Jedi: Battle Scars

That’s what the dark side did to you, after all. Made you doubt. Made you nervous. Made you question everything you believed in, whether you wanted to or not. It was called the dark side for a reason.

The ceiling in the engine room was all gray pipe, but suddenly it had a very romantic tinge to it. She thought that she might be a fan of pipes, actually, that they looked quite nice all tangled up in the ceiling together, that they had kind of an air of sweetness, actually.

... wanting the crew to know he was okay but still wanting them to feel just, like, real bad about it also, at the same time.

Someone should have been writing sonnets to your rib cage.

Very few times had Cal ever seen stormtroopers have good aim, and even then it was when they were accidentally aiming at each other.

Got a face made for comms.

Jedi can’t judge everything based on success. We must judge our actions on whether they were right, and in service of the light.

The Fifth Brother’s knees hurt; he was pleased about that. He liked the reminder that he was real, and the pain was part of it.

Today was going to be a good day for the Jedi. Jedi Knight Cal Kestis was going to make certain of that. Sure, it was possible that he was one of maybe only two Jedi left. But those Jedi? They were going to have a good day.

Unfortunately," Qeris continued gently, after a moment, "the Shroud itself not having been built to prototype yet, the schematics have been recovered by the Empire.

When you're connected to the energy that connects the energy of everything else, what?

Your deaths will be meaningless," hissed the Purge Trooper from behind their staff. Merrin couldn't help a smile. "Yes," she agreed easily. "They will be." From beside her, she saw Cal give the smallest nod, but enough to let Merrin know he was on board with the plan. This was how they communicated on the field together, in battle, after years and countless fights: wordless, simple, fluid. Merrin didn't need help. But she found herself unbearingly greateful for it, anyway. She thought of Fret, and her grin turned wolfish. "They will be meaningless, but not today.

I'm not a Jedi. I am much, much worse.

What have we been doing these last few years, Cal?" Cere pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Even the big jobs we've taken, the ones that were really supposed to make a dent, have barely left a scratch on the Empire's hull. We're four people. Greez is right: if we're not smarter about this, we're all going to get killed. And then there's going to be no one left to fight." "So what." Cal frowned. "You're worrtied about wisdom for people in the future. I'm worried about survival for people now. That's why we destroyed the holocron, Cere. To avoic exposing those kids to this kind of life." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We're a weapon, Cere. I'm a weapon. Point me in a direction, let me go, I'll do damage. But building something?" He shook his head. "I don't know how to do that. I've never had to.

Merrin gasped a breath. Cal didn't realize he'd been holding his own until it happened. It was the same moment he felt the tears on his cheeks. She had made it. She had done it. His wonderful, unnerving, terrifying Nightsister, his unlikeliest of allies. His Merrin.

He held his lightsaber out in front of him and ignited its second blade.