The thrum of the Temple was different now.
Not in any physical sense—its marble halls still shone with sterile serenity, and the distant chorus of younglings still echoed with hopeful training. But Eli Kaen felt none of it. He moved through the Jedi Temple like a shadow of himself. This was his twelfth reset. The twelfth time he had awoken to the illusion of peace, knowing exactly how little of it would survive the next sunrise.
This time, he would not waste it on desperation or grief.
This time was for knowledge.
He had trained. He had fled. He had fought. He had failed. And every time, the cycle brought him back—frustrated, older in spirit, with the body of a boy and the weight of a thousand regrets.
But the one thing he never truly explored was understanding.
He'd always assumed the Jedi Masters had nothing to teach him that could stop what was coming. He'd assumed they were blind, walking toward their doom.
But maybe—just maybe—some of them weren't.
"Are you certain about this?" Master Tallis looked down at him with a brow arched in patient skepticism, her long blue robes falling neatly as she walked beside him through the Archive corridor. "It's an advanced request for a youngling."
"I'm just… curious," Eli replied, steadying his voice. "About Jedi philosophy. I've been meditating on the Living Force, but I keep reading about the Unifying Force. And the differences confuse me."
Tallis gave him a thoughtful glance. "That's an unusually nuanced question for someone your age."
"I just want to understand more," Eli said truthfully. "The Force is… complicated."
"Complicated?" She smiled. "Yes, it is. And not everything we understand comes from the Archives."
They paused before a sealed chamber deep in the Temple's western annex. The bronze doors glinted under dim blue lighting, ancient reliefs etched into their surface—symbols of Force balance, cosmic cycles, the swirling interplay of dark and light.
"Master Yula's chamber," Tallis said gently. "She teaches a specialized class to older Padawans on Force philosophy. You might benefit from a few of her ideas."
Eli bowed. "Thank you, Master Tallis."
She lingered for a moment. "Be patient with her. Master Yula's mind is… dense with thought. But you may find what you seek."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Eli staring at the great door.
He took a breath and pressed his palm to the sensor.
The doors hissed open.
Inside, the chamber was dim, filled with the soft glow of suspended light-crystals that orbited gently in slow patterns. Scrolls floated midair beside datapads. Incense swirled in elegant threads from a corner brazier.
At the center sat an elderly Togruta woman, eyes closed, skin painted with time. She radiated stillness.
"You've come seeking something," she said before he spoke.
Eli stepped in and bowed. "Yes, Master Yula. I have questions."
She opened her eyes, deep pools of amber. "Then ask."
He sat cross-legged across from her, the hush between them expectant. He chose his words carefully.
"Why does the Force allow death?" he asked.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "All life must pass. Death is a natural flow of the Force."
"But what if you knew it was coming?" Eli leaned forward. "What if you knew people were going to die? And no one would stop it?"
"Then your burden is to act, not to despair."
"What if action isn't enough?" he pressed. "What if every choice ends the same way? What does that mean? Is the Force guiding that? Or punishing it?"
Master Yula studied him. "These questions are not common among younglings."
"I'm not common," Eli said quietly.
There was a silence then, as if she sensed the truth in his words, even if she couldn't place it. Then, with a graceful motion, she extended her hand and summoned a small holocron from a pedestal behind her.
"This," she said, "is not taught in open classes. It is a collection of meditations from Jedi Masters who walked paths that strayed from the Council's preferred philosophy—still Jedi, but... questioning."
Eli's heart thudded. "I want to learn."
"Very well," she said. "You will study. You will question. And you will listen, not only with your ears—but with your spirit."
The holocron activated, casting a projection of swirling patterns in the air.
The voices that followed were old—ancient even. Some spoke of the Unifying Force and destiny; others whispered about the Living Force's immediacy. But the ones that drew Eli's attention most were the few that walked the line between what Jedi called light and dark.
"Fear is not your enemy," said one voice. "It is a signal. It tells you what matters."
"Anger is not corruption," said another. "Only the chain that follows: anger, into hate, into suffering. But even anger can sharpen clarity."
Eli listened for hours.
By the time he left the chamber, the Temple sky was shifting toward evening hues. He didn't feel answers—only more questions.
But that was something.
In the mess hall, he sat across from Tavi and Niyala, who were bickering about sparring technique. They didn't notice the way his eyes had changed. Not glowing. Not shadowed. Just… older.
"Hey," Tavi said, waving his spoon. "You're actually talking to people again. Did you get possessed by a Jedi ghost or something?"
Eli smirked faintly. "Maybe."
Niyala looked at him. "You good?"
He nodded. "Just thinking. There's more to the Force than we know."
She blinked. "Yeah, that's what every Master says."
"Maybe they're right," he said. Then after a moment: "But maybe they don't say enough."
That night, Eli stood once more in the Initiate garden, watching the stars begin to bloom in the sky above the Temple dome.
The cycle was still coming. The slaughter. The fire. The end.
But now, he had begun to peel back a layer of ignorance. Maybe knowledge wouldn't save him. But it was the first thing that couldn't be taken from him.
He whispered the words to himself.
"No more blind tries. No more wasted loops."
This time, he would use what he learned.
And maybe—just maybe—learn something the Force didn't want him to.