Davos sat himself at the terminal in the archives, his extremely limited access restricted to academic treatises and fictional works. The Jedi were notorious for keeping their research into the Force under lock and key, but the Janitor had come too far to give up so easily.
It had taken some time to lull the Jedi into complacency regarding him. Although they were initially suspicious of his presence and interest in their Order, he had been able to mollify them with amusing anecdotes regarding his frequently absent wife and her scholarly pursuits. He had even managed to get one of their artisans to craft him some appropriate training garbs for his personal βstudiesβ, under the pretense of his wife wanting a replica of an ancient Jediβs equipment.
Besides, what harm could a mere Janitor, and one who was not even Force Sensitive cause?
He scrolled through the collections of childrenβs parables, written hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago. He was about to flip past yet another volume, when his hand began to cramp up. He paused, taking a moment to massage his fingers and wrist, brow furrowed with discomfort. When he looked back up at the terminal screen, a small smile began to creep across his features.
The Dark Side was subtle in the signs it sent to itβs faithful servants. The mild spasms he had experienced were not caused by his hectic workload. Oh no, they were a gift. A lesson. A reminder to be more observant. He had almost skipped over the exact thing he was looking for.
The volume contained a story regarding a young padawan who had gone to Ilum with his master. The objective of their mission was to help excavate a recently discovered ruin in the northern hemisphere, but the story paid little mind to this overarching plot point. Instead, it focused on a parable about listening to your master, and how all lies are revealed in time.
Fields pursed his lips, continuing to scroll through the story. Perhaps he had been⦠over-zealous in his assessment of the sign. The Dark Side may not have been trying to reach out to him at all. Was he falling to the same hubris that afflicted the Jedi and the Sith? Had he committed the most grievous of sins and had begun to believe that the Dark Side served him, rather than the other way around?
This mild unease continued to plague the man as he read page after page, his jaw tightening just a bit. If his suspicions were true, then he would be punished. Perhaps whispers from the Dark Side would reach the ears of the Sith, informing them of a βpretenderβ in their midst who needed to be dealt with. Or worse, the Jedi may βjust so happenβ to come across evidence of his deceit. The mild unease began to grow into something more pervasive, dread creeping up his spine and settling at the base of his neck.
But then, a sharp spike of relief plunged itself into his chest. There it was, the thing he was meant to find.
During their truly harrowing adventure, the Padawanβs lightsaber had been destroyed, eaten by a hungry Gorgodon. In the denouement of the story, the master and padawan ventured into the depths of the crystal caverns, where the padawan was chosen by a new lightsaber crystal.
The padawan then built a new lightsaber, mumbling the mantra that Fields had no idea even existed.
The crystal is the heart of the blade.
The heart is the crystal of the Jedi.
The Jedi is the crystal of the Force.
The Force is the blade of the heart.
All are intertwined.
The crystal, the blade, the Jedi.
You are one.
This was it. The first piece of the puzzle. But how to use this scrap of information to find the next piece? He pondered this information for a long, long while, before a twinge of guilt racked him.
He had quite nearly disregarded a message from the Dark Side as a mere muscle spasm. His faith had lapsed for the briefest moment, but the damage was done. He would need to atone for this sin. How he would manage that, however, would need to wait.
He stood up, flicking the display off and returning the datacard to the shelf where he had found it. The statues in the entryway needed polishing, and he had a laundry list the length of his arm of minor tasks and repairs needed around the temple.
Perhaps this constant backbreaking work is my atonement. He thought to himself with a mirthless smile. No. He would never be that lucky.
