Ahsoka drifted in that strange space between waking and dreaming, her mind refusing to settle. The cave floor was hard beneath her, the fire's warmth barely reaching her, and something in the air itself seemed to press against her awareness—insistent, questioning.
"Are you happy?"
Her eyes snapped open.
The voice had been soft, barely above a whisper, but it resonated in a way that suggested it came from inside her own thoughts rather than from any external source.
Ahsoka sat up slowly, scanning the cave. Obi-Wan slept near the entrance, his breathing deep and even. T'Challa remained still by the opposite wall, though something about his posture suggested his rest was far from peaceful.
No one else was there.
Must have imagined it, she thought, settling back down.
"Your master—does he treat you well? Is he a good teacher?"
This time she knew she hadn't imagined it.
Ahsoka's hand moved instinctively to the necklace at her throat—Peter's gift, the web-shooter charm he'd given her after that mission on Naboo. Her fingers found Barriss's gift too, the small crystal pendant that hung beside it. She never took either of them off.
Movement in the firelight caught her attention.
A figure stood on the other side of the flames, and Ahsoka's breath caught in her throat.
It was her.
Or rather, a version of her—older, perhaps fifteen years, maybe more. The woman's lekku were longer, decorated with intricate patterns Ahsoka didn't yet have. Her face held lines that came from experience, from hardship survived. She wore different clothing—not Jedi robes, but something else, practical and worn. Two lightsabers hung at her belt, their hilts white and elegant.
Young Ahsoka scrambled to her feet, her hand flying to her own weapon. "What... who are you?"
The older woman smiled—sad and knowing. "What's mine will eventually be yours."
"That's not an answer." Ahsoka's montrals twitched with agitation. "Stop being cryptic and tell me what's going on."
"I'm your future. Your potential." The older Ahsoka tilted her head in a gesture that was eerily familiar because Ahsoka herself did it all the time. "What you could become, if you survive what's coming."
"This is a trick." Ahsoka's grip tightened on her lightsaber hilt. "The Son—he can manipulate, create illusions. This is just another—"
"The Force works differently here," the older version interrupted gently. "Mortis exists outside normal time and space. Past, present, and future blur together. I'm as real as you are. Just... from a different when."
Young Ahsoka stared at this impossible reflection of herself. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, to wake up and find this was just a stress-induced nightmare. But something deeper—her connection to the Force, perhaps—whispered that this was genuine.
"You've learned much studying Jedi history," the older Ahsoka continued, moving around the fire with grace that came from years of combat. "But have you paid attention to what the Order teaches about relationships? About attachment?"
The question hit closer than Ahsoka wanted to admit. She said nothing.
"Your potential is vast. Unlimited, even." The older woman's eyes—so like Ahsoka's own, yet carrying knowledge of things not yet experienced—held steady. "But you haven't answered my question. Your master. Is he good to you?"
Ahsoka lowered her lightsaber slightly, confusion warring with curiosity. "Master Skywalker is... he's good. Great, even. I couldn't stand him at first—thought he was reckless and irresponsible." A small smile tugged at her lips despite the strangeness of the situation. "But he grew on me. We argue sometimes, but that's because we're similar. Both passionate. Both impulsive. I trust him with my life."
"Just like Peter."
The words landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples through Ahsoka's composure.
"What?" Her voice climbed higher than intended. "What are you talking about?"
The older Ahsoka's smile turned mischievous—the expression of someone who knew exactly which buttons to push. "At least you have Barriss covering for you."
Heat flooded Ahsoka's face, spreading from her neck to the tips of her montrals. "I don't—that's not—you're not making any sense."
"Think about it, Snips." The nickname—Anakin's nickname for her—made young Ahsoka flinch. "The way Barriss looks at you when she thinks no one's watching. The way Peter lights up when you walk into a room. They're anchors. Connections that ground you in ways the Jedi Order says you shouldn't need."
Ahsoka opened her mouth to protest, but no words came.
"They're your age," the older version continued, her voice softening. "That matters more than you realize. You can connect with them in ways you can't with your master or Obi-Wan or the other Knights. You spend time with them—want to spend time with them—more than you probably should, by Order standards."
"We're friends." The words sounded weak even to Ahsoka's own ears. "That's allowed. Jedi can have friends."
"Friends." The older Ahsoka nodded slowly. "Yes. That's what you tell yourself. That's what you tell the Council, what you tell your master." She paused, and her expression grew serious. "But is that what you tell yourself late at night when you can't sleep? When you replay conversations in your mind? When you touch those gifts they gave you?"
Young Ahsoka's hand had unconsciously moved back to her necklace. She jerked it away as if burned.
"These feelings you're developing—they're real." The older woman moved closer, her presence overwhelming in its familiarity. "Confusion about attachment. Questions about what the Order teaches versus what your heart tells you. Barriss struggles with the same things. You've talked about it, haven't you? In those quiet moments between missions."
"Stop." Ahsoka took a step back. "I don't—you don't know—"
"I know because I am you." The older Ahsoka's voice carried an edge now, urgent and almost desperate. "I know what happens when you ignore these feelings. When you push them down because you're afraid of what they mean. When you let fear and confusion fester instead of examining them honestly."
Young Ahsoka felt her chest tighten. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that avoiding your emotions doesn't make them disappear. It makes them grow in the dark, twisted and painful." The older version's expression softened with something like pity. "Explore what you feel. Name it. Understand it. Because if you don't—if you keep running from the truth—you'll end up hurt. And so will they."
"But the Code—"
"Forget the Code for a moment." The older Ahsoka's voice was fierce now. "I'm not telling you to break your vows or abandon the Order. I'm telling you to be honest with yourself about what's in your heart. Denying the truth doesn't make you a better Jedi. It makes you a liar."
The firelight flickered, and for a moment the older version seemed to waver, becoming translucent.
"Listen to me, Snips." The nickname again, but this time delivered with urgency. "What's coming—the trials you'll face here on Mortis and beyond—they'll test everything you think you know about yourself. The attachments you form, the friendships you cherish, the feelings you're afraid to examine—they're not weaknesses. They're what make you you. Don't let anyone—not the Council, not the Code, not even yourself—convince you otherwise."
Young Ahsoka stared at this impossible vision of her future self, her mind reeling.
"You're going to have to make choices," the older woman whispered, already beginning to fade. "Hard ones. Choices that will break your heart and reshape who you are. When that time comes, remember this moment. Remember that your feelings—all of them—are valid. Real. Worth acknowledging."
"Wait—" Ahsoka reached out, but her hand passed through empty air.
"Trust yourself. Trust them. And whatever you do—" The older Ahsoka's voice was barely audible now, her form dissolving like morning mist. "Don't let fear make you cruel."
Then she was gone, and Ahsoka was alone by the dying fire.
She gasped, jerking fully awake—
"Ahsoka, are you alright?"
Obi-Wan crouched beside her, concern evident in his features. Morning light filtered through the cave entrance, pale and cold. The storm had passed during the night.
"I—" Ahsoka touched her necklace again, grounding herself in the familiar weight of it. "Yeah. Sorry. Just... a dream."
"Must have been quite the dream." Obi-Wan's tone carried gentle humor. "You were talking in your sleep."
"Was I?" Heat crept up Ahsoka's neck again. "What did I say?"
"Nothing coherent." Obi-Wan stood, offering her his hand. "Just mumbling."
Thank the Force, Ahsoka thought.
T'Challa approached from where he'd been keeping watch near the cave entrance. Something in his bearing had changed—he moved like someone who'd just received profound news, still processing, not quite ready to share.
"You dreamed too," Ahsoka said. It wasn't a question.
The Black Panther met her eyes, and she saw understanding there. Whatever visions Mortis had shown him, they'd been just as intense as hers.
"This place..." T'Challa's voice carried an edge Ahsoka hadn't heard before. "It reveals truths we're not always ready to face."
"Indeed." Obi-Wan looked between them, clearly aware that both had experienced something significant but choosing not to press. "Did your dream tell you anything useful? About our current situation?"
Ahsoka closed her eyes, reaching out through the Force. The sensation hit her immediately—sharp and urgent, like an alarm bell in her consciousness.
"The others are in trouble." Her eyes snapped open, certainty flooding through her. "Anakin, Peter, Vision—something's wrong. I can feel it."
Obi-Wan's expression grew grave. "This entire planet seems designed to test us. Separate us. Exploit our weaknesses."
T'Challa and Obi-Wan locked eyes for a long moment. Something passed between them—recognition, perhaps, of shared experiences in the night. The Jedi Master's eyebrows rose fractionally, questioning.
After a beat, T'Challa cleared his throat and looked away. "We need to find them. Now."
"Agreed." Obi-Wan moved toward the cave entrance, already calculating routes. "The storm has passed. We should be able to travel safely."
As they prepared to leave, Ahsoka's hand drifted once more to the necklace at her throat. Peter's gift. Barriss's crystal. Simple objects that carried complicated weight.
Explore what you feel. Name it. Understand it.
She didn't know if that vision had been her actual future self, some Force projection, or just her subconscious working through confusion. But the advice resonated.
She did feel something for Peter. Something that went beyond simple friendship, though she wasn't ready to name what that something was. And Barriss—the way her heart lifted when the Mirialan smiled at her, the way she found excuses to be near her—that was more than just Padawan camaraderie.
The Jedi Code said attachment led to suffering.
But the person she might become—the Ahsoka from the future—had suggested that denying those feelings caused suffering too.
"Coming, Ahsoka?" Obi-Wan called from the cave entrance.
"Yeah." She secured her lightsabers and jogged to join them. "Let's go find our team."
Whatever Mortis was trying to teach them, they'd learn it together.
And later—when they were safely away from this impossible world—she'd have time to think about what her future self had said.
Time to explore the feelings she'd been carefully not examining.
Time to be honest with herself.
But first, they had friends to rescue.