setting, but you were hoping to get some real answers that weren’t colored by responses saved for his Master's presence. You had your own difficulty sharing internal struggles with your Master, and he was the only other person around. You wanted this to be different.

Anakin’s eyes suddenly shot at you, narrowing in confusion.

“You were the one who told me my anger was justified.”

“I told you, that it’s ok to be angry sometimes, especially when losing someone you care deeply about,” you began in a softer lull. “That is completely different from allowing a staunch rage to get the best of you from impatience and words.”

Anakin’s eyes softened as he began to absorb your observations while his head slightly dipped in discomfort.

“Hey,” you whispered, touching his wrist, hot from exertion, lifting his uncertain eyes back toward you. “I’m here to look out for you. And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t say that you need to be more patient and not take what others say to heart. It’s gonna get you killed.”

Your exposition seemed to click within the troubled Jedi in a way far different from your midnight murmurings on the Uscru District garbage pit overhang. You watched as he glimpsed downward, following his line of vision to the metal arm whose fingers he flexed in creaking evaluation.

You wondered…

“Did you…?”

“Yes.”

And that was all the answers you needed, the rest you felt through the Force.

Regret, frustration, and something new—

Realization.

But despite this potential step forward, you found it strange that even losing an arm to impatience and anger didn’t lead him to these reflections earlier.

“It’s not that easy.”

Or maybe it did.

You raised your gaze back up toward Anakin, his dejected stare stuck to the steel limb as if he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

As if his vision was thrown into darkness.

“You’re right, it’s not,” you admitted as, once more, you were met with a flood of questions through his countenance alone.

“It’s a task. Of constantly reminding yourself that what I, or Obi-Wan, or the world says to you or about you doesn’t matter. I mean, who cares what everyone says? It doesn’t change who you are until you let it.”

You stilled, observing Anakin’s brows relax ever so slightly. Yet skepticism still colored his absentmindedly agape lips. Even without connecting physically, you could tell that despite your statement, he was riddled with doubts. You knew he’d heard your words, but he didn’t believe them.

So, you decided to tell him what you really believed.

“I’ll tell you right now. You, right now, are good. And you, at this very moment in time, are enough.”

Anakin’s mouth closed as he gazed up at you in anticipation, a galaxy of sentiments flaring behind his eyes.

You breathed. “No one is gonna change that. And I’m not just saying that to save face. I mean it.”

For the first time in what felt like a long, clouded while, a smile peeked out from his subtly solemn expression. An air of solace had begun to enter the Force.

It seemed like being heard was what Anakin needed. Someone to recognize what he was feeling. What he struggled with. What he continued to battle, inside and out.

And you were happy to be that person.

“And it won’t be remedied overnight. Remind yourself of that.”

You knew what it was like to struggle with these emotions, realizing that what fed them most was your utter isolation. In a sense, despite being in closer proximity to others than you ever had, Anakin still seemed just as alone as you in these conflicts.

And that dealt another sharp blow at your opened heart.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I pushed you too far.” His shoulders relaxed at the softness of your voice. “I just needed you to see what this frustration does to you. It leaves you exposed. And, honestly, if I was less skilled, your blindness may have done some real damage.

His eyes widened, “I would never…”

“I know,” you rested a comforting hand on his flushed arm as he relaxed. “You would never, intentionally,” you assured, though your phrasing still had unnerved the young man. “But you made a mistake, and I’m just hoping to show you why it’s important to learn from it.”

You watched as he nodded, drinking in your sympathetic and forgiving nature into his own being. The two of you breathed through the stillness, allowing both of your feelings to stabilize through the fine sting of sensitivities that traveled back and forth across your hand, tenderly fastened to his lower arm with the Force swimming in between.

“You know,” he began, as you felt the air around him lift delicately. “I know someone who’d really like you.”

You took this compliment as permission for a more upbeat response. So your eyes squinted teasingly.

“Sounds like they have great taste.”

“Silvey!”

You paused momentarily before turning to the exclamation, still getting used to the nickname as Obi-Wan entered your vision from his place on the lower left of the far viewing bench. “Don’t you need to meet with Master Yoda soon?”

Windu must have told him in one of their Council meetings you’d heard so much about from Ahsoka this morning. You glanced up to your left at the wall-mounted chronometer displaying the time in bright blue symbols before approaching the bearded Jedi, a gradually settling Anakin following close behind as you called back.

“I’ve got some time!”

Quieting your voice, you turned to Anakin with a lighthearted taunt as you both continued your leisurely pace.

“You know, I bet you could’ve beat me if you waited a little longer.”

Anakin grinned at your brighter tone as the last of his worries washed away into the Force. It was, again, much like the thoughts of those clubgoers a few nights ago as, he too, seemingly took your words to heart.

“Give me another chance and we’ll see,” he commented, underhandedly complimenting your skills.

You smiled, a weightlessness overcoming you.

“You’re on.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi had seen this before.

Too many times to count.

Anakin had a habit of becoming lost within himself, allowing emotions to take over in place of duty, and logic. But despite the occasional slip-ups, the Master believed that his former Padawan had matured greatly in the past decade. His connection to the Force had deepened while his ties to outward attachments withered with time. From the beginning, that was something he knew the Council was especially concerned about when he joined The Order at such an old age.

Yes, he still made a habit of acting before thinking, much to the bearded Jedi’s chagrin. But he always proved to get the job done.

Anakin never let him down.

However, in the last month, Obi-Wan had noticed a familiar turmoil affecting the young Jedi, beginning soon after the attempted assassination of Naboo Senator Padmé Amidala.

In the days that followed, when Anakin was tasked with protecting the Senator, before traveling to Tatooine and, then, becoming involved in the Battle of Geonosis, Obi-Wan sensed that inky substance Master Yoda felt years ago begin to foam up from the depths of his being once more.

“I sense much fear in you.”

And Master Kenobi was finally witness to how greatly his fear had grown that day on Geonosis. When Padmé was knocked out of the LAAT tasked with chasing after Count Dooku, it was the first time Obi-Wan saw Anakin consider negating his duty for a connection. He nearly leapt out of that transport without a second thought, about to blindly storm after his feelings instead of pursuing Dooku to possibly put an end to this war before it even started.

It was a connection that worried him. That concerned Master Yoda as well. So much so that in those days following Anakin’s recovery after losing his arm, Obi-Wan pleaded with Padmé herself to end whatever bonds were forming between the two.

She reluctantly agreed, and though he trusted the word of the former Queen, Kenobi was still bothered by those moments of them together. Like the glances stolen during the holocomm data transfer following their escape from the Trade Federation home world, or the subtle moments shared out of earshot of both him and the clones during their brief medical supply pickup on Naboo last week.

It was instances like these when the Master Jedi wondered if maybe time would be the greatest teacher. Maybe confronting Padmé changed the nature of their bond. Strengthened it, even. Then, it was quite possible that further interference would have just made the situation worse.

He did finally convince Anakin to stay with him on that LAAT before they reached Count Dooku, who was attempting an escape through a dark, underground hangar. But despite Master Kenobi’s best efforts, those bubbling feelings of anger and hate pushed the young Jedi’s agitation over the edge.

Obi-Wan told him to wait. That they would only defeat Dooku if they faced him together. As a team.

As brothers.

But he didn’t listen.

They were unmatched fighting alone, handing Dooku off like some rabid animal bouncing between prey as Anakin tried to recover from his premature mistake.

And it nearly killed Obi-Wan.

But Anakin’s heart was too ferocious to let that happen.

Rage guided his hand, and his hand he lost.

In the weeks that followed, when Anakin was knighted and while the bombing of Cato Neimoidia temporarily threw them apart, Master Kenobi truly believed that this near-death experience at the hands of a Sith Lord had finally proved sobering to his stubborn friend.

But this moment… In his duel with his defender…

Maybe the Master Jedi was wrong.

Obi-Wan knew Anakin blamed himself every day for not ending the war before it started that day on Geonosis. Yet he worried that no matter the damage that came to Anakin from his own choices, he would never learn.

Deep down, Obi-Wan believed that Anakin never grasped the gravity of his actions because he thought he deserved the grave consequences he faced for each and every one of them. By some strange logic, losing an arm was his punishment for not stopping a war, and it excused him from doing differently.

And much like a flagellant, he dealt his own punishment by continuing to march down this path of self-destruction.

But he thought he had it under control. That he had finally taken his Master's teachings to heart and found solace in connecting with the Force, using the flow to wash away his troubles. At least he did when Anakin was given his own battalion. When he was assigned his own Padawan.

When he was distracted by the unstoppable toil of war.

Obi-Wan thought that his young friend had finally pulled himself together to lead like the great Jedi he knew he could be.

But now, with an indefinite pause as the communications system is evaluated, Obi-Wan sensed Anakin slip back into bad habits.

However, Master Kenobi, always the optimist, thought it would pass. That these cursory moments were just flukes, temporary setbacks that could happen to anyone in moments of peace.

But as his own eyes lay open to that rage take hold all over again in his battle with you, it felt like he was staring through a mirror of time, back when Anakin was first dealing with his feelings of the past as that youngling on Tatooine.

This instant seemed like more than a fluke, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe the new memories made old ones stronger.

So, while he watched you and Anakin re-approach the training room’s center sparring square, despite the new calm he sensed radiating off the duo, Kenobi kept his reservations about the consequences of incensing Anakin too vigorously in one session.

Thus, he did what any good arbitrator would do.

He deflected

“You may want to take a break,” he remarked toward your figure as it stalled, allowing Anakin to settle across from you. “You won’t have the energy you need to spar with Master Yoda should he request it.”

But, instead of acknowledging the inherent truth of his statement, you took the more ‘Anakin’ approach.

“Just wait,” you smirked smugly, turning to face the dark-robbed Jedi in a readied stance as you withdrew your saber from your carefully hidden belt with a click. “I plan to end this fight quickly.”

His head whipped to Anakin as unease tugged at creasing lips. Obi-Wan knew what Anakin was like if someone pushed him too far. And he was worried, for both of you, that you had done just that.

As he heard the faint activation of your gray luminance with a whirl and a fading hiss, his eyes settled on his former Padawan, expecting at best a rumble in his life force, a pointed stare, an annoyed huff.

But what he was met with, was most unexpected.

Anakin’s eyes creased mirthfully as he chuckled. The suddenly grinning Jedi popped you a grateful glance that spoke unknown tales as he unsheathed his own weapon with a bright flash, allowing its blue glow to complete the mirror.

Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to furrow his brows in confusion. Perplexity surrounding this sudden change turned into intrigue as he stationed an elbow on each of his unfolded knees, leaning into the scene to further analyze this development. As the two of you bent at the ready five meters apart, a gentle smile shared on each face with mysterious calm and collection, peace seemed to be the space’s only purveyor.

Seconds passed, minutes wallowed, and still, that stark rush of power Kenobi always recognized in a duel with Anakin never came. The two of you stood in utter stillness, the gently muffled footfalls of passing Jedi in the outer hall accenting the echo of the wider Temple’s exterior.

That was, until you broke the hush.

“Aren’t you gonna come get me?” You asked in a challenging voice.

Anakin raised a brow intuitively. “You’re kidding, right?”

And just as rapidly sweeping as the pause that followed, Obi-Wan noticed a proud grin flash across your face before your legs propelled forward like lightning, meeting Anakin’s swiftly diverting blade with a slate clash. Master Kenobi observed as you spun with your saber stark behind you to block his first blow after flinging your sword into a whirl.

It wasn’t long after you vaulted over the young Jedi to reach his rear side when the Master noticed you return to old habits, sticking to a well-built guard as you blocked and parried blow after blow from your eerily calm opponent. The persistent offensive and defensive divide split you both into equal parts, like either side of a credit. It was a perfect balance that Obi-Wan knew drove Anakin to madness like nothing else in their own training sessions. Yet, the young Jedi seemed unaffected by this stasis.

In fact, he appeared pleased.

But even this did not fully convince the Master Jedi of any statistically significant change. He was an evidence man at heart, after all. And a few smiles and certainly odd behavior was not going to be enough to encourage him to consider this strange development fully. Obi-Wan would let these thoughts wash away without the proof to fully consider them.

That was, of course, before what happened next.

It was in those moments that followed, that Master Kenobi finally asked himself— how?

What he’d spent years trying to teach Anakin about patience, through connecting with the Force, breaking past bonds, and accepting the ways of the Jedi Order— if not to at least teach him the merits of flow and faith— you seemed to do in just the matter of a morning.

Sensibly, as he recovered from the initial surprise of the next instances, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin was not a changed man. But it did certainly feel like it when he observed this unexpected breakthrough take place before his eyes. It usually took weeks, or even months for Anakin to understand Obi-Wan’s teachings when he was his Padawan.

And he couldn’t deny that it was still like that now.

Yet here he was, demonstrating the equivalent of months of meditative progress after a short, albeit evidently salient, conversation with you.

And oh how Obi-Wan desired to know what you said to him. The words you used, the phrasing, the voice.

What was it about you that finally got one of his teachings through to Anakin?

More than ever before, as Obi-Wan’s eyes locked intently with your figure, he wanted to understand you, deeply. Not just due to your connection to Qui-Gon, but because of your mystery. Your past was an enigma, known only by his late Master, a barren ice planet, and the Force itself. Your notable intelligence, pervasive empathy, and skilled abilities had to come from somewhere. From some experience. Some reality.

The General surmised that, in that short moment, Anakin’s eyes must have been unveiled due to a conversation entrenched in those very qualities that he too began to have a swelling affinity for.

He needed, no, was compelled to know about your past, who you truly were, and how you became the skilled Jedi presented before him.

All of these thoughts and intrigues flowered throughout Obi-Wan’s mind as he observed nearly a half an hour into the fight the subtle mistake in your lunged footing. Anakin redirected your block to the ground before tripping your errant leg out from under you with a quick flick of his own, plunging you back first to the milky wooden-lined tile below.

As the blue incandescents of his blade swiveled inches from your throat, Obi-Wan’s slightly widened eyes were further coaxed by the sudden breathy chuckle that escaped from your lips.

A gentle smile inched across Anakin’s countenance as he held his blade firm. To anyone else, his expression would have easily been excused for simple sportsmanship. A manner that aired accolades of ‘you fought well’ to the opponent.

But Obi-Wan knew him better than that. He knew that tempered grin. He’d seen it before, albeit rarely. The first time being at the Temple ten years ago, during one of their first training sessions. Anakin told him he had said the same to Qui-Gon, but his confidence and fortitude drove him to tell his new Master as well.

“I had a dream I was a Jedi. I went to Tatooine and freed all the slaves.”

And despite the following discussions on attachments, and the importance of letting them go, that smile remained. Primitively, Obi-Wan thought it was just Anakin’s version of a dreamy expression, or childlike wonder. But he learned after years of becoming his friend, that it meant nothing of the sort.

It was hope, he concluded. Hope in himself. Hope in doing the right thing.

And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that look in years.

But before he could dive further into what all this meant, you finally spoke up.

Following a few stabilizing coughs with elbows planted for support, you gazed at The Chosen One earnestly as your voice softly flowed from you.

“Now that’s a Jedi I’m proud to defend.”

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