So, it's been a while, hehe... you may want to reread at least the last chapter unless you remember what's going on. As always, thank you for your patience. :) Enjoy!

"Dead men don't walk and breathe and bleed!"

"They don't?"

[Gustav and Talus, The Keeper by Ted Dekker]

When Yan entered the Archives a few days later, it was a quiet, inconspicuous, and easily forgettable moment. Having agreed to make himself as scarce as possible during the first couple weeks of his return, he had determined (after a thorough study of the Jedi Academy's scheduled classes and free times) that early morning was the best time to visit. Early, as in a few hours before sunrise.

For Yan, waking up before the sun was hardly new. He had been doing so ever since his initiate days in this very Temple. While the halls had always been quiet, he couldn't recall them ever being this quiet. Standing there by doors covered in ornate patterns and carved images, he took a moment to settle himself and steady his rising pulse. Even with Force-suppressors running through his veins, he could still sense the muted whisper of sorrow that ran through the Force's currents. It made everything feel heavier and colder than it should.

Shaking his head once, Yan reached forward to push open one of the doors. He smiled as it opened, warm memories shoving through years of suffocating darkness to flash brilliantly behind his eyes. Jocasta Nu, forty-some years young, had welcomed him into her quarters once a week before his apprenticeship to Yoda. He still remembered the nauseating sweet tea that she had served him the first time and the subtle gesture of serving him something far less sweet every week that followed. Her eyes had hinted at a wisdom greater than her years and he had learned to heed every word that came out of her mouth, whether it held a touch of humor or the heavy tones of truth.

The Archives were dimly lit and it seemed that he was their only visitor at that hour. To his left, aisles of sleek datapads and holobooks glowed a soft blue. On his right, dusty tomes, ancient scrolls, and records from hundreds of civilizations sat comfortably in shadow. Oddly enough he, like Jocasta, found comfort among those dusty aisles. Those shadows had only ever been warm, beckoning, and mostly innocent. Mostly. The darkest part of the library, back in a semi-forgotten corner where the books and holocrons were restricted, carried a more sinister air.

Yan settled himself once more and squared his shoulders, allowing the door to close soundlessly behind him. Jocasta's desk was unoccupied, hardly a surprise. The Archives technically weren't open yet. In an hour they would be, but by that time he planned to be settled in another of the library's semi-forgotten sections, hopefully hidden from any curious eyes. The younger generations no doubt had heard of him, but he was certain that most of them wouldn't recognize him without more than a passing glance. He was banking on that assumption. Research, in his opinion, was always done best in silence and solitude with only the occasional companion to bounce thoughts off of. He didn't need dozens of the Temple's resident miscreants scurrying to their clan masters and informing them that a Sith was reading books in the library. No. That certainly wouldn't do at all.

Striding forward, mind racing with the aching familiarity of the scene, he glanced absently at the neatly organized rows of information. It wasn't difficult for him to remember exactly which records he deleted and which he stole when he allied himself with the Sith. A few of them belonged in the First Hall where he walked. At the time, he had deemed himself clever. Not many could say that they had successfully infiltrated the legendary Archives and gotten away with it. Now it was just another fault to add to his admittedly long list.

Mouth drawn in a flat line, Yan directed his gaze forward. It took more than a few minutes to walk the length of the First Hall, but he finally arrived at the rotunda that sat at the center of the great library and stopped. There was a slight whisper of movement off to his right and he turned, watching as Jocasta Nu, old and looking more fragile than he remembered, emerged from her private quarters. Her white hair was pulled up and neatly pinned at the back of her head with some type of utensil and her light brown robes, as ornately patterned as the door he had entered through, were wrinkle-free. Despite himself, despite his unexpected return and dark past, he smiled at her. He couldn't help it.

Upon finally noticing his presence, Jocasta stilled. "Yan…" she whispered, and his heart warmed at hearing it.

For the first time in a long, long time, he was able to hear his name spoken with something other than fear attached to it. Or disdain, or disgust, or rage, or hatred, or oily respect. Even Yoda had yet to speak his name without an undercurrent of suspicion.

Without moving, he offered her a shallow bow. It was barely a slight bend at the waist, but it was more than he'd granted any other Order member he'd interacted with recently. "Good morning, master." She, more than many, deserved the title. "I'm wondering if you might help me with something…" He glanced to his right, looked down the Third Hall, and started moving in that direction.

"Yan, my dear boy, where have you been?"

Her voice stopped him in his tracks. He had been hoping to avoid discussing his past, his present, or his unknown future. He had been hoping to keep this quick and professional… my dear boy? Blinking rapidly, he found that his throat was suddenly constricting (and when was the last time that had happened?). He furiously shoved down the rising emotions, even when a feather-light touch landed on his right arm. He looked down and saw a gnarled hand, knobby and spotted with age. "Growing old, the same as you," he replied, choosing to hide behind sharp wit and sarcasm.

Jocasta did what he could not and slowly padded around so that she could face him directly. Determined to not fidget under her scrutiny, he glanced once again down the Third Hall and nodded in its direction. "I'm looking for all of your records on the Bogden System."

"You foolish man," she said, almost gently. "Look at me."

He did, and what he found there startled him. Yes, she had aged, but her eyes were as blue as ever and as sharp as they'd always been. They looked at him with an odd mixture of pity, sadness, and joy. He blinked. "Master, what –"

"I daresay you have grown older than I," she stated. "Now, before I repeat my question, how about I brew us some tea?" Not waiting for a reply, she turned and walked back towards the door to her home. As if nothing had changed. As if he were arriving at his usual early hour in order to enjoy her company and discuss his latest adventure or lack thereof.

Yan was speechless, something that he hadn't experienced for quite some time. He turned and watched her, noting the slight limp in her steps, the way her feet didn't fully make it off of the floor so that she shuffled rather than walked. There was a barely noticeable tilt in her back and her breaths were audible now, especially in the silence of the library. Jocasta Nu was old. He himself was in his early eighties which meant that she was upwards of one hundred and twenty, and at that realization he marveled. The shuffle was distinguished, the bent back was more than straight enough, and when she turned with a gentle smile to beckon him into her tiny abode, he couldn't help but follow.

It was as he remembered. The sight made him smirk. Those that never entered her living space would assume it to be just as organized as the rest of the library, but oh how wrong they would be. Coziness, at least to Jocasta, was defined by heaps of partially-read books, old-fashioned crockery stuffed with writing utensils, and no less than four empty caf mugs strewn about the two-bedroom apartment. A small, worn desk sat in the corner to the right of the door, its surface covered with datapads, stacks of flimsy, and numerous handwritten notes. Straight ahead of him, two shelving units, at least seven feet tall, were lined with all sorts of books. To his left, a tiny kitchen took up another corner. The apartment lacked an oven, but there was a stove, a cooling unit, and a few cupboards. A teapot, having already been filled and heated, began to whistle as it spewed steam. Jocasta was flitting about the space, deftly collecting two mugs, a container of herbs, and what looked to be freshly-baked rolls of some sort. Yan inhaled the scent with an appreciative sniff even as he wondered exactly how she baked them without the services of an oven.

"Take a seat, dear," she insisted as she poured water into mugs and separated the rolls onto plates. Yan took one more look around and then moved forward towards the only two seats available. There was a third seat, but it stood behind her desk smothered in a pile of articles. "I wasn't expecting company," he heard her mutter, almost to herself.

He quirked a hesitant – and since when was he ever hesitant? – smile in her direction. "Even if you had been, would you have deemed it necessary to tidy up?"

She directed an annoyed flick of her eyes over her shoulder. "It is the thought that counts, is it not?"

This drew an awkward chuckle from him and he averted his eyes again. She was so inviting he could hardly keep himself from jumping up and escaping as quickly as he could. He was dangerous, dark, tainted… he was poisonous to her, for Force's sake! He'd hurt her if he stayed; he knew this.

At that thought, he rose to his feet again and stared her down when she ticked a brow at him. "I'm sorry, master. I don't belong here… but I thank you for your kind, if misplaced, welcome," he bit out before turning to leave.

"Yan."

It stopped him again, the way she said his name without all of the edgy emotions. "Yes?"

"I would not invite a Sith into my home."

Those blue eyes drew his own dark gaze to them against his will and he found himself stuck. No, he wasn't a Sith any longer. He wasn't. But he was no Jedi, and he was anything but safe. So why did she insist on him staying? "I know."

Despite his frenzied thoughts and emotions, it was truly infuriating when she simply smiled and turned back to making tea, as if she knew she'd beaten him in mere seconds of conversation. He growled under his breath when she gestured to the two-person table. Once he was seated again she turned, a steaming mug in each gnarled hand, and proceeded to serve him tea and breakfast. He picked at the rolls and absently sipped his tea in the awkward silence that followed. He could feel her studying him, but he valiantly refused to look at her.

Until she spoke again, the blasted woman.

"Is he dead?"

They stared at one another for a moment, one of them incomprehensibly forgiving and the other utterly flummoxed by it. Finally, Yan gave a curt shake of his head. "No. I am not nearly powerful enough to accomplish that." He took another sip of his tea. "But the Confederacy has lost a significant number of members and the Separatist Army should be easily defeated within the next five months. Many of their bases have been recently revealed to leaders of the Republic and their resources have taken large hits during the past weeks." He said all of this as calmly and monotonously as if he were discussing the ins and outs of droid manufacturing.

Jocasta's eyes gleamed in amusement, but she only nodded. "I see. And just how do you know this?"

"That is a pointless discussion that we need not pursue," he quipped, frowning as the gleam in her eyes transformed into an obnoxious twinkle. "Just trust me when I say that it is a proven fact that the easiest way to destroy a well-oiled machine is from within. Consequently, I am now a traitor to both sides of this conflict and haven't the slightest clue as to what my miserable future holds." The twinkle disappeared. He had to look away yet again. That had been a bit more than he'd wanted to reveal, but he could only keep his bitterness contained for so long.

Jocasta sniffed, drawing his attention. When she had it, she pointed a bony finger at him. "You, my dear boy, used to at least be a hopeful cynic. Now you are just another bitter one. I will not ask what has changed, because your unfortunate past explains most of it. What I will ask is why you deem your future so miserable, especially considering your inquiry into every record I currently have on Bogden."

He flinched in surprise, another rare occurrence. What was it about this woman that kept catching him off guard? But he knew. She'd always been different. When he recovered, he narrowed his eyes at her. "And just what do you know of Bogden?"

She dared to smirk at him. "Enough to know why you are asking about it. I serve this Order, Yan. My loyalty has never been in question, and that is why the Council keeps me on staff. I love my job and I am very good at it, but Yoda would be the first to tell you that my loyalty to the Jedi Code is severely lacking." Yan blinked and she smiled. "I have had decades to search through this collection of knowledge and just as long to study it. Truth is precious, Yan. I think that we can agree that it is not found in the Code."

Perhaps he was not as alone in this massive stone building as he thought. "We can," he said slowly, studying her with newfound purpose. At least one other person saw what he did, and he remembered reading somewhere that having one ally was exponentially greater than having only oneself. Two was not twice one; it was ten thousand times one, and in this it seemed even greater.

He finally relaxed, content in this cluttered yet welcoming place. Shooting her a wry look while simultaneously taking a long swig of his tea, he drummed his fingers on the table. "That is a discussion for another time, I think." When her eyes narrowed, clearly signaling a protest, he smiled. "I did say another time, Master Nu. I am merely postponing it, not eliminating it." This seemed to take her off guard (finally) and his smile widened. "It's about time you felt as disoriented as I've been feeling," he said.

This drew an admonishing frown from her that folded itself into a quick smile. "I suppose. I am glad for you, Yan. Truly." She reached for his empty dish and slowly stood, shuffling to the sink. "I missed the ceremony, you know, when they unveiled your bust upstairs. I couldn't believe that you belonged in that group."

The Lost. A genuine, deep frown cemented itself on his face at those words. "Those busts are the epitome of arrogance," he muttered before his brain could register what she'd said. His brows rose in surprise. "Why not?"

He received another gentle smile from her. "I believe your presence here answers that question, does it not?" When he didn't reply, she turned back to the sink to finish cleaning and drying the dishes. Once finished, she dried her hands and shuffled to the door. "Let us see about Bogden now."

Grateful that she hadn't pressed him on more personal and painful matters, he followed her. "You were only partially correct as to why I am researching the system," he explained as they walked down the Third Hall. At her curious look, he continued. "Depending on how the next few weeks go, I am thinking about requesting a teaching position at the small chapter house there."

Jocasta openly stared. "While I am not necessarily against the idea, I doubt that the Council will allow you to teach initiates. Especially alone. That particular house only hosts a small clan, typically the Hawkbat Clan, and requires only one instructor. Do you really think that they will allow that?"

"No," he sighed. "I don't, but I am still going to ask. I've considered submitting myself to a mind probe to convince them."

Her face registered stark horror. "No, Yan, you can't. That is a strictly forbidden practice and it is highly invasive –"

"You think I don't know that?" he snapped. "And it is not forbidden, it is simply frowned upon. Yes, mainly Sith are known to use it, but even as a Sentinel I used it a few times. Yet another thing I must atone for." He tacked on the last sentence with as much venom as he could muster, which was a considerable amount, and she flinched. He wasn't sorry. "I am well aware of what it feels like. Don't be so quick to disregard my very recent past as an apprentice to a Sith Lord. I have endured much worse, I assure you." And here he felt a small pang of guilt when her face twisted in obvious grief. "That is also a discussion for another time, if ever," he muttered, relieved when she offered him a shaky smile.

He sighed again. "Teaching on Bogden has advantages. It would not only keep me out of the public's notice, but it would provide me with the opportunity to do on the ground research into other things. I have briefly looked into the Hawkbat Clan as well. They are noted for their somewhat darker tendencies." Shooting her a sidelong smirk, he continued. "I believe I am uniquely suited to counter those tendencies, wouldn't you say?"

Jocasta let out a faint chuckle. "I suppose you are. Here, you should find some information down here," she said, gesturing to their right. As she perused the shelves, she glanced at him. "If I believed in luck, I would wish you all the luck in the universe."

Yan caught her eyes and held them, joy and disbelief wrestling with each other in his gut. This wise old woman was possibly the only person in the entire universe who really knew him and still cared about him. "Thank you for your help." He paused, hesitating only briefly. "Can I ask you one more thing, before you open your doors?" It was about that time, after all. At her nod, he swallowed. "Can you forgive me? For all of the hurt I've caused you, for using your knowledge to meet my own twisted ends, for stealing and deleting information, for –"

"Yan."

He stopped rambling.

Her eyes were watery, glistening with unshed tears. "Of course I forgive you, dear boy." She patted some holobooks in front of them and smiled. "Now make yourself at home. I trust that you still know how to be discreet in this place?"

Still shocked that she could so easily forgive him for years of evil deeds, he nodded, numb. Jocasta reached forward and patted him on the shoulder. The gesture seemed to cement her words in place. Of course I forgive you.

Without another word, she left him to his research and he grabbed a flimsy-filled book, rifling through its pages. Within minutes he settled himself into the comfortable patterns of study that he used to be so familiar with. By the time she opened her doors to the Archives ten minutes later, he had sequestered himself behind two neat stacks of books, holograms, and datapads, comfortably hidden in an old, dusty, warmly shadowed corner of the library.

***oo***

Kennan, Jiro, Sidirri, Nable, and Master Mahn lingered just outside of the massive doors to the Archives. The four initiates stood with open frowns on their faces or, in Nable's case, a flat-lined expression more suited for a round of Dejarik in Coruscant's slummy lower levels than a morning research session in the Order's famed Archives.

Du sighed at the smooth-headed boy. "We are not going to war, Nable. Please lose your poorly-hidden scowl. And the rest of you, cheer up. I thought you all were looking forward to this module."

A tiny crease appeared between Nable's eyes, but that was the only response he gave. Sidirri attempted a smile while Kennan's frown flattened into a humorous imitation of Nable's game face. Jiro lifted a hand to scratch absently at the back of his neck. "I think my cot has bed bugs, master."

In other words, Du interpreted, they were at least going to try to remain civil. For perhaps the trillionth time in the last few years, Du inwardly cursed herself for requesting the station on Bogden. She had wanted to teach a group with some maturity to them and the Hawkbats had seemed the obvious choice. She hadn't realized that she would be trading infantile banter for stubborn, sarcastic, and often subtle rebellion. Not to mention the foursome's oft-preferred method of pretentious tolerance.

Blasted, immature, delinquents. The problem was, of course, that she had also grown to genuinely like them. Therefore, she endured their never-ending snark. And, as the situation called for it, she returned it in kind. Eying her Zabrak student, she raised an imperious brow. "Pity," she intoned. "Perhaps we should stop by the Healers this afternoon and have you debugged?"

Jiro's face puckered at that and he averted his eyes. "I'll be fine."

In other words, the four initiates interpreted, stop sulking. They all sighed, oddly (and yet not so oddly) synchronized in their actions. Du nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, let's show Master Drallig just how studious you can be when you set your minds to it. This is an important module, as you are all aware, and it is also one that can be quite enjoyable should you choose to make it so. He had these dropped off early this morning." She handed out the datapads as she continued. "As always, they are temporarily under your names, so take good care of them." Her words grew clipped towards the end, an imperceptible shift that every one of her students took note of. "Assignments are listed on the homepage and today's is already open for you. We will be here for the morning until we break for lunch and then we will head to class. Any questions?" She allowed the obligatory pause even though she knew there would be none. "Very well. I will remain close to the rotunda should you need me. Please refrain from making loud noises or snarky, ill-mannered comments."

It was an old joke that she had made two years back out of sheer exasperation, but now it had the desired effect of eliciting small smiles from all of them. Jiro's was closer to a mischievous smirk, but she purposely ignored it. Gesturing towards the doors, she followed her clan inside.

***oo***

Kennan stared at the datapad, eyes flitting over the assignment's requirements before closing briefly. As always, they are temporarily under your name… more loaners. He cringed, allowing his irritation to spark and simmer for a few minutes before he smothered it once more. He knew he was being unreasonable, that all of them were being unreasonable, but it was hard not to look at supposedly trivial details (like temporary datapads) and see them as the Order's subtle reminders that it really was perfectly fine with the Council if every last one of their darker, tainted initiates were sent away to one of their many service corps.

Kennan wondered if they knew what a fine gesture it would be if they simply assigned them personal datapads like everyone else. He sighed.

I'm being WAY too unreasonable. Kennan actually did have his own datapad on Bogden. Order-issued and everything. Okay focus. Homework. Form 1… what's it called? Oh yeah, Shii-Cho. Duh. Every initiate had learned it as a youngling. Basic fundamentals. Attacks, parries, angles, the advantages of disciplining oneself in keeping things simple. It worked for some. Kennan found that it sorely lacked the necessary element of flash. It was so very blah. Boring. Nevertheless…

Two pages answering the following questions: What makes Shii-Cho unique among the Forms, and why has it endured for so long? What do masters of the form seek to emulate?

He almost laughed out loud before he remembered Du Mahn's instruction to not make any loud noises. What made it unique? Well, he thought with a rueful smirk, it's the easiest of the seven and also the least exciting.

Why did it endure?

Um…

He sighed. Then he glanced at the rows of shelves branching off in every conceivable direction and sighed again.

The truth was, they had all been looking forward to this particular mod. Kennan found that he still was, in part, but after arriving at the Temple yesterday, his excitement had rapidly faded. Coruscant's cityscape was flashy and fast-paced and had held his attention for as long as it had taken them to land. Upon entering the Temple, he had been bombarded with the overwhelming presence of hundreds of Jedi flitting about in the Force and had literally stepped back outside to take a large breath of stale city air just to calm his senses.

Coruscant was… different. Master Mahn had made them all promise to be positive about their short stint there, and so he was going to try and find something about the place to enjoy. But it wasn't home. Not even close. And he was far from comfortable.

"Can I help you with something?"

Kennan turned and found Master Nu staring at him with a gentle smile. Caught completely off-guard, he could only blink at the old librarian. When she chuckled at him, he managed a dignified frown. "I'm just starting…" he muttered, looking away and pretending to know which direction he needed to go to find research materials relevant to his homework. His act immediately backfired on him.

"If I may offer a suggestion," Master Nu said, directing her words at his retreating back. "Most of the materials focusing on lightsaber forms are down the First Hall behind me, about half way down in the rows on the right. You may look at anything so long as it is not restricted."

Turning around and trying not to blush, he caught her eyes again. "Thank you, master," he mumbled, moving past her. His frown deepened when she reached out and laid a bony hand on his shoulder. "Yes, master?"

Master Nu was looking at him with a serious expression on her face, which made him nervous. "What is your name, young man?"

Kennan studied her for a moment, trying to decide if she was just asking out of obligation or because she genuinely wanted to know. Her eyes looked interested enough and her attention wasn't wavering, so he gave her a tiny shrug and answered. "Kennan Taanzer. I'm in the Hawkbat Clan." He mentally swatted himself for adding the last bit. She would already probably know that part if she had an Academy schedule. In fact, she probably already had their roster and his picture and was only asking to be nice.

But she smiled and it seemed real, so he indulged her. "Nice to meet you Kennan. I'm glad that you and your clan mates are able to visit us for a bit."

Suuuuure you are. Kennan pasted on a small smile. "Glad to be here."

Master Nu's smile started looking a little smirkier. "No. You're not," she said, lifting a brow and staring down her nose at him. "But I appreciate the effort to be courteous nonetheless. Now why don't you take a look down that hall and I'll send someone along shortly who may be able to help you fine-point your research."

Blinking at her flat-out calling of his bluff, it took him a moment to stutter out an answer. "Oh no, master, I'll be fine without… help…" But she was already wandering over to where Jiro stood with a lost look on his face, staring blankly at the maze of shelves. He sighed again and then followed the old librarian's directions.

Soon enough, he had pinpointed about a dozen shelves of datapads glowing brightly under the heading "Shii-Cho [Form 1] – Way of the Sarlacc". Sarlacc? Kennan had no clue what a Sarlacc was, but he intended to find out. Perhaps that was what masters of the form sought to emulate. He wandered over to a catalog terminal and ran a search. He groaned at the results. Most of the better looking sources were located in the Third Hall directly opposite the First. I guess I'll know this library pretty well before we leave again.

It took him more than a few minutes to locate the section on Outer Rim territories, but at least it was a small section and easy to navigate. As he browsed through datapads, a long shadow fell across the aisle and he glanced towards its owner.

Dark brown eyes met his gaze and held it. The man was tall, darkly-robed, and wore a head of silvery-white hair. His entire demeanor instantly made Kennan uneasy, but when he tried to get a feel for the man with a light Force-probe, he was shocked to discover that the Jedi barely had a signature at all. What was there seemed weak and muted, a mere afterthought to the man himself. And it was shady.

Not dark, but definitely not light.

It made Kennan more curious than nervous, and the man seemed to notice this, because he chose that precise moment to speak. "I'm afraid you don't know me well enough to begin making assumptions."

Normally, Kennan would have instantly shifted into 'time to tread carefully' mode (this man had a voice smooth enough, confident enough, and pitched just right enough to trap anyone in its grip), but the bold accusation threw him into automatic defense instead. His eyes narrowed. "I wasn't making –"

"Really."

It wasn't a question and Kennan stuttered to a halt. "No." The man just stared at him. It struck Kennan then, who this man was supposed to be. "Are you my help?"

A single, silver brow ticked upward. "That depends," he said.

"On what?"

"Whether you think you need it."

Kennan took one look at the packed shelves, glanced back at the old man, and tried on what he hoped was a compromising sort of smile. "I think I might."

The man smiled at him then and Kennan found himself desperately wanting to not be alone with him anymore. Unfortunately, the blasted Temple-dweller was blocking his escape. "I think you do." Kennan tried not to twitch during the short pause that followed. He stepped to the side and watched as his supposed 'help' reached a calloused hand towards the shelf and plucked a datapad loose. "Start here. If you do not find this relevant to your research, then I'm afraid any further effort on my part will be wasted."

Kennan flicked the power switch and read the heading that flashed briefly before an index filled the screen. All You Need Know About Sarlaccs. There was a childish picture of the beast below the heading. He frowned and raised his head to tell the man that he wasn't a toddler, thank you very much, but his help had disappeared. "Huh."

Weird. Temple-dwelling Jedi were just weird.

He found a small study nook tucked away behind some shelves and opened up the first chapter, skeptically taking in the first few lines. Within minutes, Kennan's own datapad contained two pages of typed notes, more than a dozen unanswered questions, and his own sketched rendition of what a Sarlacc really looked like. It was monstrous, mostly hidden, and sported dozens of long sharp teeth.

It was not a pleasant beast.

It took him a full twenty minutes to hunt down his designated help again. The man was seated in his own hidden nook behind piles of materials and neat stacks of handwritten notes. Dark eyes flicked up when Kennan drew near. "Yes?"

Kennan held his gaze. "I have a question."

The Jedi leaned back in his seat, toying with the utensil in his hand. "Very well."

"Sarlaccs are dangerous," Kennan began. "How come Shii-Cho is mostly used for training younglings? If it's supposedly that dangerous –"

"You assume that its simplicity negates its effectiveness in a duel." The man lowered his gaze and began making notes again.

"Well…" Kennan frowned, feeling as though he was being partially dismissed. Only worthy of half this man's attention. "Yes, I guess. It doesn't seem to resemble the animal at all."

The Jedi paused to skewer Kennan with an intense look. "Lightsaber forms do not begin with a weapon, boy. They do not begin with physical training or the desire to defeat a foe. Each form resembles a way of life. Shii-Cho is quite basic, yes, but what advantages does that give it? More importantly," the man returned to his notes, "what does that say about the Jedi who chooses to use it?"

Kennan smirked. "Well they would certainly have to be optimistic to think that something so simple can help them in a fight."

"An interesting observation. Perhaps you should start there and see where it takes you."

"Optimism is a poor tactic, master." Kennan flinched when dark eyes rose once more.

"So it is, but Shii-Cho is not founded on optimism. Sarlaccs are vicious, merciless beasts that somehow manage to live thousands upon thousands of years. I can say with utmost certainty that optimism is not in their nature." The man nodded towards the two datapads clutched in Kennan's hands. "Study the beast a little more, take note of its characteristics, and figure out why a person might want to emulate such a creature. I believe you'll find that while Form One does not begin with an optimistic outlook, it certainly lends itself to it."

Kennan watched the man dip his head once more towards his notes. There were about a dozen unanswered questions bouncing around in his head and not all of them were related to his assignment. Not anymore. But he didn't dare ask any of them. He only nodded his head in thanks even though the Jedi wasn't looking. "Yes, master."

"One last thing."

Sighing before he could stop himself, Kennan turned. "Yes?"

The Jedi refused to look up, but he gave one last piece of advice before dismissing him. "Find your other clan members and do this assignment together. I believe four heads are better than one, wouldn't you agree?"

He furrowed his brows. "But I don't think –"

"Do the instructions specify individual study and completion?"

"Well, not exactly, but –"

His help still didn't break from his notes. The man had even begun perusing an ancient looking book while he spoke. "Turn in your own essays, but collaborate on your research. You may not be a Jedi yet, but if you aspire to be one, I suggest you begin learning how to work as a team. You will be a part of an Order of members, young man, not an Order unto yourself."

Kennan blinked.

If he wanted to be a Jedi? If he wanted to be a Jedi? Did this man know who he was talking to? Kennan was destined to be a Temple reject and nothing more.

Nevertheless…

He blinked again. "Yes, master," he muttered before hurrying away. When he reached his nook once more, he paused, set his datapads down, and went to find the others.

***oo***

"I don't like it."

Anakin glanced at Obi-wan as they walked across the sprawling courtyard just outside of the Senate building. The hearing had finally ended after close to five hours of deliberations and debates. His former master had informed him that, all things considered, the meeting had actually been shorter than expected. He had also informed him more than once that he now had a bad feeling.

"What, exactly, don't you like?" Anakin asked, close to the end of his patience. He had dealt with the man's ridiculous bad feelings for most of his life and had, for the most part, acquired an impressive amount of patience when dealing with Obi-wan in a mood. Today, however, was proving to be the exception. "You've been muttering under your breath since we left."

Obi-wan shot him a half-hearted glare before sighing. "The Chancellor is acquiring too much power. I thought that after recent developments, the Senate would settle down and begin to delegate authority back to how it had been before. It seems that he's gained their trust over the course of this war and now they can't get enough of him."

"Master," Anakin ground out. "He's a wise man and genuinely cares. Maybe it's not such a bad thing for one man to carry most of the vote instead of hundreds of people settling on majorities. It's not as if he has complete control yet."

"Emphasis on yet." They fell silent for a few steps before Obi-wan shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. "Did you accept his invitation?"

Anakin looked at him, disbelief clear on his face. "Um, yeah master, of course I did. He's the Chancellor. If he offers me lunch, it's not exactly polite to refuse."

This drew a fond smile from his old master. "I suppose not. Just… be careful, Anakin. The man is a politician, and a very good one at that."

"Master, just because he's a politician…"

"Yes, yes, yes, I know," Obi-wan quickly butt in, smirking. They reached the end of the courtyard where a row of air taxi's waited below the busy traffic lanes. The older Jedi looked up, squinting in the harsh afternoon glare. The sky was clear and the sun's rays were ricocheting every which way as they bounced off of buildings, speeders, and other larger forms of transportation. With that much light, his auburn hair was brighter than usual and the gray streaks near his temples much more prominent.

Anakin frowned and looked away. "Why don't you like him, master?"

Obi-wan caught the subdued undercurrent and quickly glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"

The young Jedi shrugged. "He's always been good to me, encouraging me, and pulling for me when a lot of other people aren't. I just… I want to trust him."

Obi-wan's brow furrowed. "I thought you already did."

"I thought I did…"

"But?"

Anakin caught his friend's eyes again. "You don't, and you're usually better at reading people than I am. With the obvious exception of Dooku, of course."

Obi-wan rolled his eyes. "How about you go enjoy your lunch and we can talk about it afterward." He moved towards one of the taxis.

"Where are you going?"

"Dex left me a message yesterday. Said a friend of mine is on planet and wants to see me. Apparently she's visiting the diner at the same time every day until I show up."

"She?"

Obi-wan gave Anakin a look. "Not that kind of friend. I have an idea of who it might be."

"Hmm." Anakin looked thoughtful for a moment before he smirked and made for his own taxi. With a wave over his shoulder, he left the older man behind. "Enjoy your date, master!"

Obi-wan frowned at his back. "Anakin! It's not a – " The door shut and Anakin's taxi pulled away, smoothly sliding into the lower levels of traffic before disappearing from view. Obi-wan pursed his lips, shook his head and opened a door.

"I need to go to CoCo Town, please."

"Very well, sir."

CoCo Town looked even more dilapidated than usual. Since it was located in the industrial district, Obi-wan figured it would never present itself as anything fancy, but before the war had begun it had at least been presentable. Now there were bits of litter along most of the byways in addition to heaps of scrap metal that had been abandoned by the district's janitorial crew. As he drew near to his destination, Obi-wan studied its rusty walls and water-stained roof with a grim smile. Dex's prized possession was beginning to show its age, as well as signs of neglect.

He still grinned like an idiot when he entered and caught sight of the broad-shouldered cook.

"Obi-wan! Welcome, welcome!"

He ambled over to the counter and leaned against it. "It's been too long, my friend," he said, continuing to smile.

The besalisk gave him a shrewd onceover before returning his attention to piling food onto plates. "That it has. You've got those funny gray hairs now, and still so young. Been travelling much?"

Obi-wan gave him a long-suffering look and then rolled his eyes when his friend only chuckled. "Funny, Dex. You're hilarious. Yes, I am going prematurely gray and yes, I've already resigned myself to it. I'd rather not talk about my travels at the moment."

"Stubborn old boy." They shared a brief, meaningful glance, one in which Obi-wan resolutely held his ground while Dex looked straight through him. The hard-edged cook frowned openly, started to say something, and then stopped himself. Obi-wan showed his appreciation with a tiny smirk.

"I'm still standing, Dex," he murmured.

"Barely, boy. Just barely." Dex jerked his head towards a spot behind the Jedi. "Your friend is in the corner. She's a skittish one, though her head's just as hard as yours, I wager. I'll bring you a drink soon as I'm finished here."

Obi-wan grit his teeth. "That's not necessary –"

"Don't make me ask, boy."

The Jedi snapped his mouth shut. With a sharp smile, Dex scooped up the plates and moved away. Obi-wan glared after him a moment and then turned towards the table his friend had indicated. Unsurprised by who occupied it, he sighed and began to weave his way towards it. When he stood beside it, he openly frowned.

"Ventress."

"Kenobi."

He sat.

"You are aware that you're a wanted woman, correct?" He asked because he was a Jedi. They both knew that he wouldn't act on it.

Ventress voiced that very fact with a saucy smile. "Of course. That's why I contacted you. The Order's not-so-perfect Jedi."

Obi-wan barely suppressed a flinch and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Ventress? Why are you here and, more importantly, why ask for me?"

The smile puckered into a smirk. "Touchy, touchy…"

When she only continued to stare at him, Obi-wan glanced away and pursed his lips. "I'm here and I'm listening."

Ventress snorted at his obvious lack of patience. "It seems I've caught you at a bad time. Perhaps we should meet later."

Obi-wan barely suppressed yet another sigh. It seemed the galaxy was full of things to be sighed at. "Now is fine, but be brief if you can." Surprisingly, the former Sith looked concerned. For him or for something else, he wasn't certain and he preferred not to dwell on it. "Ventress…"

She blinked. "Very well. I'll get straight to the point, then. Tyranus has disappeared, and I was hoping you might have heard something."

Obi-wan's first reaction was a disbelieving laugh at the fact that Ventress was asking a Jedi for intel. His second reaction was pure curiosity. "You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid. The Sith name 'Tyranus' has made the rounds, but we have yet to match the name to a face."

Ventress blinked. Then she blinked again. "You don't know?"

Obi-wan shifted in his seat, growing agitated. "I would very much like to."

"That… surprises me."

"Contrary to popular belief there are more than a few individuals in this heavily populated galaxy that manage to give the Order the slip."

Ventress only smiled. "You don't need to tell me that."

The Jedi smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. Most of these individuals remain nameless and don't make a habit of meeting up with their enemies every few months to catch up on wartime gossip." He made a show of checking the chrono on the wall. "You have ten minutes to keep fishing, but unless you start sharing what you know, I can't promise you'll catch much."

Her smile flattened out and she stared at him for a moment before nodding. "In more public circles, he goes by Count Dooku."

Obi-wan sat silently for more than a few minutes before muttering, "Well that answers a lot of questions." Directing his attention towards Ventress once more, he added, "Yes. I may have heard a few things."

Now it was Ventress's turn to frown. "Kenobi…"

The Jedi sat back and let his fingers drum casually on the table between them. He smiled, glancing to the side as Dex lumbered over to their corner with two drinks in hand. He set the larger one down in front of Obi-wan with a stern look and then placed a tall, skinny glass in front of the equally-lean assassin. "They're on the house today." He stopped Obi-wan's protest with another stern look. "No arguing." Then he lumbered off.

Neither of them spoke as they sipped at their drinks. Obi-wan knew that his wasn't of the stronger variety, but Dex had definitely laced it with something.

"What have you heard?"

He looked at Ventress again. "I can't say much at the moment, but I'll do my best to keep you in the loop."

The familiar half-sneer half-snarl flashed across the former Sith's face. "That's it? I give you something solid you can dig your teeth into and you give me nothing in return?"

"It's complicated."

At this, Ventress laughed. It was a throaty, condescending noise that made him grit his teeth. "No. No, it's not, but you always like to think it is, don't you? So predictable."

Obi-wan refused to be baited. "Why are you hunting him?"

"Don't be daft, Kenobi," she said. "He drops off the radar and months later the war begins to turn in the Republic's favor? You and I both know that's no coincidence. The galaxy is changing, loyalties are shifting and I want to end up in the best position possible when it's all over."

Obi-wan was surprised at her blunt honesty. "And you think Dooku is the one to help you accomplish that?"

Ventress muttered something under her breath before answering. "He'll likely get himself killed if his old master finds him. Betrayal was a foolish move for him to make, but it's the only time he ever did something stupid. He's a smart man, and a crafty one. I'm sure you'd agree that whatever happens moving forward, he'll do his best to swing things in his favor."

"You're a bounty hunter, Ventress. It doesn't matter which side wins. There will always be those looking for guns for hire."

"You know more than you're letting on."

Obi-wan smiled at the quick change of topic. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." He took another drink of the swill in front of him, wincing at the sharp flavor. "Force, Dex…"

Ventress huffed in frustration. "Look, just… I'll be around. You know how to find me."

He ticked a brow at her. "What makes you certain that I will?"

This drew another lazy smile from her. "Don't be ridiculous. I've been your pet project ever since we ran into each other all those years ago. I'll never be rid of you."

He watched her stand up, frowning at the fact that she knew him that well. Was he really so obvious? Even so… she was right. He did know how to find her and he probably would if he decided she should know anything regarding her former master. She reminded him too much of Anakin, or what Anakin might have been, to just let her go.

"Until next time, Kenobi."

He grunted in dismissal and watched her leave. Then he eyed what remained of his drink, downed it in one go, and exited the diner.

***oo***

Yan took a steadying breath and leaned back, surveying the copious piles of notes and bookmarked volumes he'd organized into stacks. Aside from the initiate that Jocasta had insisted he help (more so forced upon him), he'd been able to research at a steady clip for almost four hours. What he'd found was unsettling. He planned to pursue things further after a short recess, but until then, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop mulling things over unless he found a suitable distraction.

Possessing an overactive, highly analytical brain could be irritating at times.

With a stifled groan, Yan rose to his feet and steadfastly ignored the various pops and creaks that sounded from his straightening joints. Getting old was also irritating. And unavoidable, so he stopped dwelling on it. The small chrono on his wrist told him it was early afternoon and his empty stomach told him he needed food. He withdrew two of Jocasta's rolls from his robes and unwrapped them. Still standing, he began to eat as he took out his loaner comm unit.

"Yes?"

"Master Mundi," he greeted, keeping his voice soft. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything…"

"Nothing important."

"Good. Tell me, what are my chances of acquiring a practice saber for an hour or so?"

There was a lengthy pause on the other end and the longer it lasted, the lower his chances seemed to fall. Finally, Ki-adi answered. "Let me see what I can do. I'm sure you understand my hesitancy."

"Of course," he intoned, careful to keep his voice clear of the irritation he felt.

"Give me a few minutes."

The line went quiet and Yan sighed. He sat down and picked up an article, studying it as he waited. He'd been to the Bogden system once many years ago, and he hardly remembered anything about it. It was a system of little note regarding the current state of the galaxy. Nothing truly strategic or beneficial to claim as far as the Republic and the Separatists were concerned. Its population was average, its natives uninterested in taking sides, and the only excitement it could brag about was the number of spice-smugglers that used its location as a point of exchange. Hardly worth a second glance. And yet…

Yan was unsettled. Deeply unsettled. He really hadn't found anything until he'd begun to look at local news stations and the few village reports that were available. Then Bogden began to spill its secrets. On the surface, what he found seemed disconnected from the war and political unrest that much of the galaxy was steeped in. Most might set it aside.

For a person of Yan's varied studies and experiences, however, it was significant. And it made complete sense where Jocasta Nu was concerned. That thought finally brought a smile to Yan's face. He really didn't know much of anything yet, but what he had uncovered made Jocasta's lack of devotion to the Code unsurprising. He suddenly decided that he needed to talk to her. Right as Yan stood to go find her, the comm unit chirped at him.

He glared at it before answering. "Yes."

"I spoke with a few members of the Council and we agreed that you may be allowed one hour a day so long as it is supervised and either before or after regular hours."

Yan couldn't refrain from an eye roll, though Ki-adi didn't sound entirely pleased either. "Supervised by whom?"

"Master Drallig."

He had to laugh a little. "Do you expect him to detain me if the situation requires it?"

"He is the Order's Battlemaster," the Jedi argued.

"I might suggest the Master of the Order himself."

"He refused. Apparently you are too much of a temptation for him to do something very 'un-Jedi-like'. His words, no one else's." Yan thought Ki-adi might be smiling. "Truthfully? Don't think you're fooling anyone. We don't doubt Cin's skill, Dooku. We also very much respect your own. We just don't think you'll give us any trouble."

Yan sighed. "I suppose you're right. Very well. I will let you know when I wish to be there." He ended the call and went in search of Jocasta. It took longer than expected to find an opportunity to talk with her. Finding her was easy, but trying to remain unseen was proving difficult. He eventually snuck into her quarters and waited for her to show up.

When she did, she caught him sifting through the mess of flimsi lying across her desk. "Yan," she greeted, shooting him a disapproving glare.

He merely smirked. "Did you honestly expect me not to snoop?"

"No, but I do expect a modicum of decorum out of you once in a while," she sniped. "What is it?"

"Who is he?" No need to beat around the bush. Not with her.

She blinked at him, clearly not understanding. "Who is who, Yan? You'll have to be specific."

He leaned back, attempting to appear as if his heart weren't hammering out a heavy beat inside of his chest. "Bogden. I had to delve into local news stations to find anything worth looking at and it appears there's a small faction of dissenters roaming the planet. There isn't anything specific available, but their leader… he holds some interesting views."

Jocasta held his gaze. "I'm surprised he let himself be interviewed. He usually isn't given to that sort of thing."

Yan waved it off, absently shuffling through the papers on her desk. "No, no, not him. But they were able to interview a couple of his men."

Silence reigned before Jocasta cleared her throat. "And?"

Yan's jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it. His back ached from the hours of studying and his hand was sore from notetaking. His heart was still out of control and now his gut was beginning to twist itself into an unfamiliar tangle of knots. But he raised his head and stared the older woman down anyway. "I think I understand why you don't follow the Code. What I would like to know now is why you've chosen to follow this man."

Jocasta smiled. "That's going to take some time to explain."

"I have time."

She laughed a little and stepped towards the door. "You do, yes, but I am currently working, so it will have to wait just a bit longer. Come back this evening and we'll chat. Agreed?"

Yan nodded and watched her leave. He had a feeling his world was about to be shattered and he was not prepared for that to happen. Not again.

"Perhaps nothing to fear from a darker shadow, you have. But seek a darker shadow, you do not. Seek the shadow's source, you do. The black darkness. A difference, there is. A shadow, that is not."

Yoda's admonishment had never left him. The old troll had warned him to stop delving into wicked things, to stop hunting the source of all darkness and instead to turn his attentions to brighter and better treasures. And he had, for a time. But his searching proved fruitless and he'd gone back to the true duties of a Jedi Sentinel: to search out deception and bring the dark to light so that it could be destroyed.

And then he'd found power and run after it. For a time. As a Sith apprentice, he'd experienced things he now wanted to forget and done things he very much regretted. He knew, intimately, what hell must be like. Yan understood the term slavery on a very deep level and he could almost sympathize with the Skywalker brat.

His world had been shattered then. Destroyed and rebuilt in the fashion of Sidious' designs. The man was a monster. Smart, sinister, cold and calculating…

"No," Yan bit out. "You don't own me anymore."

But he knew better. Speaking those words into the silence was proof. Yan would never be free of the man…

"Tell me, Mister… uh… Deesh, is it?"

"That's what they call me, yeah."

"You're a runner?"

"Former runner, my man. Though if you're lookin' for a good rub, I could still show you where to find some."

"Charming. Back to the question… why him? Everyone says he's a fine speaker and a gentleman, if a bit rough around the edges, but why the big fuss?"

"He's good."

"Pardon?"

"He's a good man. Good on another level. Nothin' bad in the guy. I've never seen that before."

Yan let the interview play in his head over and over and over. It'd been the only audio recording available; a short interview with a spice smuggler turned follower of this no-name man out in the middle of take-no-sides Bogden. Insignificant, right?

"Nothin' bad in the guy. I've never seen that before."

Yan knew darkness. What he didn't know very well yet was light.