The hum of Coruscant's skies filtered through the open window of the youngling dormitories, but Eli Kaen lay motionless, his eyes wide and unfocused.
Thirteen loops.
Thirteen failures.
His breath hissed through clenched teeth as he sat up, sweat beading down his temples. The familiar rhythm of morning roused the other younglings—Niyala sat stretching in the corner, Tavi rummaged through his robes for his utility pouch—but Eli barely noticed. He didn't feel rested. He never did after a reset. It was like falling through fire and waking to ash.
Only this time, something inside him still burned.
He clenched his fist and stared at the floor, jaw tight.
He had tried kindness. Empathy. He had risked everything to reach Anakin Skywalker, to tap into whatever sliver of humanity remained in the man who had become a shadow.
And Anakin had driven a lightsaber through his chest without hesitation.
A flicker of rage stirred deep in Eli's gut—hot and bitter. He swallowed it. Then it came again. And again.
"Eli?" Niyala's voice tugged at him.
He looked up.
"You okay?" she asked, her brows pinched with concern.
He forced a tight smile. "Yeah… just tired."
Tavi raised an eyebrow. "You look like you fought a rancor in your sleep."
"Maybe I did," Eli muttered.
He pulled on his robes slowly and joined the others for morning meditation, but the moment he closed his eyes, the memory surged back: Anakin's blade, the indifferent cold in his eyes, the thud of his body hitting the marble.
His fists trembled on his knees.
He opened his eyes early and stood up.
He couldn't sit still.
Not anymore.
The Temple's lower training chambers were largely quiet this early. He descended alone, cutting through corridors as his thoughts buzzed like a hornet's nest. Every loop had given him knowledge, new angles to test, skills to improve—but he was no closer to saving anyone.
No closer to stopping the slaughter.
No closer to justice.
Justice.
That word lingered on his tongue like poison.
He entered a private sparring room and activated one of the remote droid sentries. Its blaster popped to life and fired a red stun bolt.
Eli's saber ignited in an instant—blue light crackling against the stun beam. He deflected it and lunged, slicing cleanly through the drone's head. Sparks sprayed across the floor.
Another sentry rolled into view.
Then two.
He welcomed the distraction.
"More," Eli hissed, slamming the training console. "I want five."
The room responded, releasing a full group of droids that spread out, encircling him. Eli took a deep breath and launched into motion, blade flashing like wildfire. He didn't wait to defend. He struck first—spinning, driving forward, cutting low and high. His footwork was raw, unrefined, but fast. Desperate.
Blaster bolts nicked his shoulder, but he barely flinched. He shouted and drove his saber down, slicing another droid in half.
The last one flew back from the force of his thrust, crashing into the wall with a clatter of sparking limbs.
Eli stood panting, shoulders heaving.
His blade flickered and died.
"That wasn't practice."
Eli turned sharply.
Standing in the doorway was Master Tallis.
Her robes flowed gently around her, and her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp.
Eli's throat went dry. "Master…"
"I've watched younglings train with passion," she said. "I've seen them push themselves. But what I just saw…" She stepped closer, voice low. "That was fury."
Eli looked away. "I'm just trying to improve. Isn't that the point?"
"No." Tallis folded her arms. "The point is to become more than your blade. What are you feeling right now?"
Eli didn't answer.
She waited. Calm. Still.
"I'm… frustrated," he finally muttered. "Helpless."
"About what?"
He hesitated.
Then it spilled out. "Everything. The war. The Temple. The silence. The Jedi acting like everything is normal while the sky is already falling." He stepped forward, fists shaking. "Every time I get close to stopping it, I die. I die, and then I wake up and do it again. And I don't know what's worse—knowing it'll happen, or failing to stop it."
Tallis's brow furrowed. "You've seen something?"
Eli froze.
He had said too much.
"It was… just a dream," he said quickly. "I've had nightmares lately. That's all."
Tallis stared at him for a long moment. Her silence weighed heavily in the room.
"Eli," she said slowly, "when the Force gives us visions of pain, we mustn't confuse them with destiny. The future is always in motion. But your anger—if it grows louder than your purpose—it will consume you."
He turned away, hiding his face.
She stepped forward, her voice softer now.
"You care deeply. That's rare among the Order. Don't let it become a wound."
Eli swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing.
But the anger wouldn't fade.
It sat in his chest, a coiled ember refusing to die.
After Tallis left, he sat alone in the corner of the training room. He pressed his palms to the floor, grounding himself.
He couldn't afford to lose control.
But if the Jedi way wasn't working… maybe something else would.
He needed to go deeper.
He needed to understand everything—light, dark, all of it.
And he needed time.
Time only death could give.
He looked at the lightsaber beside him. Then out the training chamber doors.
If he couldn't win yet, then next time, he would learn everything he could before the end.
Even if it meant stepping closer to the edge.