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Komari Vosa was seventeen standard years old, practically an adult in the eyes of the Republic, but there was something her Master was hiding from her. That itself was not uncommon, Master Dooku was a mysterious man, not mysterious as Master Sifo was, who was more oddly eccentric than anything, but mysterious, nonetheless.
And he was hiding something from Komari, or rather someone. The Padawan had never known her Master to take an interest in a youngling as he had in Obi-Wan Kenobi, and there was a vicious voice in the back of her head that whispered insidious things about replacement…
As if a youngling, a crechling really because the kid wasn’t even five yet, was a threat to her. No, she and Master Yan made a good team, a deadly team when there were lightsabres involved, but perhaps he was simply scouting his next apprentice?
But that also didn’t make sense because he’d sworn that Komari would be his last. But when she thought of the discarded notes she had read, the piles and piles of research her Master conducted in their rooms with Master Sifo murmuring his own thoughts, she wasn’t quite sure.
Perhaps, if her Master was like others and sought to punish her with creche duty she would not be as intrigued as she was, but what was it about Obi-Wan Kenobi that interested her Master so?
It seemed an investigation was in order…
**
Depa sighed as she exited her last class for the day. It was still early, and her Master was in Council, and she knew she was supposed to be researching her project, or practicing her katas, but she felt unmoored. She would have enjoyed a joint meditation session with her Master, but that would have to wait.
There was another person she would meditate with, though. The boy that would one day become her Padawan, or her Padawan brother, she wasn’t too picky. Obi-Wan was a bastion of pure, joyous light that Depa could follow even in the hallowed halls of their home.
She followed the silent threads, her mind all but reaching out to the little bundle her Master had brought back from some hellish planet years ago. Depa did not know of his origins, and she would not for many years to come, but it didn’t matter. Obi-Wan was a Jedi youngling, her brother in the Force, the first and only Found child her Master would have.
He was also her refuge, and she needed peace with the horrors of her last mission still replaying in her mind. She remembered the little girl, her screams and grief so thick in the Force Depa had gagged on them, and it was only her Master who had saved her from the secondary blast.
He had saved the child as well, because of course he had, even if it meant he himself was not suitably protected and had to have chunks of shrapnel removed from his bones. Depa was fourteen, she knew what loss was, she knew that each mission could very well be their last, but it had scared her.
It had been her first brush with the absoluteness of her Master’s end. She was under no illusions, she knew he would sacrifice himself to see her safe and whole, but without him and his guiding hand, how would she be safe? If he were to die to horribly, if their training bond was to snap so brutally, how would she be whole?
She supposed it was something all Padawans realised on day, that their Masters may be lost to them. Depa knew it would not be the end of her journey were that to happen, for no Jedi would forsake a Padawan of a Master Fallen in service to the Force. Her own Master had told her stories of his first Master who had given her life to their duty, and how the Jedi had rallied around him, how Master Yoda had sought to finish his training.
Still, she could not comprehend it. It was not the attachment they were warned about, for she knew Master Mace did not belong to her, that he was not hers as she was not his. It was the culmination of what the Jedi preached: Love above all, acceptance and hope, peace, and tranquillity.
She would need to meditate with her Master in order to clear her mind of her fears, to allow him to help her understand that loss, however hard it was, was the price of their love. She would need to learn that death was not to be mourned, but that life was to be celebrated.
“Hello, Padawan Depa.” Little Obi-Wan said, his words lisping as he lost another tooth. “Why are you sad?”
Depa knew she was not projecting, knew that she would never project in the face of so many younglings who were only learning to protect themselves from the onslaught of so many emotions that they would one day learn to understand. She knelt upon the soft, shagging carpet and pressed her head to his in a familiar greeting.
His light, threaded gold and sapphire, chased after the earthen tones of sage and bronze that made up her own base signature. He giggled against her, and Depa smiled truly for the first time since she had returned.
Joy, so tangible and precious, love so selfless and gentle, entwined around them in kaleidoscope of beauty.
“I have missed you.” Depa whispered, for it was true.
She and her Master had been gone for three back-to-back missions, she had not been in the Temple in months, and she had missed so much. She had missed her crechemates, Kit especially, she had missed her classes, as boring as they could be, and she missed the peace the Temple extended to all her beloved charges.
And she had missed Obi-Wan, had missed the dinners she and her Master shared with the child, and how her Master would put his acting skills to use to entertain them both. She had missed the times when Master Yoda would drop in and join them, and how they would meditate together until their Force signatures joined in a beacon of everlasting light.
“I missed you too.” Obi-Wan replied. “I lost three teeth.”
“Did you really?”
“Two came out when I ate an apple, but we don’t know where the third went.” Obi-Wan admitted, tugging at his slightly too-long sleeves. “I think I ate it.”
“It is of no consequence.” Depa promised. “I lost one of my teeth when I fell playing push and pull.” She pulled away from him and smoothed down the softness of his silken hair. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
He smiled at her then, wide and bright and gummy where he’d lost his baby teeth. She noticed that the canine that was growing in was sharper than the average human’s, but not as sharp as a Togruta or Wookiee fang. It was just another oddity that existed within Obi-Wan, but it didn’t matter.
He was a Jedi; He would be loved no matter his oddities.
“Would you like to go to the fountains?” Depa asked.
There as a brilliant crimson blush on his chubby cheeks as he looked around. He leaned closer as though he was whispering a secret, and Depa found herself amused despite it all. She knew how big of a menace he could be.
“I’m not allowed to leave after I went wandering last time.”
“But you won’t be wandering, you’ll be with me.” Depa reminded, and she rested on her knees, hands on her thighs. “We can stay here if you want to.”
“Fountains.” Obi-Wan agreed. “They’re very pretty.”
“They are.” Depa agreed. “We shall have to see them all to find out which is prettiest.”
Depa smiled as she rose, and she held out her hand for Obi-Wan to take. He did so as he had done a thousand times before, his hand dwarfed by his, but it was a rule, if Obi-Wan left the creche, he had to hold the hand of whoever was accompanying him, otherwise he would wander.
Depa had learned that when he was three and had lost himself to the pretty colours of the Hall of Memorial of all places…
That had been a night to remember.
But now, as they walked through the halls of their home, basking in the warmth of golden, loving light, nobody thought anything was wrong, for nothing was wrong. How could it be wrong for a Padawan to take a crecheling by the hand and guide them toward the harmony of the Room of a Thousand Fountains?
What could be wrong about a sister escorting her wonderous brother?
The answer was nothing.
“Are you still sad, Depa?” Obi-Wan wondered as they sat atop on of the benches nearing the rushing water feature that flowed a pretty lilac colour. “You don’t taste sad anymore.”
Taste sad?
“What do you mean, little Obi?” Depa asked softly, turning to face the boy that would one day become her padawan, or her padawan brother…. If she had her way. “What does sadness taste like?”
“Bitter.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Like when you bit into a gogun fruit.”
Is this another one of your little oddities, sweet child? Depa wondered as she took a calming breath, shoring her mental shields to ensure that there was no residual leakage that any of her family may pick up on.
“How could I be sad when I’m with you?” Depa smiled, her lips pulled tight when she felt the feather-light caress of the Force brush against her.
Such power and control for one so young was odd, but there was little about Obi-Wan Kenobi that wasn’t odd. For all of his talent, for all of his adoration and love which seemed to roll off him like the lapping seafoam of gentle, cresting waves, he was remarkably average.
“Sometimes Quin gets sad, and when he does he doesn’t want anybody to touch him.” Obi-Wan admitted. “So I just sit with him, but I really want to hug him.”
“But you do what Quinlan needs, rather than what you want to do, yes?” Depa clarified, and the Force, guiding and loving like the wisps of smoke on Illum, hummed in satisfaction as it watched its children. “Even though you want to give him a hug, you know that it is better to do what needs to be done, rather than what you want to do.”
“If I touched him, it might make it worse, because of his psychometry.” Depa bit her lip to contain the giggle as he stumbled over the name of Quinlan’s blessed curse. “I just wanna help him.”
Force save me, how can one child be so wise and so vulnerable? How is he what he is? How has he given me the insight I need to come to peace with what has happened to my Master and I? Does he even realise it?
“That is a very good lesson.” An older girl with dark skin and a shock of brilliant white hair said as she advanced on them with all the grace of an apex predator. “You must be Padawan Billaba and crecheling Kenobi.”
It was then Depa recognised the girl before her as Komari Vosa. She was only four years older than Depa, but they’d never really interacted in either the creche clans or in classes. The tight silver-white curls of her hair bounced with her movement, and it seemed as though she glided across the gleaming floors…
Depa wanted to learn how to do that.
“Senior Padawan Vosa, may I help you?” Depa asked.
“I only wished to meet the youngling that my Master and Master Sifo have found interest in.” She smiled and held out her hand, twisting her fingers through the tangible threads of the Force that were invisible to all but her and the child before her. “And I must say he is a marvel.”
“’M not special.” Obi-Wan’s cheeks burned as his head dipped. “I’m just me.”
Absolutely precious.
Komari and Depa shared a look, and in a moment the Force flared to life with silver adoration and the glimmering haze of azure. Komari huffed, and then she knelt upon the floor in front of the bench and once again she held out her hand. This time, Obi-Wan took it with a small, shy smile.
Peace settled around the three of them for a moment, and Komari took that time to study the little boy in front of her. His Force presence shone, not brightly as one would expect, not with the blinging light for one who felt as strongly as Obi-Wan so obviously did, but with threaded silver and teal, gilded ivory and bronze struck emerald…
My own Master’s presence is so strong within his shields. Master Yoda too, and Master Windu. But I can tell he feels so much… I know what it is to struggle with it…
I will just have to help him.
It was, after all, common practice for the elders, for the Masters and Knights, and even the older Padawans in some cases, to thread some of their own Force around the younglings to fortify their shields, to protect them should something go awry. It was done in a lattice of phantom threads, where one day the youngling would be able to fill the gaps of the lattice in the same way one set duracrete in the foundations.
We are Jedi, we only need ask for help and our brothers and sisters will give it, Komari thought as he smoothed down Obi-Wan’s hair, It’s so soft. So, so soft. What is this child?
“Would you like to accompany us to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Padawana Vosa?” Depa wondered, watching the scene with soft, gentle eyes.
“Komari.” Master Yan Dooku’s apprentice said with a tilted smile that revealed sharp, human teeth. “And I would be honoured, Padawan Billaba.”
“Depa.”
“I’m Obi-Wan.” The youngling grinned, revealing his missing teeth.
“Yes, you are.”
But what does that mean?
Both Depa and Komari held their hands out, and Obi-Wan slotted between them, and with a little help of the Force he was soon swinging gently in their cautious hold.
The Temple rejoiced in the sound of infectious, childish laughter that filled its beloved, hallowed halls. Threads of sapphire and sage, jade and lilac, bronze and pink were soaked into the walls as they had been for a thousand years. The halls were filled with imprints of war and peace, harmony, and chaos, but what was perhaps the strongest of all was love…
Love would forever prevail, for it was the foundation of the Jedi as they were supposed to be. They were love, they were acceptance and understanding. They were hope and light, and one in their clutch was perhaps their greatest light, the light that would guide them and Their child…
But for now, he was a child, twisting in the arms of two girls who giggled and wiped the leaves from his hair, unaware of the trio of Masters who were watching with amusement and delight colouring their Force signatures.
And when Obi-Wan inevitably fell asleep against Komari, the girl would press a kiss to the side of his head and she and Depa would carry him back to the Creche Masters who would admonish them for their excursion but would also thank them because none had ever seen Obi-Wan so peaceful in his sleep.
(The Force regretted that such horrors of the night were necessary. But this was their sithspawn child, the only one of his kind to survive, and his path was not an easy one.)
It would only be later, when Yoda made his way to the younglings that night to read them an ancient tale, for they were Jedi and their stories were their hope and memories, would the new threaded lattice be discovered.
It was bronze, pretty and golden as thought it was basked in the fiery heat of Mustafar. It was violet, the colour of the night, of the flowers that grew in the marshes of Ryloth.
It was a promise of acceptance and protection, of a fledgling familial love that would only grow. That love would grow strong, and three would be bonded by it, one would be saved because of it, and thousands would be spared because of it.