Let's Make the Most of the Night

The Force loves its children.

For many of them, this isn’t enough, in the end.

It isn’t enough to save the Jedi who stumbles across a Sith ritual.

Really, he wasn’t meant to be there.

In many other galaxies he stepped right instead of left.

In this galaxy it is this small choice that kills him.

Or Sidious, if one prefers to blame the one who stabs him through the chest.

The Force loves its children.

He was meant to die in the crèche, fighting to the last moment and not nearly enough.

He was meant to die in another twenty or so years, with a wicked scar on his leg that spasms at just the wrong moment.

Meant to makes very little difference when the lightsaber pierces his lung.

He’s stepped into a ritual, something cruel, something terrible.

A Jedi is not enough to put a stop to it.

The Sith have been scheming for a very long time.

A Jedi will always try.

The Force loves its children.

The ritual twists, just a bit, just enough.

It saves them, or at least, it tries.

This Jedi will not be remembered for it.

Even the monster who kills him will fail to make the connection.

It doesn’t matter.

It works.

Jango isn’t sure what he did to deserve this kind of agony.

“I understand that you’re willing to pay double.” It’s the only reason he’s willing to even indulge the idea. “You have to understand. I can’t work magic. You have to tell me what you know.”

His people need the money, need the breathing room it will bring.

“I thought your people were the best.” His client sneers.

Jango takes a deep breath.

He should have just taken that Galidraan job when he had the chance.

It's too late now.

“They are.” He grits out. “But like I said. We can’t work magic.” He tilts his helmet in condescension even an outsider can read. “And you seem to be missing your usual wizards.”

The chancellor glares, insulted by Jango’s audacity no doubt.

Stars, if these people would just cooperate they wouldn’t have to deal with the "uncivilized" Mandalorian for much longer.

“Valorum.” The chancellor snaps and another politician steps forward.

“We can’t get into the Temple, requests started pinging back with automated messages three months ago, something about construction around the public entrances. Those stopped entirely two weeks ago.” Did they even bother to check in three months ago? Or was some half-baked “Thanks for contacting the Jedi Order! Sorry we can’t meet with you right now. We’re on it! Force be with you.” enough?

“Doors locked?” Jango sends a quick message to Myles when Valorum nods. “Any defensive measures?”

“We’re not sure.” He hesitates. “We don’t have access to the schematics.”

Jango hums, unimpressed.

“In that case it might take a few days.”

Kalpana does not look supportive of that assessment, which is a shame, things usually go better when the person paying is happy. Jango imagines this goes double when he’s being paid by the Chancellor of the Republic.

“Listen, double or not, I am not walking my people straight into whatever trap the Jedi might have waiting.”

Kalpana sneers, like the very idea is worthy of mockery, like he’s paranoid.

Honestly, this entire situation is looking very much like the Jedi aren’t the obedient little pets everyone thought they were, incapable of independent thought. Not that Jango is going to be one to voice that idea. Mandalorians have long memories and the Republic doesn’t have a standing army anymore. The power the senate holds over the Jedi is not why they serve.

The chancellor and his lackeys can figure that out themselves.

Preferably after the True Mandalorians have been paid.

“We’ll get through, that I guarantee.” He continues. “I make no promises that it will be today and I expect compensation for any casualties.”

The chancellor glares but doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Jango was not his first call, he knows that much.

CSF hasn’t been worth much of anything for at least a decade according to his contacts. Most of the cases they solved in the last year, actually solved, had a Jedi on the paperwork.

“You could always call the Guild.” He shrugs.

An individual bounty hunter won’t cut it though and historically setting a team of them on a problem like this only ends in disaster.

No, the True Mandalorians are their best shot and they both know it.

“Fine, regular compensation rates only.” Kalpana bites out.

Jango pretends to consider this, glances at an update from one of the teams scoping out lower level entrances.

“Very well.” He agrees and motions for Kast to present the chancellor with the new terms.

Jango waits, watching as they examine it for nasty surprises.

He’s mildly surprised they bother, some clients don’t, though he supposes politicians are probably a careful sort when it comes to contracts.

“Pleasure.” He grins when it comes back signed.

“I’m sure.” Kalpana sniffs, looking down his nose at Jango and his companions.

Yeah.

The feeling is mutual.

Shabuir.

“How’s it going?” Jango doesn’t bother with the CSF officer hovering nervously at Myles’ side.

“Mir’osike,” Myles returns. “They tried the front door.”

“Only the front door?” Jango clarifies, incredulous.

“Eh, one side door.” Myles points to an entrance barely visible a few levels down.

“Wayii.” Coreworlders, no imagination.

Well, Jango isn’t going to complain if it gets them credits.

“We also tried slicing several entrances.” The CSF officer pipes up.

“Didn’t even hire out?” Jango snorts.

The officer doesn’t appear to know whether to take this as an insult or not.

Well, it’s not his problem.

“We found a spot that should be good for a forced entry, unlikely to be trapped.” Myles shows him a blocked window, it’s an awkward angle. A Mandalorian with a jetpack could do it but only the most paranoid would set something up in every window and door. The sheer amount of equipment necessary would be staggering.

He’s honestly surprised they had something to block all the windows. There are a lot of them.

“What’s our damage allowance?” Myles goes on.

“Probably won’t be happy.” Jango answers. “But the allowance provision is pretty generous.”

“I’ll get a squad on it.” He nods.

“When’s the last time anyone’s seen a Jedi anyway?” Jango addresses the CSF officer. Heard from is one thing, seen is another.

“Well…” He shifts uncomfortably. “We’re not sure.”

“Really.” Jango is utterly unimpressed.

“Well, Administrator Valorum had tea with one several months ago.”

Months? Jango understands the senate likes to pretend a lot of things about their relationship but surely they keep better track of them than that.

“They seem to have stopped taking tours of the senate building around eight months ago.”

“Seem?”

“It stopped appearing on the schedule but we haven’t confirmed it with security footage. A small group of the young ones usually came once every few weeks.”

Eight months is a long time.

Jango is beginning to think his concerns about Jedi attacking them may be unwarranted.

Traps? Still very possible.

Living, defensive Jedi? Maybe not.

“Anything happen that might’ve set ‘em off?”

“What?” The CSF officer seems surprised.

“They’re awful protective of the little Jedi, you know.” Jango has heard the stories.

Jedi aren’t always unruffled and serene.

“CSF has no reports that would indicate misconduct.”

Jango snorts, like that means anything.

The officer bristles, like Jango’s contacts didn’t immediately relay current bribe rates along with the latest Jedi rumors.

The underworld hasn’t seen a Jedi in months either, it’s making people twitchy.

Something happened, clearly. Whether that was some disease that needed quarantining without public hysteria, or some senator touching a kid they really shouldn’t have, or some magic Force nonsense sending everyone on a soul-searching meditation.

No one’s seen a Jedi in months.

At least not on Coruscant.

That doesn’t happen, not without the Jedi making it happen.

Jango has never stepped foot in the Jedi Temple before.

He’s never even wandered the steps in front of it before this job.

He's never gazed up at the towering spires or admired the statues.

Transparisteel shards crunch under his boots as they move in, blasters up and ready.

The hallway is empty. Jango watches his people switch their helmet lights on and turns his attention to the end of the hall.

Well, would you look at that? Eight months is a long time, after all.

He absently orders the squads to fan out, report back what they find.

He imagines the Chancellor will be rather disappointed with the results. The thought almost makes him smile. Jango wanders with his own squad, checking doors that open with barely any slicing.

There’s dust on the chairs and only scraps in the containers that once held files of flimsi.

His squad takes to guessing what each room was used for.

“Oh, residential?” One proposes.

“Nah,” another argues. “There’s too many seats for it. I’m thinking offices or something.”

“Classroom.” Jango tips his chin towards the cushions and glances at the size of the room. There was equipment here too, at some point. Though he can’t tell what. It was worth disassembling and taking along whatever it was.

“Huh.” They keep moving.

The Temple is massive, lonely.

Jango imagines it wasn’t always. He doesn’t consider himself a suspicious man but there’s a cold that almost seems to seep into his bones.

The gardens are overgrown, more than Jango thinks they should be. The plants encroach on the paths and some of the younger members of Jango's squad move closer together, as if they might risk becoming lost in the foliage alone.

They aren’t meant to be here. The Temple knows it and so do they.

They check every room. Another squad reports finding the medbay, or what seems to have once been the medbay.

Myles locates security. The tapes and records have been cleared out going back several years and as far as their slicers can tell there's no getting them back. It speaks to a thoroughness Jango wasn't expecting. Either the Jedi planned this a long time ago or whatever made them run really had them scared.

Jango finds the nursery.

One of the babies is missing a sock.

They find no Jedi, grown or otherwise.

They find no working starships, new or otherwise.

Yeah, the Chancellor really isn’t going to like this.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Kalpana probably makes administrative interns cry with that tone.

Jango is not an administrative intern.

“I mean gone.” He says, waits for Kalpana to finish yelling at the closest staffer, and continues. “The building’s stripped, best you’re gonna get is some decent furniture and maybe some antique tech. They’ve been gone a long time by the looks of it.”

“How do you know?” The Chancellor demands. Jango remains ever content with his decision to keep his helmet on for these interactions. Politicians like Kalpana tend to look down on his age.

“There’s dust everywhere. It wasn’t hard to guess.” He shrugs and pulls out his comm. “Well, if that’s everything…”

“I hired you to find them.” Kalpana grits out which is exactly the response Jango was looking for. “You’re bounty hunters, aren’t you?” As much as all those who work in the senate are senators, certainly, not that it’s any of his business.

“With all due respect, sir.” He starts. “You hired us to, and I quote, ‘investigate the Jedi Temple.’ We investigated the Jedi Temple. You have your answers. They're gone. Our contract is expired.”

Kalpana glares at him, orders his staff out with a flick of his wrist, and follows in a huff.

Jango walks over to a window overlooking the planet and waits.

“Fine.” Kalpana returns after a few minutes looking exceedingly unhappy, one of his staffers looks like they’ve been crying. Not Jango’s problem. “Why don’t we renegotiate?”

They can’t see it but Jango smiles. None of them can afford to let the fact they’ve lost the Jedi get out. The more people they bring in on this, the more likely a leak becomes. Jango couldn’t care less either way but he'll follow a contract.

Ah, he loves a good renegotiation of terms.

“Greetings, gentlebeing! A fine establishment you have here.” Kast leans obnoxiously on the counter and grins. “I love the… decor.” He decides after a moment.

Jango reminds himself of the time he tripped and fell right in front of a difficult target and nearly botched a whole operation. Kast isn’t even doing that badly all things considered.

The bartender raises a single eyebrow and decisively turns to give a paying customer their drink. It’s a learning process, Jango tells himself. Their intel should be solid and the locals are so far adamant they haven’t seen anything Jedi-like in the last year. It’s the perfect place for a newbie to figure out which bartenders can be charmed.

In these parts? None of them.

Kast continues to pester and Jango holds back a sigh. He’s going to have to save him from getting punched isn’t he? Kast isn’t even that much younger than him. Jango learned quick though, had to, it’s the only reason he’s still around.

He slaps enough credits to buy a drink into Kast’s hands and goes back to looming.

“So, what would you recommend?” Kast is still trying his charms. It’s almost cute, from Jango’s perspective, hopefully the bartender’s too. She hasn’t tossed him out on his ear yet at least.

“A drink.” She grunts and looks him up and down. “For you? Moof milk.”

Kast deflates.

Jango shakes his head at the ceiling a little helplessly.

They don’t learn unless they try.

“What do you want?” She addresses Jango this time and he knows she’s indulged them long enough.

“Heard anything about any Jedi? Wizards?”

“Jedi? In this dump? Ha, haven’t heard that one before.” She doesn’t look away from him as she answers.

She wants to though, maybe to the right. She has years on him but he’s the one who hunts people for a living.

“Really? Not even some strange rumors?”

She shrugs, hides the urge to glance away better this time. “Strange rumors are all this place’s good for.”

Jango nods, gestures for Kast to move to the right.

She doesn’t even flinch. No one runs.

“Uh, sir?” Kast hesitates.

The whole cantina is watching, no attempt to hide it.

“We’re done here.” Jango answers and switches to his internal comms. “Myles? Someone’s going to be leaving that cantina.”

“On it.” Myles responds.

A few moments later.

“Went to the docks, you’re looking for a young human blonde, likely female.”

Jango signals to Kast to keep his mouth shut and follow his lead. They make record time and Jango positions them to scope out the situation. Myles’ description looks accurate at first glance.

The blonde stands out in the crowd, light skin not yet tanned by the suns like her working companions. Her eyes are sharp, nervous. She’s young, definitely.

If this is a Jedi, Jango’s surprised they left her be. Sure, a Mandalorian might be fine at this age but Jango understood the Jedi kept their young around for a bit longer. Regardless, this one’s ragged, like she’s moments from snapping under the pressure. If he was hoping for a hidden Jedi enclave he isn’t anymore. People with a clan don’t stand like that.

“Hey,” She rasps. “I know you’re there.”

Kast immediately goes stiff with nerves. Yeah, not leaving this one to him.

“You don’t want to do this.” She announces.

Jango watches her fingers shake and really doesn’t think they do.

He signals for Myles to stand up on the roof he’s been conducting surveillance on and steps out to face her.

He’s expecting a lot of things, tension, action, violence.

He isn’t expecting her eyes to go wide with recognition and then flash with terror.

“No, no, no.” She mutters to herself. “It’s all wrong, it’s all wrong.”

Jango pauses, actually hesitates like he hasn’t in a long time.

“Listen…” he begins. “We’re not here to fight.” They were tasked with finding answers, if not the Order itself. Fighting every Jedi they meet sounds like a losing strategy.

“I would beat you.” She proclaims with a wavering voice.

“Alright.” He agrees, though he really doesn’t think she would.

“He isn’t here. He’s gone.” She assures herself in a mumble once more and straightens to face him. “Jango Fett.”

He shivers despite himself. How does she know his name?

“He will be the death of you.” She grins. “For both of us. It is what you deserve.”

“Jedi–” He tries.

“Try a different planet.” She smiles, it almost looks kind for a moment. “There are no Jedi here.”

Jango notices the flashbang a moment too late.

“A wizard? Me?” The old Cosian has a twinkle in his eye that Jango doesn’t like. “Oh, Koma is such a flatterer. I’ll have to pay her a visit this week.”

“She said she saw you move some rocks without touching them.” Myles pipes up from the ancient couch.

“She was watching me, you say?” The Cosian doesn’t bother waiting for an answer before shuffling into the kitchen. “My, I think this is grounds for the good tea.”

“Sir.”

“Call me Tera.”

“Tera.” Jango refocuses. “Force sensitivity isn’t illegal. We’re not going to turn you in. We’re looking for a Jedi. It’s nothing bad, we just want to talk.” What the Senate intends after their talk is none of Jango’s business.

“Jedi?” Tera stops banging around his kitchen for a moment. “Why when I was just a young thing there was...now, this was before your time mind, this beautiful woman.” He turns just enough to face them. “She was visiting Cosia, I don’t remember why. It's not important. Anyways, she smiled at me.”

“A Jedi?” Myles tries, leaning in casually.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Tera pauses and shrugs. “I imagine Jedi are pretty.”

“Koma.” Jango grits out. “Says you only moved here this year.”

“Ah, yes, my darling daughter kicked me out.” He complains and goes back to searching the shelves. “I didn’t want to retire! The smoke wasn’t even that bad! Hard work is good for a person.”

“Right.” Myles glances at Jango for a moment. “Where did you say you lived before?”

“The spaceport.” Tera chirps and starts dumping his findings into a kettle.

“Which one?” Jango manages to keep his voice even.

“The big one.” Tera answers and gasps lightly. “Do you think Koma would like some candleberries?”

“No idea.” Jango sighs under his breath and watches impatiently as Tera shuffles to the stove.

“Oh dear, where are my manners? Here.” He hurries over and presents Jango and Myles with an assortment of small berries. “Now, you were saying?”

“Jedi. We just have some questions.”

“Of course, of course. Well, I’ll let you know if I see one.” He waves a hand dismissively.

Myles glances at Jango again and sighs. “You must understand how suspicious this all looks. An untrained adult of your age shouldn’t be able to move things like that.” Their intel seems to agree on that, at least.

“Suspicious? Humph. The sun catches the stones strange sometimes. I can’t answer for whatever it was Koma saw.” He returns with a huff and shifts, serious for a moment. “I would have made a handsome Jedi though, don’t you think? What do the Jedi wear?”

Myles shrugs.

“Well, whatever, I would have pulled it off. I was a real looker in my younger years.”

“I’m sure.” Jango mutters.

Myles covers his laugh with an awkward cough.

“Eat your berries.” Tera orders and starts the process of dragging the tea over to them. “Tell me about yourselves. My daughter hardly visits anymore and I’ve been lonely without my grandchildren.”

“Well,” Myles laughs. “That’s Jango. I bet he could pull off a Jedi look too.”

Jango huffs. He is not a child anymore.

He does not tackle his second to get him to shut up.

It’s a closer thing than he’ll ever admit.

Tera sits down and badgers Myles into talking about himself, and, unfortunately, Jango. There’s something sad and knowing in Tera’s eyes when he looks between them.

Jango hates it.

“We should have just taken that Galidraan job.” Kast complains and abandons his drink for a moment to lean on Silas. “This is the worst.”

Jango snorts.

“Cold this time of year.” The bartender comments absently.

“Really?” Kast perks up, he loves winter. “I can handle it.”

The woman hums and stars, did everyone get strange and ancient when he wasn’t paying attention.

“I’m not sure Galidraan is for you, young one.”

“I could handle it.” Kast insists with a huff.

“Strong, are you?” She asks.

“Of course.” He scoffs and Jango shoots him a warning look. They don’t need a fight right now.

She tips her head in acquiescence and moves on to the next customer without a word.

“Think about it.” Kast goes back to complaining. “It sounded like such an easy gig, nothing like hunting for ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” The bartender returns with another drink. “My daughter tells me there are ghosts out on the plains.”

“Not actual ghosts.” Kast clarifies, though he sounds interested.

“She loves ghost stories, first thing she asked when we moved here.” She puts her rag down and smiles. “There are those tempted by the wolves and left to rot. They imitate their killers and coax small children into the plains.”

Kast shivers.

“See, I bet Galidraan doesn’t have ghosts.”

“Galidraan has more ghosts than you know, young one.” She responds, firm.

“Maybe.” Kast mutters and moves on. “You ever been?”

“In another life.” She sighs and looks a decade older for the moment. “Not a place for you and your friends.”

“Don’t like Mandalorians much?” Jango asks. There are plenty of places that have made their position clear over the years and it's always good to be aware.

“No, I wouldn’t say they do.” She agrees and touches the chain around her neck for a moment. “My teacher would not agree but I am of the view that some places are simply cursed. I will not make the same mistake twice.”

She moves on to the next customer and doesn’t speak of it again. Kast has the sense to keep his mouth shut for once.

Jango’s people get solidly drunk and, much to his chagrin, they are musical drunks. He doesn’t indulge beyond the first cup and he wonders what it is about this place that got them comfortable enough to have so much.

“Good luck.” The bartender smiles as he guides stumbling feet out the door. “Tell the young one to watch his right leg more often.”

“I will.” Jango furrows his brow behind his helmet. He doesn’t remember Kast doing anything to expose the weakness in his stance.

“Hello.” Jango jerks around at the sound. The last several planets have been dead-ends, rumors that faded into mist the instant Mandalorians started coming around and asking questions.

He has a good feeling about this one, some blond stirring up trouble, rumor has it with a lightsaber and mysterious abilities.

“Hello.” He nods to the child sitting cross-legged on a large stone.

A second glance reveals an unusual sight. They’re Pau’an. He’s never seen a Pau’an child this far from Utapau. He’s never seen a Pau’an child at all.

“What are you doing?” They ask.

“Working.” He answers. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking.” They nod to themself.

Jango checks his comm for any indications of progress and taps a finger on his belt for a moment.

“What about?” He sighs. This is certainly better than wandering around and waiting for news.

They don’t answer for a long moment. He tells himself it’s just their species that has him wanting to shiver.

“You should stay away from the deep snow.” They decide.

“What?”

“They won’t lose a second time.” Jango would like to offer apologies to his parents and Jaster. He doesn’t remember being this freaky but, stars, it’s unsettling. “That’s what my brother says.”

“You get in a fight?” He asks, hoping for something resembling context.

“Not yet.” The little Pau’an answers. “I’m going to do something awful.”

“...Don’t then?” Jango is not following this conversation at all.

The child forms a small, bitter smile, like Jango’s said something very foolish.

“You too.” They look like something so much older than him. They might be. He doesn’t know how Pau’an ages work.

They sit in silence for a bit.

“What do you need to stay away from?” Jango asks and manages a smile at their lost expression. He points to himself. “I’m deep snow, apparently. You?”

“I don’t know.” The child answers. “Do you have a brother?”

“No, I had a sister though, once.” He doesn’t know why he tells the truth.

“Oh, do you think you could have killed her?”

“What? No!” Jango reels back. Arla deserved so much better than him.

The child nods like this is the answer they expected.

“Then I don’t know.” They sigh.

“Do you… want to kill him?” Jango isn’t sure he wants to know.

“No.” This, at least, they seem sure about. “But what if I change my mind?”

“Don’t…?” Where are this child’s parents? “What do your parents say about this?”

“I don’t know.” They shrug. “Don’t have any.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Jango does not think that’s true. “My ma–, older brother says it’s not me yet. It doesn’t have to be me. The future is always in motion.” It sounds rote, their brother clearly says it a lot.

“Then it sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Maybe.” The kid pulls their knees up to their chin. “My little brother won’t look at me anymore.”

“That the one you don’t want to kill?”

“I don’t want to kill either of them.” They shrug. “I do though.”

“You do?”

“In their dreams.” They agree absently.

Jango is beginning to wonder if this planet has spiritual practices and if they take the form of creepy little Pau’an kids.

“How about this?” He starts, mostly to get out of this conversation. “I'll stay away from deep snow-”

“There’s big trees there too.”

“Right, places with big trees and deep snow and you stay away from… killing your brothers. Deal?”

“Deal.” The child nods. “You’re nicer than I thought you’d be Jango Fett.”

“Thanks…” Jango has never met this child before in his life, he knows it.

The kid’s attention snaps to the side and they bounce up in a moment, all the bright enthusiasm of a normal child and none of the solemnity of before.

Jango turns to see what has them so excited.

He finds nothing.

“My brother’s better!” They announce and jump down from the rock to sweep into a practiced bow. “I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Jedi Killer.”

The title sends a chill down his spine.

“Wait–”

They scamper off with a grin and don’t bother to glance back.

“Quit? What do you mean quit?” Kalpana shouts through the comm speakers. “You can’t just quit!”

“On the contrary,” Jango drawls. “If, in the event of diligent investigation lasting a period of at least six standard months, the contracted party has found no evidence or leads as to the location and/or status of the targets in question and the client has provided no additional guidance or information regarding possible location and/or status of the targets then the contract may be terminated by either party without penalty. Further details are under definitions.”

“It’s not my fault you’re incompetent!”

“Incompetent?” Jango tilts his head in a way most outsiders correctly take as threatening. “I have personally been to over three dozen planets chasing your wayward wizards. My people have collectively covered over a dozen additional systems.”

He pauses, just a moment. “Have you been getting my reports?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve read them?” Jango pushes, knowing full well what’s included and what is not.

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t know what you want from me.” He concludes, throwing his hands up. “I personally investigated every hint of a lightsaber, mysterious stranger with unknown abilities, and, on more than one occasion, what turned out to be a farmer with a piece of equipment that made weird noises. My people have wasted months on this, months they could have been spending on something useful.”

Kalpana opens his mouth, no doubt to object to the idea that hunting Jedi could be anything but useful.

“There is a saying among bounty hunters.” He begins and considers how to twist the phrase to make his point. “Some hunts are not meant to be, some bounties are not to be found, some mysteries not to be solved.”

Kalpana takes a moment, furious and chewing on his response. Jango lets him, considers the consequences once more.

He is no citizen of the Republic, no lover of their Senate. There will be consequences to this, whether the Senate dares to go after the True Mandalorians directly or not. Even the rumor of their failure may be enough to lose them needed jobs. They may lose their final payments out of spite.

But there was something that had the Jedi running scared, that had them abandoning their home of many generations. There was something that made a teenager’s eyes wild with fear and abandonment. There was something that made a child consider killing their family. There was something bigger than anything he understands.

Mandalorians are a stubborn people. They will fight to the end and follow a target long after others have given up.

There are some things that are not to be messed with. There is magic that should remain undisturbed.

Jango Fett knows many things. He’s met Jedi, several of them if he’s right.

There is something about him. There is something about them.

There is something about the title Jedi Killer and the way it makes him shiver down to his soul.

The Jedi know enough that something had them running scared and Jango Fett is not a coward but he is wise enough to know what a fool’s errand looks like.

He can read a warning, even if he doesn’t understand it.

You wake up one day and you know that your clan dies with you. You haven’t met them yet, the little children who cling to your robes as you fall. You know enough of children to know they won’t survive long.

You want it to be a terrible nightmare, you wish it was only a dream. The Force mourns with you as if it has already come to pass.

Your clan, the one that must get to grow up, is sobbing. They need you.

You shudder as the knowledge settles.

Will it be the next clan? The one after? Your younglings will be padawans before long.

How long do you have? A few years? Decades?

You hurry to their sides and your robes are not big enough to hide them all from the galaxy.

A few are too quiet, some loud in their hysterics.

Your future healer whispers her fate into your side. She saves them, the youngest of her troops, she fights and fights and they make it to the transport and she doesn’t.

Your little one, a talented duelist in the making, sobs as he tells you that he isn’t good enough to save his padawan. He tells you she was only a child and all you can think is so is he.

Your gentle potential crèchemaster doesn’t speak but you look into their eyes and know. They die the same as you, with younglings at their back.

Your darling ambitious archivist lives the longest. She faces a red blade on a distant mountain and all her love of learning does not save her.

Not one of them makes it to old age, not one of them makes it to middle age.

You never make it to retirement.

You run the numbers in your mind. The years you might have, the likely ages.

Your clan needs you.

You don’t have an answer for this.

You have no solution to this. They’re going to die and yes, all things do. Jedi are meant to accept that but to die like this? To face the end of everything? To feel the way your heart races in the moments before everything ends.

To know the end is coming. To know that you will face it.

The Jedi are going to die.

There is no other explanation.

You face too many soldiers who feel like nothing with a single lightsaber and the knowledge that you are the only thing between them and the most innocent of your people.

You fail. The Force agrees.

This is where you meet your end. In these halls, next to one of the classrooms.

In a decade, maybe two or three.

You hold your younglings as they cry and it’s all you can think to do.

The Temple fills with grief, with fear, with the bitter emotions of what is to come. You don’t dare suggest they meditate, not with the swirling mass of horror. You hold them and they cling and you aren’t dead yet.

Someday you will be.

But not now.

There has been much said about avoiding prophecy, about fighting so hard against the inevitable that it hardly needs to try.

But you die in these halls, next to one of the classrooms. Your blood smears on the floors you slid around chasing your friends with small socked feet and covers the clinging fingers of the next generation.

You don’t know why or how or when or who.

You know where.

You know that it’s coming.

Maybe, just maybe, that will be enough this time.