A Living Nightmare

  Chapter 17: Training Interrupted

  “Let me give you a little nugget of truth, my acolytes, The Force doesn’t dictate a path; it only illuminates what already lies inside your heart. And a righteous anger burns in all of you.”

  6BBY - Six Months Later

  Location: Fortress Inquisitorius - Sublevel 2

  Sublevel 2 was a labyrinth of cold durasteel corridors illuminated by harsh, flickering overhead lights. The walls were paneled in a charcoal-black metal, each section stamped with numeric designations that hinted at the sprawling complexity of Fortress Inquisitorius. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale recirculated oxygen, giving everything a faint chemical tang. Droid sentinels hovered at key intersections, quietly observing traffic, while a smattering of stormtroopers stood at attention, their polished helmets reflecting the relentless glow.

  This level served as a training ground for Force-sensitive children—some recruited through deals, others taken against their parents’ will. Droid instructors handled most lessons, their mechanical voices unyielding in their insistence on discipline and precision. Here, Galen, now five years old, struggled to keep up with coursework more suited to advanced teenagers. He filed into a makeshift classroom—little more than a bare, open space with a holo-projector in the center—flanked by six other initiates. Some were human, others alien, each carrying their own scars and secrets.

  A protocol droid in the front hummed to life, projecting a three-dimensional star map onto the floor.

  “Today’s primary subject: gravitational well mechanics and Phase 4 hyperlane disruptions,” it droned, monotone and emotionless.

  Galen’s head spun. He might have been bright for his age, but the Empire demanded too much too soon.

  “Why do we have to learn this?” asked Tazza, a Togruta girl of twelve. Her striped lekku twitched with annoyance. “We’re not nav officers, we’re…” She hesitated, glancing around for a moment. “We’re just kids.”

  “Yeah, kids with a special ‘gift,’” retorted Corvan, a Zabrak boy of about twelve, absently rubbing a horn on his forehead. “You really think they’re letting us off easy?”

  A wiry Rodian named Kimmar, only eight years old, tapped the hilt of a training baton clipped to his belt. “I heard they want us to understand how fleets move, so we can anticipate their positions,” he said in a reedy voice. “Or something like that.”

  Sresh, a nine-year-old Twi’lek with pale blue skin, snorted. “That’s what they said about the last lesson, too. Memory implants, infiltration strategies… We’re like, I don’t know, mini-spies?”

  “Nah,” interrupted Fevi, a Mirialan girl of thirteen who had dark geometric tattoos decorating her cheeks. “Spies get to go outside. We’re stuck here until we ‘graduate’—” She made sarcastic air quotes with her fingers. “—or vanish like Bondio did.”

  At that comment, a heavy silence fell across the group. The memory of Bondio’s abrupt disappearance still stung. No one had received a straight answer about where he went—or if he was even alive.

  “So don’t fail,” Fevi added quietly, glancing at Galen with a mixture of concern and disdain.

  Norzok, the oldest at fifteen and a boisterous human with short-cropped dark hair, nudged Kimmar aside. “Hey, move it, squeaker,” he said before turning to Galen. A contemptuous grin spread across his face. “And look who’s here—Little Brother. The special guest of the Inquisitor. Heard he’s coming again today.”

  Galen tried not to shrink under Norzok’s gaze. “I—I’m not special,” he said, fists clenched at his sides. “I didn’t ask for him to come.”

  “You sure don’t act like you hate it,” Norzok shot back, crossing his arms. “Bet you get private lessons, fancy meals. Think you’re so important?”

  A flicker of anger tugged at Galen, but he forced it down, recalling his mother’s words about being nice. “He just checks on my progress,” he muttered. “That’s all.”

  Tazza exhaled in frustration. “Would you all shut up? I’m trying to figure out what the droid is saying about singularity thresholds.” She grimaced. “This is way beyond what I learned at home.”

  Corvan sighed. “At least you had a home. Some of us were snatched too young to remember anything else.”

  “Lucky you,” Fevi grumbled. “Memories are overrated anyway.”

  Norzok kicked at the base of the holo-projector stand, then leaned toward Galen. “You keep messing up, you’ll end up just like Bondio. You even know where they took him? Heard it’s some science lab on Eriadu. Or maybe they fed him to rancors. Could be anything.”

  Galen’s eyes widened in alarm. He opened his mouth to retort, but Tazza cut him off. “Stop being such a jerk, Norzok. You don’t know anything.” She threw Galen an apologetic glance, but said no more.

  Kimmar piped up again, voice wavering. “I really hope we don’t fail. I kinda like some of this stuff. It’s cool to learn about starships…”

  “Starships?” Sresh repeated, shaking his head. “You do realize that’s just the Empire training us to fight its wars, right?”

  “It’s always war with these guys,” Fevi muttered. “Maybe we’re the next wave of… what do they call them? Inquisitors?”

  “We’re not that special,” Tazza said softly, sounding almost wistful.

  Corvan scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I’m plenty special.”

  “And I’m the king of Malastare,” Norzok mocked, though there was a wry glint in his eye. “I’m proud of my past. Learned a lot picking pockets and outrunning Enforcers. That’s how you get strong.”

  The tension built as the droid rambled on about hyperlane disruptions, oblivious to the children’s whispered quarrels. Eventually, the lesson ended, signaled by a harsh tone blaring from a wall-mounted speaker. “Mid-day break,” announced the droid. “Reassembly in one standard hour.”

  Everyone drifted apart—some to the mess hall, others to the cramped rooms they called home. Galen, clutching a small data pad in his hands, trudged toward his own dormitory, shoulders sagging. The entire morning had left him exhausted, more from the emotional strain than the advanced theories.

  When he reached his door, a tall stormtrooper stood waiting, helmet tilted in his direction. The polished white armor caught the overhead lights in sharp reflections, but Galen recognized the trooper’s stance immediately.

  “Captain TK-421!” he exclaimed, voice cracking with the first genuine spark of excitement he’d felt all day.

  The stormtrooper relaxed slightly, lowering his weapon. “Hey, kid. Been a while.”

  Galen approached, remembering to keep his tone polite and controlled. “How was your last month? Did you—uh, do anything interesting?” He forced a hopeful smile, recalling how the staff insisted he show courtesy.

  TK-421 gave a dry chuckle that echoed behind his helmet’s modulator. “Just training, drills, the usual. Some mind-numbing paperwork, too. Honestly, I’d trade it to be in an academy like this. At least you get to learn something new every day.”

  Galen’s stomach twisted at the idea that anyone would voluntarily join this place. “It’s… tough,” he admitted, sparing a glance at the corridor behind them where a few troopers patrolled. “And some of the kids are… not nice.”

  “That’s life, kid,” the captain answered. “C’mon. The Inquisitor’s waiting on Sublevel 3.”

  Galen nodded, following TK-421 toward a lift at the end of the hallway. The high ceilings, black walls, and constant hum of droid activity pressed in on him, fueling a familiar mix of dread and anger. Every month, the 14th Brother inspected him. Every month, Galen came away feeling more isolated than before. This time, though, a faint hope glimmered in his mind. Maybe the Inquisitor would have news of his mother… or at least answers as to why he had to suffer through these lessons day after day.

  He stepped onto the lift, the stormtrooper close behind. As the doors slid shut, Galen stole one last glance at the sublevel he was leaving. Norzok and the others might have teased him, but at least they were fellow captives in this twisted labyrinth. On Sublevel 3, he would stand alone before the 14th Brother’s scrutiny once again.

  Location: Fortress Inquisitorius - Sublevel 3

  I let my hand rest on the pommel of the recently collected lightsaber hilt, my gaze—or what passed for it—fixed on Galen. His small frame shivered slightly under the weight of the moment. I could sense the tension thrumming through him like plucked string wire. Curious to see how his last month had truly gone, I reached out with the Force, pressing gently but insistently into his mind.

  Images and emotions poured through in a heated rush: cramped corridors, advanced lessons he barely understood, cruel whispers from children older than he, and the sharp reprimands of droids who cared nothing for a five-year-old’s limits. A cluster of distinct faces crystallized—the boy named Norzok, who sneered and taunted at every opportunity; a Togruta girl, Tazza, who tried to help but stayed distant out of fear; that icy chill of failure overshadowing them all. I felt Galen’s anger flare, mixed with profound loneliness. It twisted in my gut, renewing my own sense of fury.

  For a split second, my thoughts flicked to Norzok. The name surfaced with a sting of recognition. He was the little thief I’d apprehended on Malastare some time ago, brazenly boasting about his cunning. Back then, he had tried to shoot me before jumping out a window in hopes to run away, foolishly believing no one could corner him. Now he fancied himself the alpha among these recruits, bullying those weaker than him—particularly Galen. I almost laughed at the irony: he had no idea that the same Inquisitor who’d hunted him on Malastare was the one standing here in the dark shell of a helmet. One day, I decided, Norzok would need a proper reality check.

  I withdrew from Galen’s mind, furious at more than just the children. The staff, too, had pushed the boy beyond reason—advanced coursework fit for adolescents, punishment for the smallest missteps, deliberate sabotage like cutting the power to his chronometer. It reeked of the Empire’s typical disregard for anyone too young or powerless to fight back. And yet, none of that changed why we were here: to mold him, or break him, into something the Empire could use.

  Galen trembled under my scrutiny, his eyes beginning to water. I brushed away my anger, burying it deep beneath the dark side’s calm, and lifted my saber hilt just enough for him to notice. He steadied himself at the sight, lips pressed into a thin line.

  “Don’t worry about the others kiddo,” I said at last, voice distorted through my vocoder. “Let them think what they want. You and I have work to do.”

  I swapped my senses over Galen’s shoulder to TK-421, who waited at the edge of the chamber with arms folded. His presence reminded me that, despite all my grievances, I wasn’t entirely alone in this swirling storm of Imperial madness. Then I turned my attention fully back to Galen. The boy swallowed hard, bracing for the lesson ahead.

  “Use this one,” I said, holding out the saber for him to take.

  The boy took the saber from my hands, drawing it to himself with a brief flick of the Force. It was faster than he’d managed in our last session, and I felt a ripple of satisfaction. I couldn’t help the small smile that crossed my lips. He was improving steadily, no matter how severely the staff or the other initiates tried to push him down.

  As Galen held the hilt, an echo of an old conversation rattled through my mind:

  “The Project’s overall plan is for the children to be thoroughly educated until they turn sixteen standard years old,” the Grand Inquisitor had said. “Then, train them in the ways of the Dark Side until necessary.”

  I recalled our meeting at the Resurgent Rancor—a hole-in-the-wall bar in Coruscant’s lower levels. Vader had ordered him to brief me on Project Harvester, a directive whose aims always struck me as unnerving. The Pau’an leaned in over the neon-lit countertop, swirling a drink of Tryndichol and Jumma juice—a potent mix that could kill a human, but merely intoxicated him.

  “You disagree with that plan?” I had asked quietly, wary of eavesdroppers even in that dim, sticky-floored cantina.

  “Who am I to contend with the words of our Emperor?” he retorted, his elongated features twisting into a mirthless smile. Then he sighed. “Off the record, yes. It’s not the same as Jedi training, and we Inquisitors aren’t exactly Jedi. Plus… we both know why they need to be trained so late.”

  He didn’t have to elaborate. We both understood the Emperor feared anything he couldn’t fully control. By delaying the age at which these children truly learned to wield the Force, he limited their ability to surpass his authority. A half-trained child might still become formidable, but only under tight oversight. As for us Inquisitors—should we ever grow too powerful, we would be no more than pawns in his game, easy enough to discard.

  Back in the present, I watched Galen shift his stance, turning the saber hilt over in his hands. He studied the intricacies of its design, oblivious to the swirling machinations that had placed him here. Training him this early was in direct violation of Project Harvester’s mission statement. We fed the entire fortress staff the lie that a child so strong in the Force required direct supervision. Having Darth Vader himself endorse it helped smooth things over, and we knew the Emperor’s spies would inform him the moment we overstepped our bounds. So far, nothing had come of it, so we stayed the course.

  Every month, I showed the boy what little I knew—though I was nowhere near as skilled as Vader or the rest. The blind leading the blind, in the truest sense. After all, how could I teach him anything when I barely survived half the battles I fought myself? The answer was surprisingly simple: physical preparation.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Feel the connection,” I said, resting a gloved hand on his shoulder. “The crystal inside the saber… the energy swirling around us. It’s all the same. The Force flows through every atom of this blade, through you, through me—just in different ways. I see differently than you,” I added, tapping the side of my helmet. “But the principle remains. You sense the current, follow it, and shape it to your will.”

  He nodded, pressing the activation switch. A brilliant blue blade ignited with a soft hum, sized for his somewhat lanky frame. He was tall for his age, all long arms and legs that didn’t quite match his coordination yet.

  “Excellent,” I murmured, stepping back. “Now, copy what I do.”

  I beckoned to Captain TK-421, who stood watch near the edge of the room. “Captain, set your blaster for stun, if you please.”

  TK-421 inclined his head and switched the weapon’s settings. My grip on the hilt at my belt tightened slightly—memories of miscalculated training sessions flashed through my mind, but I pushed them aside. Galen needed to learn how to defend himself, even against something as small as a stun blast.

  “Two shots at me,” I instructed, “then two at him.”

  Galen’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to shoot at me?” He glanced from the trooper to me, alarm clear in his expression. “What if—?”

  He broke off when I turned, my helmet and armor coming into full view. I didn’t move a muscle, but the imposing silhouette was enough to make him step back in fear. I felt a twinge of regret at intimidating him—he was just a child, after all. Letting out a quiet sigh, I reached up and twisted the seals on my helmet, lifting it free.

  “I forget I have this thing on sometimes,” I said, offering him the most reassuring smile I could manage. “Got so used to wearing it that I don’t realize how unsettling it can be.”

  TK-421 gave a short laugh. “Trust me, sir, I feel the same. Bucket duty twenty-four-seven isn’t exactly comforting.”

  I turned my attention back to Galen, letting him see my uncovered face. “You’ll be fine,” I said softly. “Trust me. I’ll show you how to block or redirect the stun blasts—just follow my moves, all right?”

  Galen swallowed, then nodded, knuckles whitening on the saber hilt. I could sense his resolve fluttering in the Force, a mix of fear and determination. It reminded me of the first time I’d stood against an Imperial trooper, unsure if I’d survive the encounter. I didn’t just survive, I overwhelmed them. I played with them, toyed with them like they were nothing. At least the Captain has no hard feelings.

  “Good,” I said. “Now, let’s see if you can follow my moves, okay Galen?”

  I held the hilt of my own saber loosely and gestured for the captain to find a comfortable firing position. Galen’s eyes darted between us, as though expecting the first stun blast any second.

  “All right, kid,” I said softly. “First rule: keep your blade angled in front of you. It’s not just about blocking a bolt; it’s about guiding it away. If you try to meet it head-on, you might get overpowered. Instead, you want to deflect.”

  TK-421 raised his weapon, then paused. “Should I give a countdown, sir?”

  I rolled my shoulders, loosening tension across my back. “If you like. But life rarely gives you a warning before it shoots. So, Galen…” I stepped beside him and shifted his hands slightly on the hilt. “Elbows relaxed, feet planted a little wider. Good. Don’t lock your knees—you’ll need to pivot.”

  The boy nodded, attempting to mimic my stance. The blue blade crackled lightly in the still air. He swallowed, looking back to the captain. “I—I’m ready.”

  TK-421 threw me a sidelong glance. “You sure? I can still count it down.”

  I smirked under my breath. “Captain, have I ever told you that you’re too chatty for an Imperial trooper?”

  He chuckled. “I figure I have to make up for a certain someone’s stoic attitude.”

  “Stoic?” I lifted an eyebrow. “If I recall, your last training session involved you shouting expletives the entire time you fired at me.”

  TK-421 let out a bark of laughter. “That’s because you dragged me out of bed at oh-four-hundred, sir!”

  “Sorry I couldn’t sleep and the training droids don’t exactly make for great conversation.” I shook my head and turned my focus back to Galen. “Ignore us, kid. Now, get ready. Captain, two stun bolts, aim for me first.”

  The trooper shifted stance, leveled his blaster, and fired. I instinctively lifted my saber, nudging the bolts aside in quick, fluid arcs. They sparked against the chamber walls, fizzling out harmlessly. Galen gasped, wide-eyed, but I offered him a small nod of confidence.

  “Your turn,” I said, stepping back. “Remember: tilt the blade, don’t meet it straight on.”

  Galen tensed, tiny beads of sweat forming at his hairline. TK-421 obliged, aiming the blaster at the boy. Without warning, he fired two blasts in rapid succession. Galen lifted the saber a fraction too late for the first—managing only a partial deflection that grazed his shoulder. He yelped, staggering from the sting but not truly harmed. The second bolt he knocked aside more cleanly, sending it sizzling into the ceiling.

  “Nice recovery,” I said quickly, putting a hand on Galen’s back to steady him. “See? You learn fast. Now, let’s correct your timing.” I moved his elbow a fraction higher. “You have to anticipate the shot, feel the Captain’s intent through the Force. React before he actually pulls the trigger.”

  TK-421 lowered his weapon. “You all right, kid?”

  Galen blinked a few times, rubbing his shoulder. “It—it burned a little.”

  “Stun’s not fun,” the captain said with a rueful shrug. “But hey, you did better than I expected.”

  The boy looked down, obviously trying to hide an embarrassed flush. “Thanks… I guess.”

  I lifted my own saber hilt again. “Let’s go again. This time, I’ll demonstrate the block side-by-side with you.” I offered a brief nod to TK-421. “Captain, do me a favor and try to be a bit… unpredictable.”

  He grinned behind his helmet, and I could almost picture the smug look on his face. “You want unpredictable, sir? You got it.”

  Turning back to Galen, I summoned an encouraging tone. “Breathe. Focus on the tingle in the air—the disturbance just before a shot fires. Trust your instincts more than your eyes.”

  Galen’s grip tightened, and for a moment, I sensed the flicker of resolve in him.

  I felt the tension building in the training chamber as we kept going. Galen was determined to prove he could handle more than just a few stray stun bolts. His stance wavered less each time; he was quickening, reacting more in tune with the Force. Through my heightened senses, I perceived the flickers of his presence growing sharper, like a blade being forged.

  “Again,” I instructed the Captain. “Try a different angle.”

  TK-421 nodded, switching from a standard two-handed posture to a more off-center stance. I knew that meant he’d angle the shots in a way Galen wouldn’t fully anticipate. The boy tightened his grip, eyes darting between the trooper’s movements and my own.

  He managed to deflect the first shot with a slight upward tilt of the blade. The second, however, seared just past his hilt guard, leaving a burn mark on his training tunic. Galen cried out but held his ground, sweat trickling down his temple. I forced a thin smile of encouragement he couldn’t see through my helmet, then realized I’d already taken it off earlier; old habits die hard.

  “Good,” I said. “Focus. Don’t let the sting break your concentration—let it sharpen you.”

  The boy gritted his teeth, giving a shaky nod. TK-421, for all his joking earlier, appeared uneasy firing on a child, even with a stun setting. Still, he did as ordered. Another pair of blasts came in rapid succession. Galen blocked the first, knocked aside the second, and then…

  He crumpled. It was as though the strain of the past several volleys and his own adrenaline crash caught up with him at once. I sensed his aura flicker like a guttering flame in the Force. With a dull thud, he collapsed to the metal flooring, the saber tumbling from his grip.

  “Kid!” the Captain exclaimed, rushing over. “Are you—?”

  He checked for a pulse, carefully lifting Galen’s wrist. I could see the relief ripple off him when he realized the boy was merely unconscious.

  I sighed, forcing myself not to dwell on pity. “His training could be much, much harsher,” I said, voice colder than I intended. My mind wandered to thoughts of an alternate timeline—one where Galen had been raised in a cage, with droids trying to kill him at every turn. If Vader alone had found him, that might have been his everyday reality. The child didn’t know how lucky he was that I hadn’t stooped to that approach. Not yet, anyway.

  TK-421 glanced at me, guilt written all over his stance. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

  I waved him off. “Don’t apologize. If he wants to survive what’s coming, he’ll need to handle worse than a few stun bolts.” I looked down at Galen’s limp form, sensing the slow rhythm of his breathing, the faint echo of peace that had eluded him for so long. This quiet moment might be a small mercy he desperately needed.

  Beneath my calm exterior, my mind churned with the knowledge that we were upsetting the Emperor’s carefully crafted plans. Training Galen at this age clashed with the entire premise of Project Harvester, but I needed him to be ready for the worst. He was my first real gamble in this twisted new fate. All I could do was keep going.

  Suddenly, I felt the approach of another presence. My non-visual senses picked up on the tall, angular frame of a Pau’an coming down the corridor—a presence that commanded the same hush as a gathering storm. The doors to the chamber slid apart, and the Grand Inquisitor stepped inside, sparing only a dismissive glance at Galen’s unconscious form.

  “You have new orders,” he said brusquely. “Come.”

  His tone told me nothing, but the tension curling in the Force around him spoke volumes. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, clearly expecting obedience. I exhaled, gesturing to TK-421.

  “Take Galen back to his dorm,” I said. “Let the instructors know he has the rest of the day off.”

  My mind flickered to the inevitable backlash this “special treatment” would stir among the other initiates, but I couldn’t help it now. The Captain bent down, scooping the boy’s limp body over one armored shoulder and retrieving the lightsaber. With a curt nod, he set off for the elevator. I followed the Grand Inquisitor, the boy’s labored breathing lingering in my awareness until the doors sealed behind us.

  We rode a different turbolift this time, one that ascended far above Sublevel 3 toward the fortress’s upper sectors. The Grand Inquisitor remained silent, but the roil of apprehension under his normally stoic aura intrigued me. Something was off.

  I finally broke the silence, my voice subdued. “So these orders… what’s happening?”

  He didn’t turn, but I felt the flicker of unease he tried to suppress. “I do not know,” he admitted in a low murmur.

  That alone sent a prickle of alarm down my spine. The Grand Inquisitor was rarely kept out of the loop. The turbolift opened onto a bustling floor alive with comm chatter and the whir of droids. Through the Force, I perceived a tapestry of frantic activity: Imperial operators at their console pits, droids shuffling data logs, officers snapping to attention as we passed. We headed down a short corridor, walls lined with blinking control panels and muffled conversations.

  At last, we came to a small, unassuming comm room—separate from the main cluster of consoles. The Grand Inquisitor opened the door and stepped aside, letting me enter first.

  “I will be here, Brother,” he said, stopping at the threshold. His tone held something akin to sympathy, though I doubted he’d ever admit it openly.

  A railed walkway stretched ahead, leading to a raised central holoprojector. My heart thudded a little harder, and not from physical exertion. I approached slowly, the device humming to life at my proximity. My Force senses recoiled as I felt the presence at the other end of the transmission—like a great shadow blotting out the light.

  “Fourteenth Brother,” a low, rasping voice intoned. The Emperor. Immediately, I dropped to one knee, bowing my head in a display of submission that made my stomach twist. If he sensed my true contempt, I was finished, so I buried it deep.

  “I do not abide failure,” he continued, a barely perceptible sneer in his tone. “One of your kin has faltered in her mission to locate an enemy of ours.”

  Confusion flashed through me. So this wasn’t about Galen. “What is… what is thy bidding, my Master?” I said, forcing the words out. The question tasted bitter. I’d convinced myself I was about to be judged for training the boy too early. Instead, the Emperor had other business.

  A faint, malevolent joy seeped through the hologram, warping the ancient features. “The Seventh Sister will provide you with her findings. Use your power and find this elusive rebel for me, my faithful servant.”

  Rebel? I tried to keep my voice steady. “Do we have a name, my Lord?”

  A cold sensation rippled through me at the Emperor’s final word:

  “Only one: Fulcrum.”

  The name reverberated in my mind, raising a whirlwind of memories I had no right to possess in this reality. Ahsoka Tano—Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan, a plucky, fiercely determined young Jedi who had grown into something far stronger than the Order ever expected. Now, under the codename Fulcrum, she was a thorn in the Empire’s side. And here I stood, condemned to hunt her down.

  I couldn’t hide the jolt of recognition that tore through me, but I could bury it behind the cool mask of subservience. The Emperor looked pleased—far too pleased. In the Force, I sensed that smug undercurrent. He wanted me out of the way, sent off on a mission with a high likelihood of failure or death. That, in turn, would free Galen from my influence—letting the Empire mold the boy into whatever monstrous tool it needed.

  I forced myself to bow low, voice wavering despite my efforts. “Yes, my Master. I will not fail.”

  The disfigured visage twisted into a mockery of a grin. Then the holo-image winked out, and the room seemed emptier for it. The Grand Inquisitor lingered at the threshold behind me, silent but keenly observing. He must have felt the tremor of my fear. Yet he said nothing.

  The knowledge that the Emperor practically expected me to die on this mission roiled in my gut. If I were gone, no more monthly check-ins with Galen—no awkward father-figure role I’d inadvertently taken on. Vader or the Emperor themselves would claim him. He’d become the ultimate weapon, his raw power carefully molded and twisted. Maybe that was Palpatine’s plan all along: rid the board of me, sever the child’s only tie to some form of humanity, and shape Galen into something unstoppable.

  As I stepped away from the holoprojector, my mind wrestled with the weight of what lay ahead. Ahsoka Tano. I knew her story intimately—an impossible advantage from a life I barely understood anymore. She’d faced down Inquisitors before, fought and nearly killed Maul, and survived all these years. If I pursued her, I might be the one cornered instead. The Emperor counted on that. He wanted me on the hunt, suspecting I could be outmatched.

  I turned to go out the door, the sting of betrayal gnawing at the back of my throat. Galen’s unconscious form flashed across my thoughts—the half-trained child lying helpless in a fortress of enemies. If I left him now, who would protect him from the staff’s cruelty, from the older initiates’ bullying, from Vader’s manipulations?

  The corridor outside bustled with comm officers, protocol droids, and coded transmissions echoing in my Force perception. I struggled to maintain composure. This was a trap. I was sure of it. Yet I had no choice but to play along, or risk drawing Palpatine’s wrath on Galen immediately.

  As we neared the turbolift, the Grand Inquisitor paused, his tall frame casting a long shadow. For a moment, I thought he might say something—perhaps offer a sliver of insight. But then he merely gestured for me to step inside.

  We rode the lift in silence, tension thick in the air. My senses traced the labyrinth of corridors behind us, searching futilely for a glimpse of the boy. But I could only feel distant echoes of his presence, faint and fragile.

  I will do my duty, I told myself, heart pounding. But Fulcrum is no ordinary foe. And Palpatine feels it. Every shred of my being wanted to warn her somehow, to take Galen, to run and never look back. But that would be suicide, and the Emperor would sense even the slightest slip.

  The doors hissed open, revealing the bustle of a higher-level communications nexus. Somewhere out there, Seventh Sister had tried to find Fulcrum—and failed. Now it fell to me to either complete the mission or perish. Meanwhile, Galen would be left at the mercy of this fortress and Vader’s schemes. And the schemes of his lapdogs.

  As we moved on toward whatever further briefing awaited, I swallowed back my dread and steeled myself, letting the cold, muted anger of the dark side steady my nerves. One thing was clear: I was on borrowed time. And if I wanted any chance of returning to watch over Galen, I’d have to succeed where others had failed—no matter the cost.

  Yet even as I thought it, my old memories of Ahsoka—of who she’d become—flickered in my mind. Run fast, Tano, I pleaded silently. Run and hide. Because, for better or worse, I was coming. And everything in me said that only one of us would walk away from this confrontation unscathed. I just had to hunt her down first.