Months passed.
The once-bustling Rebel base at Yavin IV had grown quiet. The great temple no longer echoed with the steady rhythm of coordinated activity. Instead, it resonated with a solemn silence, broken only by the rustling of the jungle and the low hum of departing ships.
From the edge of the hangar, Kai stood watching the final transport lift into the sky, its engines blazing against the golden canopy. The last of the Rebel personnel were evacuating—supplies secured, data wiped, trails covered.
Leia had stopped by earlier, offering him one last chance to leave with them. But Kai had politely declined, as he had every time. She had left him a small cache of rations, a few crates of essential supplies, a functioning commlink, and an astromech droid—R6-T3—who now rolled up beside him with a chirp of concern.
Kai placed a hand on the droid's dome. "Just us now, R6."
Beside them, his X-wing rested beneath a canopy of hanging vines, camouflaged by design. Its systems were powered down, though ready if needed. But for now, it was a monument more than a machine—proof that he had chosen to remain.
He turned back toward the temple, eyes scanning the ancient stone as though it might speak to him. The whispers in the Force hadn't faded. If anything, they'd grown stronger. There were layers here—beneath the jungle, beneath the ruin. Echoes of something long lost.
Kai inhaled slowly and stepped back toward the shadowed halls of the temple.
The galaxy was moving on.
But Yavin still had secrets.
And he intended to uncover them.
Over the past few months, he had devoted himself to training in the Force. At first, it was clumsy—attempts to push and pull loose stones or lift fallen branches. Some days, nothing happened. Other days, the smallest flicker of energy made his heart race with possibility.
He practiced enhancing his reflexes, racing through the undergrowth and leaping across moss-covered platforms, letting the Force guide his steps. A few times, Luke had commed in and—reluctantly—granted him permission to practice with the lightsaber he'd been entrusted. Those rare moments with the weapon felt grounding, especially as Kai focused on Soresu, the defensive form Obi-Wan once favored.
Most evenings, he would return to the central chamber and kneel before the holocron Obi-Wan had left behind. Though it didn't speak often, when it did, it offered calm guidance—reminders to center his mind, breathe through the noise, and listen to the deeper current of the Force.
In recent days, he'd returned often to the ruins—those shadowed corridors and crumbling stones buried beyond the temple's known halls. With the base now emptied, there was a strange comfort in the solitude. No footsteps but his own. No voices but the jungle and the quiet hum of the Force.
He moved through the archway he'd discovered months ago, deeper into the forgotten chambers. Where once he'd felt apprehension, now there was familiarity. The dark stone walls, the ancient carvings etched in languages barely recognizable—they no longer whispered warnings, but invitations.
Late one night, guided only by the light of a small lantern and the soft hum of the Force, Kai knelt in the chamber where the obelisk loomed in silence. The whispers had grown more distinct here—less like noise, more like a beckoning.
He placed the ancient Sith holocron he'd discovered months ago onto the stone pedestal at the center of the room. Unlike Obi-Wan's, this one radiated something colder—older. He'd studied it from afar, wary of its power, yet unable to ignore its call. Tonight, he was ready.
Kai folded his legs beneath him, resting his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, centering himself. The Force flowed through him—calm, present, watchful. He reached outward and inward all at once, extending his awareness to the artifact before him.
The crystal at his neck warmed slightly, reacting to the energies now in motion.
The holocron remained dormant.
Kai remained silent, his eyes closed, focusing his intent inward and outward through the Force. He did not speak—he let the feeling guide him, his purpose clear without words.
For a moment, nothing.
Then the holocron flickered.
A dim red glow bled from its edges. Patterns ignited across its surface, faint runes spinning in the air around it. Kai felt a sudden pressure in his chest, like a held breath from something ancient watching him back.
A voice, deep and reverberating, filled the chamber—not speech, exactly, but presence.
He remained calm, keeping himself grounded. The lessons of Soresu helped; not just a combat form, but a philosophy of balance.
He let the presence pass through him. Observed. Endured.
Then slowly, carefully, the holocron opened.
What emerged was not chaos, but a swirl of symbols, maps, and visions—an archive. Kai's breath caught in awe. It was a gateway into a forgotten time, a vault of teachings, many dark, but not all corrupted.
"There is truth buried in shadow," he whispered. "And light waiting to be reclaimed."
Suddenly, an echo, no, a voice spoke, "Who wishes for my presence, state your identity!"