Peace thanks for checking this story out! You're in for a provocative read. I have to say this was first meant to be a one-shot. But people wanted to see how it would continue and how all the ties would connect to TFA/TLJ, so it ended up with 7 chapters. The first chapter requires much engagement – it does not disclose the names to the very end and some not even then. But it's all there, you just have to think, associate and connect the dots. Some of the names and clues are important for the story, others are more like easter eggs. It will be easiest for SWTOR/Galaxies players or avid Wookiepedia readers Bible readers and Semitic languages students, but that's not required to follow it. Enjoy!
He was ambitious. Young. And tired. Not sure whether more from the obstacles to his ambition or from the ambition itself. A light breeze caressed his sweating forehead, as if trying to calm him down. He was not upset, no. Yet peace eluded him, too. The mountain was steep, but his unrest was propelling him up. He couldn't help but wonder, Why the red one? Of all those he could find... the red one? Maybe he chose the wrong mountain. But research showed that all the mountains sloping to the gold-beached coastlines were hiding those peculiar orange crystals.
Oh, the gold beaches! He could have been on one right now, enjoying that soft pearly powder surpassed only by the caressing freshness of the sea and the gentle smile of his mother. Yes, each of those summers had a special place in his heart. But he was no longer a child. And he wished some other people got that, too. He was ready. This summer would be a milestone.
But, why the red one? The voice in his head kept repeating. And why are you climbing to the top? Don't you know crystals are more likely to be found lower in the mountains? Are you searching for a crystal, or for something else? Are you running off? The thoughts almost seemed to taunt him.
He had all the parts. In fact, he almost finished it, but it was still too unstable to turn it on. And he was still hoping to find an orange crystal.
Without noticing, he was getting close to the peak. When breeze turned to wind, and after that to wind gusts, he knew. He didn't look up. He increased his pace instead. He wanted to climb that mountain. For no apparent reason. But he wanted it bad and wanted it now. Maybe the peace was waiting for him there. All his previous thoughts gave way to the mountain. It was the one thought, the one relief he sought in this one moment. He was not hiking anymore, he was running. Uphill. He was leaving every obstacle behind. His pounding steps left stones rolling down for hundreds of meters. He jumped over the rocks, bouncing off the green grass so high he surprised himself. The steeper it got, the faster he was.
Finally, the steepness gave way to a gentle slope, a rather wide meadow that is the top of this mountain. He slowed down but continued walking briskly toward the higher ground. As he lifted his head, a beautiful scene gladdened his heart: gold beaches from down afar were glimmering just over the peak. Finally, he reached the highest ground of this strangely tame-looking meadow. Only the wind gusts betrayed a rather extreme nature of its location. And the cliff at the other end of the peak. And the view. Wonderful view.
He sat. Two seas, one before him, the other behind. Both rimmed with gold beaches. Two cities between them. Cities with much personal and national history. His thoughts went to the infamous revolution that happened in the year he was born. He couldn't remember it, he wasn't even living here at the time. But he listened about it all throughout his childhood. His family could never get tired of relating those events and warning of the dangers such cults pose. He would often think they were giving too much of a credit to those clowns.
But just today, he saw graffiti in the city – the very same that were being drawn throughout the capital by those fanatics prior to the revolution attempt. Yes, he knows that this one was probably written by a rebellious highschooler sick of history classes. Still, it bothered him. Not the graffiti, but the philosophy of that cult. It bothered him that he could see himself agreeing with some of their tenets. What if we really are slaves of the Force? What if its mighty river can be turned only by those who reach out to the dark si... Oh, stop it! Bunch of mumbo jumbo! he admonished himself. He couldn't believe he was considering the eccentric religious ramblings of the terrorists from times past. Their sacrifices to those that are Beyond. What delusion.
To break off those unprofitable thoughts, he got out his nearly finished product. It is unstable and the crystal is cracked, true. But he placed vent irises on each side. Now only to fixate the vent shrouds, and he could actually try and turn it on. Seemingly forgetting he was on top of the mountain beaten by wind gusts, he got into serious work. Finally, he thought the vent shrouds were fixated enough to guard his hands. As he was about to turn it on, he heard the voice, this time not in his head, shouting, "The Force is with you, thou mighty man of valor!"
He instinctively hid away his creation and put it in the backpack. Whether because he wasn't sure if it would burn his hands or because he instinctively wanted to hide what he was doing, he couldn't tell. But there they were. Three men climbing to the meadowy top of the mountain. Seeing they were tired fellow hikers with depleted water supplies, he offered, "Come sit down and have some water. And I've got delicious rations, too. I can share some with you."
"You may do as you say," responded one of them.
Strange talk, he thought, but they were smiling and very kind-looking. They sat beside him, drank and ate in silence. He contemplated those peculiar figures. They were dressed in unfamiliar clothing, somewhat unrefined. One of them was brown-haired and young-looking, with an especially calm demeanor. Sitting next to him was a gray-haired, bearded man, with a wise flicker in his eyes. The third one had a long white beard. He was the one who spoke first. He gave the impression of a seasoned leader, albeit one who had not desired to be one. His tone of voice was an unusual mixture of boldness and humility. Most unusual of all, both the gray and the white man gave the impression of being aged, but not worn. Not old. And the young-looking brown man seemed even more aged.
He couldn't explain it. He just stared at them.
After several strangely quiet minutes, quiet not in a menacing but in a serene way, the white man asked, "Where is your uncle?"
Intrusive as it was, the tone of the question wasn't menacing either. It was... caring. And it confirmed one thing: those hikers were no ordinary people. It seemed they knew something about him. "Do not fear, brother, we cannot read your mind," the brown man added before he could muster an answer, "only One can."
"You mean, where is my master?"
"No. Your uncle. There is only one Master."
Ignoring this odd "only one" lingo, he finally said, "I don't know. At the Academy perhaps."
"Why are you here?" the gray man joined in, giving him a short, flickering, warm glance, and then turning back to watch the glittery sea, as if lending him time to think about the question.
"I'm running from myself," was the first thing he could say.
"How far did you make?"
"Not far. You know, I've got this problem. Whenever I'm running, myself runs, too."
The gray man chuckled benevolently at this attempt of a joke, "You know," he paused, "eventually, you have to stop running. You'll never overcome yourself that way. You must face yourself through the power of One, young man of valor, and let Him do the battle."
The young man was about to say he wasn't just running from himself, but also running to accomplish what he thought was rightfully his to accomplish. But somehow he knew this running to wasn't as important as his running from.
"I was once running, too," the gray man began his story. "Eventually, I settled into a cave and went to sleep. I didn't want to eat, I didn't want to live. And then the word of the One came. He said, 'Why are you here?' And He called me by name. I began to recount all the troubles I went through trying to do good, to get my people back on the right track, and I proclaimed that injustice was the only thing I got for it."
The young man tried to draw the parallels. No. He didn't go through many troubles. He wasn't especially fervent in doing good. But the injustice, yes, he felt injustice was being done to him.
Ignorant of his thoughts, the gray man continued, "Then the word of the One said, 'Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the One.' And, behold, the One passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the One; but the One was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the One was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the One was not in the fire: and after the fire," he paused, "a still small voice."
"A still small voice?"
"You see, young man, you think you know much of the Force. Your uncle thinks he knows much of the Force. You seek to master the powers of the Force, but you don't know that the true power lies in hearing the still small voice, the voice of the One."
"Who are you, people? I've never heard anyone talk like this. Where do you come from?"
"Originally, from a planet in a galaxy far, far away," the white man interjected, "presently from, what some of your people would call, the Beyond."
Now the young man grew nervous. Could it be that those are the fanatics of the Beyond? Some who survived and got old but stuck to the folly of their youth? "That is a rubbish that was believed by terrorists," he snapped.
"Indeed," the brown man joined the discussion, "don't think for a moment we subscribe to that false religion. They believed that they communicated with the dead, while instead, they communicated with someone much worse."
"What could be worse than the Sith?"
"Believe us, there are such beings. What you must first know is that the dead are really dead. They know nothing. They don't communicate with anyone. They don't live in the Beyond, which is a physical place, not a cloud of bodiless souls. They await the recollection of their dust and their life." He paused for a moment, and then looked the young man straight in the eyes, gently but firmly, "This remember, it will be a testing truth."
The young man was taken aback by the authority with which this man spoke that line but quickly got himself back together. "Well, don't some of them manage to become Force spirits?" he asked.
"Oh, there are what you call Force spirits, but they are not who you think they are. They are not connected to the dead in any way, except that they like to imitate them. They reproduce exactly the same appearance, the same voice, the same gestures. They are masterful at it."
"What you're saying is contrary to what my uncle believes. Contrary to the teachings of masters Jinn, Kenobi and Yoda," he got up and started pacing around the peak, held back for a moment by a strong wind gust. Clouds over the cities became larger and darker. He saw the brown man looking at him with what seemed like a genuine compassion.
The same expression decorated the white man, as he uttered almost reluctantly, "The Jedi were wrong before, were they not?"
The young man knew he was going to say something stupid, but anger got the better of him, "So, what are you saying? The Acolytes of the Beyond got it better? The Sith got it better?!" There was silence. He sighed, stopped walking around and sat back beside the three visitors. He shook his head, "I'm sorry. I know you don't think that. I know."
After a quick pause, the white man continued, "If we could ever be forced to choose a side in the senseless conflict between the Sith and the Jedi, we would always side with the Jedi. They may be wrong on many points, but they sincerely want to do good. They want to expel selfishness from the heart, though through ill-informed methods. But they got good intentions. The Sith chose selfishness as a virtue and produced myriad of rationalizations to make it sound righteous and salutary for the world at large. Those are all lies."
"Well, I'm glad you said it."
"Are you?" the white man looked at him piercingly. "Why are you settling for the red one?"
The young man was paralyzed with shame, "How… Why…"
"Do not fear. We are not here to judge you," the white man spoke in reassuring tones.
"We are here to help you", the gray man interjected. "To help you get back on the right track. You see, when your conscience is judging you, you tend to see others as judging you. You tend to hear every voice as judging or even taunting you. It happened down there on the mountain path before you started running, had it not?"
"So you do read minds, don't you?"
"Certainly not," the gray man responded quickly, tapping his young-looking brown friend on the shoulder, "as my old friend said, only One can do that. We are just quite experienced with human hearts. We watched the life histories of unnumbered mortals for thousands of years. And we lived through one such life. There are patterns. Only one running from both himself and the voice of the One could run uphill so fast. You transformed your spiritual struggle into the physical one, feeling that you will find peace at the peak of this mountain."
"But you do read minds!"
"Blasphemy!" the gray man was adamant. "That is what your Force spirits want you to believe. If anyone seems to read someone's mind, it is because they are doing it under the inspiration from those ancient inimical spirits who know information about the deceived victim that they do not. It is a despicable trickery." He pronounced that not with hatred or fear, but with disgust, as if the slightest contact with those spirits were like being in contact with the most deadly disease. "Verily, I am telling you the truth, only One can read the mind. What we three know is from experience, and from the wisdom of the One."
Surprised at himself for not asking sooner, the young man finally let the flood of questions multiplying in his mind come out, "You said you lived a mortal life, yet you are still alive, for thousands of years. You said the dead are really dead and await the recollection of their dust and life. Has that happened to you? If yes, why not to others? You said the Jedi got it wrong and the Sith teachings are even worse. Well, what is the truth about the Force? How do you know what is in my backpack? And most importantly", he paused to catch his breath, "who is this One?"
"We usually call Him otherwise," the brown man responded. "But that title was misused in your galaxy for those who were heads of the Sith. You will learn all in time. As a mortal, I have walked with the One for more than three hundred years, centuries before my friends here. Finally, the One decided that I could continue my walk with Him without dying. There were multitudes of others throughout the ages who walked uprightly with Him. But I was living early in the history of our planet, and He made me a lesson that gave comfort to generations of mortals who hoped in Him. Instead of dying, or living many more years among a rebellious, hard-hearted generation, I was clothed with immortality and taken to live in the Beyond."
He turned to the gray man, "my friend here was granted the same mercy." Then he leaned over to the white man, "He is the only one who experienced death."
"I was not about to," he quickly responded. "But I made a mistake. I let anger and pride take over for a moment and I dishonored the character of the One before the eyes of the whole nation I was appointed to lead to Him. The Enemy used that against me, and I was laid to the grave earlier than planned. But the One was exceedingly gracious. He contended with the Enemy over my body and prevailed. Then my dust was recollected and life was given back to me. I was clothed with immortality and taken to live in the Beyond."
"Are there others like you?" the young man asked.
"There are some," the brown man responded, "those who were clothed with immortality on the day the One was victorious over death. Besides us, and that group, no other mortal was ever taken to live in the Beyond. All others, hundreds of billions, lie in their places of rest, awaiting the recollection of their dust and life on the last day."
The young man was pondering this markedly different picture of the afterlife.
"And we are the only ascended humans who were ever allowed to speak with a mortal. The first time it happened, my two friends were sent to encourage the One while He was living a mortal life on our home planet. This is their second time. For me, it is the first. Otherwise, the One does not allow it precisely because your Force spirits like to impersonate dead people. It is not a reliable means of communication. The temptation would be too high, even for the faithful, to try and communicate with the dead. And they would be communicating with the ancient inimical spirits instead. Devastatingly, some of them already do."
"So, the One was mortal like you?" the young man asked.
"Yes, but He chose to be mortal," the white man answered. "He did not have to. In Him is life, underived, unborrowed, original. But His affection toward the human race led Him to lay His immortality aside. He could have lost it forever. But He overcame," he paused, turning towards the young man, and then smiled and tapped him on the shoulder. "There is much more to this, brother. But now, we must tell you what we were sent to tell you."
"We came to speak to you in the name of the One," the gray man began. "The very name of the mountain you are sitting on is the word that in our maternal language means 'to speak'. The One led the naming and led you to this mountain so that you could believe. But take heed, the same word in our maternal language also means 'to fade'. If you do not act upon what you've heard, the words that we spoke to you today will fade with time, and you will end up even more confused than you are now. Our words will become mixed with the lies that the Enemy is already sowing into your mind, and you will find yourself heeding his voice. He will lead you to do such terrible things you would never think possible for you to do. That becomes of the men who harden their hearts against the still small voice of the One."
A chill went throughout the young man's spine, but he was interrupted by the gray man, "Do not fear. That does not have to become your destiny. It does not have to become anyone's destiny. Your grandfather had a most wise friend. He once told him the vital and comforting truth, 'the most difficult trial a Jedi must face is to look inside oneself. Often we see things we don't like. But these aspects are not set in stone. It is our decisions that shape our destinies.'"
"Nothing is set in stone", the brown man affirmed. "When you hear someone telling you that something is your destiny and you cannot do otherwise, know that he speaks not the truth. It is the seed of the Father of Lies. And one of the most successful of his seeds sown in this galaxy is the lie that you can master the Force."
Something exploded within the heart of the young man when he heard it. A gust of wind sent ripples throughout the meadow.
"We were never meant to master the Force," the white man took his turn. "We were meant to connect with the only One who can master it. Both the Sith and the Jedi try to be little gods, commanding supernatural powers like it is their prerogative to do so, thinking they are drawing power from the same impersonal Force. 'Light. Darkness. A balance,'" he paused as he looked intently into the young man's eyes, "It's so much bigger."
"The Force is not impersonal", the gray man interjected. "It is not an energy to be tossed around. It is the power carried by personal forces, immensely superior beings. And there are two opposing forces. Yes, you could say their power ultimately came from the same source – the One. But they chose to use it differently. The One does not force anyone. And when some of His first children, the ancient angelic spirits, decided to use their powers against His law of love, that same law required to give them the freedom to do so, the freedom of choice."
"It is the holiest matter for the One. The freedom of choice," the brown man was solemn. "He guards it without compromise. And it is your guarantee that if the army of all the Sith in the galaxy, even all the ancient inimical spirits, would come upon you to force you into choosing the evil path, they would be powerless, for the all-powerful One does not allow them to do so. Take heart in this truth."
The young man felt hope rising in his heart that was being battered with the conflict for too long.
"Yes", the brown man carried on, "all the hosts of unfallen ancient spirits would be called to your side sooner than your freedom of choice taken away. You cannot be overpowered if you choose the One. But your predicament is that you, as do all the Jedi, choose the Force. You like to feel the power, to be powerful."
"The test that is coming to you and all the Jedi," the white man added portentously, "is to lay aside your power."
"What?!"the young man exclaimed, appalled. He began to pace around again.
"We cannot work with the Sith," continued the white man. "Power is all to them. But the Jedi have many seeds of truth in their teaching. They are using the power, but they treat it as the means, not the goal. Yet the time of decision is coming. Using the Force as the means is not safe. It never was, and more so today."
"Because humans were never meant to be gods. And when they try to act against their nature to be one, they get help from the ancient inimical spirits, those who first tried to be gods."
"Are you telling me that each time a Jedi uses the Force, he uses the power of some evil spirit? That doesn't make any sense. The Sith use the same power. Why would the one and the same power lead to conflicts between those who wield it?"
"You tell me, brother. Is that not what you already believe?"
The young man was stupefied. Feeling like his legs were cut off, he stopped walking and sat back down. He whispered, "Light side of the Force. The dark side of the Force… side of the Force", he hesitated and then reiterated, "Light. Darkness. A balance," he slapped his side. "What balance?! A conflict!"
He recollected himself, "Alright, you got me thinking. But I found a hole in your teaching. If it is ridiculous to think that one impersonal Force leads its wielders to fight each other, isn't it even more ridiculous to think that one army of personal forces leads their wielders to fight each other?"
"Not if they do not care about their wielders," the gray man took over.
The young man listened intently.
"The only thing they care is how much revenge they can get on the One. Ever since they were banished to the Abyss after losing the war they had started in the blissful Beyond, there are three main goals on their daily agenda."
"First," he plucked a petal from a lovely silvery-purple wild Rominaria flower, "misrepresent the character of the One as selfish, self-serving, without compassion and with an insatiable hunger for power and glory, which is exactly who they are."
"Second," he plucked another of the three big petals, "convince as many children of the One that they are gods, or can become gods, which the spirits achieve effectively through inspiring them with the belief that they are inherently immortal and that they have sufficient wisdom and power to live without the One."
"Third," he tore off the last petal, to which the stalk of the flower immediately bent down, "destroy or cause the suffering of as many children of the One, because it breaks His heart every time, especially if those who died had concluded their life in enmity against Him and are thus lost for eternity. If the inimical spirits will never again get to the blissful Beyond, they want to make sure they pull as many as they can with them into awaiting the final annihilation."
The stalk and its leaves were getting dry quickly, as this species was getting its water and nutrients from the fleshy petals receiving and storing it from the rain and dew. The countenance of the white man suddenly became very sorrowful. He gently covered the stalk with the neighboring grass. "If the inimical spirits can advance the first or the second goal through their wielders, they will not attempt to destroy them. In fact, they will often bless them with much power and influence. But as soon as those do not seem usable anymore, or worse, begin to oppose their guidance through listening to the voice of the One, they will make every effort to cause those to suffer or die, be it the most useful Sith they ever had."
"But why does the One let them do it?" young man was perplexed.
"Excellent question," the white man responded. "But we don't have time for it right now. It is all in the book we are going to give your uncle."
"You are going to visit my uncle?"
"Now understand this," the brown man took the word. "When we said the Sith and the Jedi were using the powers of the same evil forces, we did not want to equate them. In fact, the One was so patient in His love that sometimes He intervened in the lives of the Jedi to lend them His mastered power, while they were thinking it was them mastering it. He rather did that then let them intertwine with the forces of darkness. But he was reproached in the Universal Council for that. The leader of the inimical spirits, known as the Enemy, reminded the delegates that the One operates on the principles of truth. He, as the leader of the forces who broke away with the law of love, could use deception. The One cannot. He must not lend the Jedi His mastered power and let them think it is theirs. The Enemy can because he is not bound by the law of love to avoid deception and manipulation. The One was aware that some of His urgent interventions could be defended, but it could not be defended as a default way of operating."
"So, that's why so many Jedi fall to the dark side. Again, and again." The young man was beginning to connect the clues for solving the puzzle that plagued him for some time. "We weren't meant to master the Force. In believing that we were doing so, the Force was mastering us. And for the great majority of the time, it was the dark side – personal dark forces masquerading as one neutral, impersonal Force."
It was getting dark. The clouds were becoming dense, gusts of wind more intense. Flashes of lightning were seen from afar.
"Yes, young man of valor. The One has a mighty mission for you!" the white man tapped him on the shoulder and stood up, followed by others. The three visitors wrapped their hands around each other and included the young man in the circle. The white man looked him straight in the eyes, and shouted over the wind, "Be warned, brother. Dark forces are not happy with this meeting. Your soul will be assailed. But never forget, your freedom of choice cannot be overpowered. It is time for a decision, and you must decide before your uncle. You must decide to lay down your power and trust in the One who has all power. Talk to Him, ask Him for help. The One laid aside His omnipotence for you, even His life."
As he said that, a big blue lightning flashed in the clouds, and it seemed to linger for a moment or two, having a shape similar to the Cross of Healing. "You can lay aside this small amount of power you think you have. After you win that battle with yourself, letting the One do the battle, go to your uncle Luke. He will have already talked with us, and he will have the book that will answer all the questions you now have. It is the book which the One began writing through me, back on my home planet. Generations of others who followed Him continued and finished it after 1500 years." He put both of his hands on the young man's shoulders, and looked him in the eyes even more intently, with a fatherly look of deep care and love. "Read it. Study it. It will be your life."
Tears began falling down the cheeks of the young man. "And Ben", the white man added, "when you read it, look for the names Enoch, Elijah and Moses. Names of your old friends who cannot wait to see you make it in the blissful Beyond so that they can talk to you again."
Ben hugged them, sobbing, while the rain started to fall. After he was crying for some time, he suddenly realized he was laying on the wet grass.
He looked around. No one was on the wide meadow. No trace of the visitors. He reached for his rations. They were not eaten. He reached for his water. It was the same amount as before he gave it to the visitors to drink. There were no plucked Rominaria petals.
He got up.
He got angry.
Was that just a stupid dream? Lay down his power… he sniffed. But it looked so real. And then, he could hear the still small voice, saying, "It was a vision. And it was real."
He looked for a clue, walking around the meadow. The rain was now falling hard, and the grass was soaked. When he got to the center of the meadow, there was a strange marking. The grass was beaten in a particular shape, several meters long. Wait, it was a symbol. Ben stepped back in surprise. It was dry! And it was the same symbol he saw in a vision, the big blue lightning which lingered. What did this symbol mean? He never saw it before the vision. Yes, it was similar to the Cross of Healing emblem which represented the Force healing, but it was also different. Like the Corellian Cross, its horizontal line was shorter, but it was not crossing the longer vertical line in its center, but rather in its upper part. He tried to remember when did it appear in the vision. Yes! It appeared after the white man said, 'The One laid aside His omnipotence for you, even His life'.
He grew uneasy. He got the message. Lay down his power? He began walking around the meadow again. Finally, he went back to the place he was laying on. There was a small parchment there, with several lines written in an unfamiliar alphabet. Some letters looked familiar, though. Was that Grek, or Usk? Or Peth upside-down? Was that Isk, or Resh? Was that Mern, or Cherek? Oh, there was Osk. And Krill, too! Yes, those letters looked very similar to Aurebesh. Wait, there was a message written in smaller, Aurebesh letters. It read, "You see, our alphabets are not that different, after all. May the One be with you." He felt a prick in his heart. Oh, if he could talk with those three men again. They breathed an atmosphere of such calm, such genuine care. They radiated wisdom, but a humble kind of wisdom. Authority, but a gentle kind of authority. Why can't he talk to them again?
He heard the still small voice again, "You can talk to me, my child." The One? How could he talk to the One? He never saw such a being. No Jedi ever talked about anything like that, not even Yoda. Doubts began seeping in as if falling onto his head together with the rain. What if this voice is just his own thoughts? Or worse, what if this is some kind of a Sith trickery? What if they were trying to make him lay down his power so that they could attack and destroy him?
He threw the parchment down and began anew his nervous pace. He went to the center of the meadow. The wind was blowing hard. The cross symbol became wet, and its shape was increasingly harder to discern. Thunder was getting closer. It crashed and rumbled, just as did anger that started building up in his heart. Dark dense clouds gathered on his face. But he still heard the voice: "All will be clear when you read the Book. Now please, my beloved child, talk to me. I can help you. You are no match for their deceptive power. They have practiced this for thousands of years. But they are no match for me. I am from eternity past, the One who is, who was, and is to come. I am so much bigger than their powers. You don't have to fight alone. You don't have to use their force."
The words lingered in his mind, and it seemed something kept at bay the full force of the storm. As if the invisible wall was standing between him and this weather disturbance. The wind died down, and a light breeze caressed his sweating forehead, as if trying to calm him down.
"Talk to me, my beloved child. Accept my love. Accept my help."
The words of the still small voice echoed for a time, awaiting his decision.
And it came.
"I need help… from NO ONE!" he yelled as a violent gust of wind blew in and encircled him. "And I… am… NO CHILD!" Lightning struck the place where the parchment laid, burning it instantly. "You will not get me!" Ben's tempestuous voice echoed all over the mountain. "Oh, but we already have," came back the taunting answer. "Nooo!" he screamed a battle cry as he turned on his lightsaber.
It was of the same shape as the big blue lightning from the vision. Only upside-down. And red.
He began running and jumping around the meadow, waving and thrashing with his unstable lightsaber, as if performing an insane dance. He was slashing and burning hectically all the grass around him. Battling with his invisible enemies. Not realizing they were inside his mind, doing the insane dance, laughing and relieved that the One was banished from that place.
And the raindrops seemed like endless tears, falling from Beyond...
His life was meant to be so much bigger.