The Father sat in meditation at the monastery's heart, eyes closed, breathing so slow it seemed he might not be breathing at all.
Then a lightsaber ignited—the sharp snap-hiss breaking the sacred silence—and the blue blade stopped centimeters from his face.
His silver-blue eyes opened, ancient and knowing. "Still uncertain about your safety?" He regarded Anakin with something approaching amusement. "For a Jedi Knight, attacking an unarmed man during meditation seems... unwise."
Anakin didn't lower his weapon. His eyes swept the chamber, searching for threats, for the creature that had violated his mind hours ago. "The moment I entered this room, I felt it. Darkness radiating from you." His voice carried accusation. "You're a Sith Lord. Admit it."
"Your understanding of the universe remains incomplete." The Father's tone carried no offense, only patient instruction. "I am neither Jedi nor Sith. I exist to maintain balance. To ensure the galaxy—and all life within it—endures."
His gaze shifted to Peter and Vision standing in the doorway.
"That thing—" Peter gestured emphatically, his hands still trembling slightly from the night's trauma. "That bat creature that took the form of Anakin's mom. We saw it in his room. You need to explain what's happening here. Now."
Rather than answer, the Father reached up with his bare hand and grasped Anakin's lightsaber blade.
Both Anakin and Peter gasped.
The plasma blade—capable of cutting through durasteel—might as well have been made of paper. The Father's palm closed around the energy, and the weapon screamed—a high-pitched whine of stressed kyber crystal—before dying completely.
The Father stood, rising to his full height of over seven feet, still holding Anakin's deactivated weapon. "Some call us Wielders of the Force. Others name us gods. We are neither. We are simply... custodians. Guardians of something far older than your Order, your Republic, or your understanding of power."
Anakin stared at his useless lightsaber, then up at the towering figure before him. No Jedi he'd ever met could simply turn off a lightsaber with their bare hands. Not even Master Yoda.
"That's, uh..." Peter looked at Anakin's weapon, then at Vision. "Do you know any Jedi who can do that?"
"Unless the weapon were forged from vibranium," Vision said slowly, the Mind Stone pulsing with agitated light, "I know of nothing that could simply disable a lightsaber through contact."
The Father's eyes moved across them—lingering on each in turn, as if reading histories written in their souls. The weight of his attention felt physical, oppressive.
"Who are you?" Anakin demanded, reclaiming his voice. "The Jedi Archives mention nothing about beings like you."
"Our existence has been forgotten by most." The Father released Anakin's lightsaber, and it clattered to the floor. "Deliberately so. We retreated from galactic affairs long before your Order built its first temple."
A pause. Then understanding flickered across the Father's features, followed by something that might have been joy.
"Bendu." The name emerged with warmth and nostalgia. "My old friend lives still? I should have known—death does not claim such as him easily." His gaze fixed on Vision. "You've met him. No—you studied with him."
Vision's posture shifted subtly. "Are you one of them? The ancient beings he spoke of?" His synthetic mind processed rapidly, connecting fragments. "No. Not one of them. You're one of the three who remained. The Ones."
The Father's smile widened fractionally. "Bendu mentioned us, then. Good. That spares us tedious explanations." He gestured toward the Mind Stone. "That gem embedded in your forehead—you understand its nature, yes?"
"It's an Infinity Stone," Vision confirmed. "One of six primordial singularities."
"Six fragments of the universe's birth." The Father moved closer, and Vision noticed the Mind Stone's light intensifying in response to his proximity. "Before your civilizations named it 'the Force,' there was only raw Cosmic energy—the fundamental power that shapes reality itself. Each Stone represents a different aspect of that power: Space, Time, Reality, Power, Mind, Soul. United, they would grant dominion over existence itself."
He turned back to Anakin and Peter.
"The Force you Jedi wield is but one expression of that Cosmic energy. Filtered through living beings, shaped by their intentions, limited by their understanding."
"Okay, that's fascinating," Peter interjected, his head throbbing with information overload, "but what does any of this have to do with why we're here? Why you brought us to this place?"
"What makes you believe your presence here has anything to do with us?" The Father's question carried genuine curiosity.
"Because you've been watching Anakin since we arrived," Vision stated. "Your daughter sought him specifically. Your son tested him with psychological torture. This entire place seems designed to evaluate him."
The Father hummed—a sound that resonated through the stone floor itself. "Observant. Yes, we have been watching. Not just Skywalker, but all who touch the Force. This world—Mortis—exists at the convergence point of all Cosmic energies in this galaxy. Everything that happens in the wider universe echoes here."
"Then what is this place?" Anakin pressed. "It's not a normal world. The Force here is so strong it's suffocating. Nothing makes sense—day turns to night in minutes, seasons change as we walk, physics itself seems negotiable."
The Father gazed out the window at the impossible landscape beyond. "Do you know this galaxy's history? Its true history?"
Anakin shook his head.
"In the beginning, this galaxy was filled with raw potential." The Father's voice took on the cadence of storytelling, of histories preserved across millennia. "Life emerged, evolved, and many species developed the ability to touch the Cosmic Force. But that power, unchecked, led to chaos. Destruction. Entire civilizations tearing reality itself apart with their conflicts."
"The Ones—we who called ourselves Celestials—sought to bring order to that chaos." His expression darkened. "We experimented. Guided evolution. Shaped worlds and species. We believed ourselves benevolent gardeners, tending the galaxy's growth."
Vision spoke quietly. "Bendu said your kind left this galaxy. That they departed for places beyond the Force's reach."
"Most left, yes." Pain flickered across the Father's ancient face. "But I... I was too ambitious. Too certain of my righteousness. I attempted to create a new star from the sacrifice of only three planets—efficient destruction to birth long-lasting light." He closed his eyes. "My people judged such hubris... unacceptable."
"So they punished you," Anakin said.
"Imprisoned," the Father corrected. "My children and I were brought here. Bound to this place. Told we could not leave until we learned the cost of wielding such power without wisdom." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "That was eons ago. And still we remain."
"This is a prison?" Peter's eyes widened.
"A sanctuary and a prison both." The Father's gaze distant, seeing things not present. "We chose to stay after our sentence ended. Because leaving would have been more dangerous than remaining."
"Why?" Vision asked.
The Father's shoulders slumped with ancient exhaustion. "Because my children—my beloved son and daughter—inherited my power but not my restraint. The light within my daughter burns so bright it would scorch all darkness from the galaxy. The darkness within my son hungers to devour every spark of light."
His hands clenched. "If either were freed, they would not choose balance. They would pursue their nature to its ultimate conclusion. Light destroying shadow. Shadow consuming light. And the galaxy—all life within it—would die in the aftermath."
Silence settled over the chamber like ash.
"Their mother..." Vision began hesitantly.
"The Mother." The Father's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "The Queen of Stars, my beloved. She tried to leave. To take our children and flee this prison." His voice broke. "I could not allow it. Could not risk what they might become if set loose upon the galaxy. So I..."
He didn't finish. Didn't need to.
Peter's throat tightened. "That's... that's awful. I'm sorry."
"You cannot comprehend," the Father whispered, "what it means to love something—someone—so completely, and know that allowing them freedom would doom trillions of lives. The weight of that choice never lessens."
Anakin felt something shift in his chest. The Father's pain resonated with his own hidden fears about Padmé, about the visions that plagued him—losing her, losing everything.
"You still haven't explained why you need Anakin specifically," Vision said, bringing them back to the immediate question.
The Father straightened, pushing grief aside to focus on purpose. "There are those who seek to exploit what we are. The Sith particularly. They would harness our power, break the balance we maintain, plunge the galaxy into eternal darkness." His eyes fixed on Anakin. "When word reached me that the Chosen One had been found—the one prophesied to bring balance to the Force—I had to see for myself."
"The prophecy is a myth." Anakin's voice was flat, hard. "A fairy tale the Council uses to justify their decisions."
"Perhaps." The Father's smile was enigmatic. "Or perhaps not. Only one way to discover the truth." He spread his hands. "Submit to a test. Allow me to examine what you truly are. And if you prove to be the Chosen One—or prove you are not—you and your companions may leave Mortis freely."
"And if I refuse?" Anakin challenged.
"Then you remain here, trapped, while my children continue their games." The Father's expression was serene but implacable. "Eventually, the Son will break you or my daughter will corrupt you. The choice, Skywalker, is yours."
Anakin looked at Peter and Vision. Both wore expressions of grim resignation—they knew there was only one real answer.
"Fine." Anakin stepped forward, meeting the Father's ancient gaze without flinching. "Test me. Let's end this."
The Father's smile held both satisfaction and sorrow. "As you wish, young Skywalker. But know this—the truth you discover may not be the truth you hoped to find."
He raised one hand, and the monastery itself seemed to respond. Stone walls rippled like water. Reality bent.
"The test begins now."