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The sun did not rise on Concordia, but the knolling bells announced each dawn.
Cody wakes to them every morning. He stumbles out of his tent and into the snow, his brothers doing the same. The terrain and the cold are unforgiving; the trek to Concordia’s capital city is seemingly endless. Cody can deal with those, but for some reason, the bells send his mild annoyance careening into full-blown irritability.
The tent across from him rustles. Cody catches Kenobi’s eye. For a flash, he can see that Kenobi is just as annoyed—only better at concealing it.
Not the only thing he’s concealing. Wry amusement shoots through Cody.
Kenobi arches a brow as he looks around at the whipping tree branches, shifting white dunes, and distant gray churches.
“Another day is upon us, Commander,” Kenobi says, his tone unreadable.
Cody exhales. “So it seems, General.”
***
“Concordia,” General Kenobi said weeks ago, pulling up a small holographic map on the table between them in Kenobi’s quarters. It was late, much too late to be thinking about the grand scale of the galaxy. “What do you know of it?”
Cody downed the rest of his brandy like the answer might be at the bottom of the glass. When he didn’t find it, he replied, “Not much, admittedly.”
“I suspected.” Kenobi drained his own drink. “The Jedi don’t know much, either. Only that the temperatures are quite unforgiving, and its citizens don’t take well to outsiders.”
“I assume you aren’t asking me this out of pure curiosity.”
“No.” Kenobi hesitated. “Separatist vessels have been coming and going from Concordia’s atmosphere without restrictions. A peaceful delegation from the Republic was sent to the capitol, but the Jedi Council has heard nothing. The Chancellor feels that the time for other measures has arrived.”
Cody’s stomach dropped. “An invasion.”
“Of sorts.” Kenobi filled both of their glasses again. “I dislike it. I’ve never had a taste for invasions, but this… the Force feels particularly unclear. I don’t want to bring the men into a territory we know so little about.”
“It won’t be the first time.”
And it won’t be the last, Cody didn’t say, but Kenobi grimaced as if he had.
“Across bitter cold and ice,” Kenobi said. “Are you ready for that, Commander?”
His voice was low and deep; Cody shivered as if he were already in the tundra. In response, Cody managed to say, “Quite ready. I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep warm.”
***
The 212th treks over the rough terrain until the temperature dips dangerously low. Then, they set up camp, discreet tents with space heaters. Cody has first watch, so he keeps his eyes on the rolling white hills, watching the shadows shift around the distant gray buildings.
So many churches, he thinks.
Every other structure is a house of worship. They have only passed through the outskirts of towns, but Cody didn’t have to get closer to receive suspicious stares. Surely, whispers are floating from village to village. The capitol will be ready for them.
Cody can’t concern himself with future conflict, not now, when the cold is gripping Cody’s hands through his gloves. He rubs them together, trying to create warmth where there is none. By the time the shift changes, he’s chilled down to his marrow.
He trudges to his tent, and when he enters, he finds the warmer already on. Kenobi kneels by Cody’s sleeping mat, his brown robes pooled around him in the golden light.
“All clear?” Kenobi asks.
Cody exhales. “All clear.”
He sheds his armor, stacking it neatly by the door. Exhaustion creeps over him, an electric current thrums in his nerves. Kenobi seems to sense it. He stands and cradles Cody’s freezing hands in his palms. He works his fingers over tendons and joints. Cody’s breath catches as Obi-Wan draws two of Cody’s fingers into his mouth. The heat of Kenobi’s lips travels through Cody’s veins until warm desperation unfurls in his core.
“General,” he whispers.
Outside, the wind howls and rearranges the terrain. Tomorrow, when the bells toll, Cody will have to reckon with the planet’s rebirth.
Tonight, Cody kneels, his fists curling into the rough fabric of his sleeping roll. He exists in Kenobi’s hips rolling against his, Kenobi’s chest flush against his back, Kenobi’s ragged breath in his ear. Cody arches into Kenobi’s warmth, taking his cock deeper into his body. He is aflame from within, consumed entirely, as Kenobi shudders and comes. Cody isn’t far behind, spilling into Obi-Wan’s hand.
They part. Cody goes to offer Kenobi a rag for his hand, but Kenobi raises his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean, never taking his eyes from Cody’s.
Kenobi does not linger. Yet even when he leaves, his warmth remains.
***
The first time could have been written off as poor judgment, as could the second time. The third time that Cody sleeps with his general, he knows that a pattern has formed.
It was only practical, he told himself. Between matters of rank and relation, neither Cody nor Kenobi had a number of options for sexual partners. War took its toll. When every day brought battle, desperation grew. Cody needed to feel like his body was meant for more than war. They never discussed it, but Kenobi must have felt the same.
They came together again and again. Days blurred together, but nights distinguished themselves. Kenobi got on his knees in Cody’s quarters and took Cody apart with his mouth. Cody stifled his moans in the shower as Kenobi rocked into his body; he spread Kenobi’s legs and fucked him on the floor by Kenobi’s narrow bunk.
They do not linger. They do not speak of it. How could they? When Cody lies alone, his thighs clean and mind clear, he remembers who he and Kenobi are—clone and Jedi. No matter how they pass their nights, they must be exactly that when the sun rises.
***
The snow is heavy and the going is hard. Cody looks over his shoulder at his men and their footprints. The wind turns them into ghosts, sweeping away the shape of their boots in a blink. A person could vanish in a breath. Cody checks that the men are in formation before turning his attention to the path before him.
When another mile is behind them, Kenobi comes to a stop.
Cody goes to his side as Kenobi unties the scarf covering his face. There’s a deep furrow in his brow as he studies what lays ahead: a group of gray buildings huddled together around a bell tower. Steep beginnings of mountains bracket the village.
Without Kenobi saying a word, Cody sees the problem. His stomach drops. The quickest way to continue their march is through the village. There’s no telling what the mountains may bring. However, they have not been well received by the locals.
“If it’s not one obstacle, it’s another,” Kenobi says.
“I imagine the town is sparsely occupied,” Cody replies.
Kenobi’s chapped lips quirk to the side. “I’d prefer certainty. Especially…”
“Especially?”
“The Force still feels unclear.” The divot in Kenobi’s brow deepens. “More so. It’s as if a shroud has dropped around the entire planet. I’m hard-pressed to make a judgment without information.”
“Then let’s gather some,” Cody says. “A small party can scout ahead.”
Kenobi hums. “They might not take kindly to armored soldiers. I’ll go.”
“Alone?”
“Nothing I haven’t done before, Commander.”
Cody looks ahead to the village, and uncertainty stirs in his gut. Don’t become sentimental. Kenobi is the general—and in this case, he’s correct. Sending in the cavalry would only alarm civilians, but Kenobi can be stealthy.
“I know,” Cody says. “But take care, alright?”
Kenobi smiles. “I always do.”
***
Cody holds the troops at their current position and watches Kenobi’s back recede. He tries not to let anxiety consume him; rather, he spends the time ensuring that each soldier has all they need to be full, hydrated, and warm.
Hours pass. There’s no sign of Kenobi, no word on the comms. All the decorum and professionalism can’t quell Cody’s growing anxiety. He’s no purveyor of the Force, yet he senses the strangeness all the same.
By the time sunset nears, Cody has seen enough. He leaves command to Waxer and gears up to trace Kenobi’s steps.
***
Cloying darkness falls as Cody approaches the town. Turn back, the walls and wind seem to hiss. Stay away.
Cody ignores his dread.
He walks tentatively, careful to stay within shadows. He’s surprised to find there’s no need—the streets are deserted, windows shuttered and doors closed. Helplessness settles over him as he scans the streets. He can give his best guess, but he doesn’t know what path Kenobi took or if he faced danger. For all Cody knows, Kenobi could have simply been running late and is on his way back to the camp. Cody hopes, prays that’s what has happened.
Then, the bell clangs from its tower in the village’s center.
The sound reverberates through Cody’s armor, through his ribs. Instinct grips him.
He runs.
Something is wrong. Cody doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows something is wrong, the same way he knows a new day will always arrive.
Cody reaches the town’s center. His feet fail him. The bell rings, and rings, and rings.
Kenobi lies at the base of the bell tower, limbs splayed.
He could have been sleeping, if not for the blood.
Red soaks the snow and stone beneath Kenobi; it stains his clothes and the swaths of intact skin. Had he not been laid so deliberately, Cody would have thought he was mauled by an animal. Kenobi’s body has been cut open, hacked at, and no part of him is unscathed.
Cody staggers forward. He falls to his knees in the blood.
In Kenobi’s blood.
Cody retches, but he makes him witness what has been done to Kenobi. Up close, it’s worse. He can see flashes of white bone and rivers of split tendons. Kenobi’s head is attached to his neck by mere threads of skin.
“General,” Cody whispers.
Because this is his general. His general is dead, and Cody is in command. There are a thousand protocols and procedures and dozens of people that he must contact. He needs to retreat and warn the men before the same fate befalls him.
All he can do is stare and hover his hands over Kenobi’s body.
Because this is the man who has shared Cody’s nights and beds. Cody has shared laughter, tears, and meals with Kenobi. He has given Kenobi everything and more.
And someone brutalized him.
For a moment, Cody’s heart fractures, and the tide of his grief threatens to drown him. Cody gasps for air, trying to prevent his lungs’ collapse as the bell rings endlessly above.
You are a soldier.
He screws his eyes shut.
You have a responsibility.
Cody shutters his emotions. There is no devotion beyond war, no devastation, only the duty of what must be done next.
“Alright, General,” Cody murmurs.
He cannot call him Obi-Wan. He cannot admit the truth of his soul.
Rather, Cody tugs off his own cloak and lifts Kenobi’s body. Kenobi’s head snaps back at a violent, unnatural angle. A wounded sound tears from Cody’s throat.
Control, he reminds himself.
He wraps Kenobi tightly, like he’s protecting him from the cold, and lifts him into his arms. He has carried Kenobi before, but even when he was unconscious, Cody still felt life humming through him. Now, Kenobi is gone, and all that’s left is this: his body for Cody to bear.
***
Cody speaks to Kenobi as he returns to the camp. Perhaps Kenobi can hear it in the Force. He’s content to let the wind steal most of his words.
But he bows closer to whisper, “I failed you. I’m sorry.”
***
When Cody trudges into camp, word spreads quickly that the general is dead.
Cody does what he must. He charges the medics with Kenobi’s body before any of the men can see the state he’s in. He faces the troops with stoicism and command. He pens letters and makes calls. He organizes what tomorrow will bring—persisting forth across the eastern mountain. With a Jedi dead, taking Concordia is more essential than ever for the Republic, and Cody must be the one to do it. He is composed. He is controlled.
Deep into the night, Cody finally retires to his tent to rest. He kneels by his sleeping roll and stares at it until it blurs.
Cody weeps until he falls into nothingness.
***
Cody wakes to the knolling bells. For a blissful moment, his mind is empty.
Then, he is crushed by the memory of Kenobi’s torn-open throat.
He gags, then rushes out of his tent and vomits into the snow. His chest heaves. The general is dead. He can hardly breathe around the weight of Kenobi’s death. Obi-Wan is dead.
Yet Concordia holds no space for his grief. The bells ring, and ring, and ring. The tent across from his rustles.
“Did the rations disagree with you, Commander?”
Cody jerks his head up, certain that he’s dreaming.
Kenobi stands in front of him. Alive. Intact. Watching over Cody with a sympathetic grimace, as if the worst thing to befall Cody in the past hours is a stomachache.
“Cody?”
Cody blinks. Kenobi’s tone holds a cautious note, as if he’s called Cody’s name a few times now, and received no response. Cody clears his throat.
“Yes, General?” he manages.
“Are you well?”
Cody stares at Kenobi. Whatever has occurred, it is a miracle. There’s no sign of blood, no inkling in Kenobi’s gaze that he is aware of his own death. Perhaps you should consider more sinister options, Cody tells himself.
But he cannot. Not with Kenobi standing before him, whole.
“A bad dream,” Cody settles on. Yes. Carrying Kenobi’s mutilated body through the ice and snow was nothing but a vivid nightmare. “It… unsettled me.”
“Good thing it was only a dream.”
“I suppose it is.”
For a moment, Cody considers confessing the strange, vivid reality of Kenobi’s death, but the urge disappears as quickly as it was upon him. To admit to his dream would be to admit to his deep regard for Kenobi—to his attachment.
“Another day is upon us, Commander,” Kenobi says, his tone unreadable.
Cody exhales. “So it seems, General.”
Cody feels off-balance for the day’s entirety. Every flurry and gust has him leaping out of his skin, to the point where even the shinies chuckle amongst themselves. By the time they set up camp and Cody takes first watch, he has convinced himself that his mind conjured the entire experience. The cold could do terrible things to a man.
As he keeps watch, the chill settles into his bones. He’s all too happy to be relieved. He returns to his tent and finds the warmer on. Relief and desire stir in his chest at the sight of Kenobi kneeling by Cody’s sleeping roll.
“All clear?” Kenobi asks.
Cody huffs out a breath. “All clear.”
As he removes his armor, Kenobi watches him. There’s more to his stare than pure desire, even though he rises and cups his hands around Cody’s.
“Your mind isn’t centered,” Kenobi murmurs.
“That obvious?”
Kenobi doesn’t take the bait. “What did you dream of?”
Cody screws his eyes shut. We cannot speak of it. Kenobi has spoken of Jedi visions; while Cody is no Jedi, he knows that a dream is not a guaranteed future.
“It was nothing of concern,” Cody says softly. “Nothing that merits your worry.”
“I always—”
Cody captures Kenobi’s lips with his before Kenobi can finish his sentence. Before he can say, I always worry about you. Cody cannot accept his worry, not when it tears Kenobi from his duty of non-attachment as a Jedi. He cannot accept that he has pulled Kenobi astray.
Rather, Cody turns around and presses his back to Kenobi’s chest—they do not have to talk of their feelings to fuck, and Cody needs to be fucked. He needs to erase the horror of his mind with the real weight of Kenobi’s body behind him.
Cody goes to his hands and knees, heat spreading through his core and Kenobi opens him up. He arches into the warmth, into Kenobi’s cock, and grounds himself in the steady rhythm. The dream is not real, but Kenobi’s ragged breaths and clever hands are.
He is real. He is alive.
***
The next day, the snow falls thickly across the terrain. With a dreamless night of sleep and Kenobi walking beside him, Cody can breathe easier. The miles pass without incident.
Until Kenobi comes to a stop.
As Cody peers ahead, his heart rises in his throat. The scene before him is no departure from Concordia’s landscape—gray buildings, a bell tower, and mountains fixed on either side. They have not been here before.
Yet Cody knows it from his dream.
“If it’s not one obstacle, it’s another,” Kenobi says.
Cody shivers, his dread building. Even Kenobi’s words sound eerily familiar.
Kenobi doesn’t speak again. Cody realizes he’s waiting for his opinion.
“I imagine the town is sparsely occupied,” Cody hears himself say.
“I’d prefer certainty.” Kenobi’s voice is troubled. Especially…”
“Especially?”
“The Force still feels unclear. More so. It’s as if a shroud has dropped around the entire planet. I’m hard-pressed to make a judgment without information.”
“Let a team scout ahead, then,” Cody says.
Kenobi exhales. “They might not take kindly to armored soldiers. I’ll go.”
“No,” Cody blurts. Kenobi blinks, surprise flickering across his face at the outburst. Cody tries to slow his racing heart. “I agree that they might not receive many of us well, but you don’t have to go alone. Take a few men with you.”
In Cody’s dream, Kenobi was alone. Cody will not trouble him with his paranoia, but he also won’t invite deadly fate to find his general.
Kenobi gathers four men to scout ahead with him. Cody watches them prepare, trying to stave off his desire to grab Kenobi’s arm and tell him not to go. Cody is a soldier. He should not be so disquieted by a dream, yet it felt so real.
Cody watches Kenobi’s figure recede. Before he can go too far, Cody calls, “Take care!”
Kenobi looks back over his shoulder and offers a knowing smile.
Cody buries himself in writing reports and updating paperwork. He pretends not to see the sun dipping lower and disregards his own uneasiness. Yet by the time Waxer walks into his tent, clearly concerned, Cody has made up his mind.
He has to go after his general.
***
Cody approaches the darkened town with a sense of knowing. This town is foreign to him. Despite that, he knows its shadows. He knows its twists and turns.
He knows that when the bell begins to ring, it means nothing good.
Cody sprints toward the bell tower. Snow and wind whip around him, pulling his cloak hood away from his face. He drags in a breath and skids to a stop.
At the sight before him, Cody’s lungs ice over.
All four men that accompanied Kenobi lay dead on the ground, new snow already settling over their torn-open chests. Cody’s eyes blur with tears.
“Kenobi,” he whispers. “General!”
The bell tolls again.
Cody turns his eyes toward the sky.
A bough extends from the top of the tower. Cody’s ears ring. In the dim light of twin moons, Kenobi’s body hangs from a noose and sways in the currents of winds—clearly on display. His familiar robes are nothing but tattered fabric; his skin is reduced to a tapestry of red blood and purple bruises.
Cody needs to return to his men. He is the next highest ranking officer. He’s one man—there is no real way to care for all five bodies.
Yet Cody cannot leave Kenobi like this.
He takes a length of rope and a grappling hook from one of the men’s kits. Like scaling a mountain, Cody climbs to the highest ledge. The bell clangs in his ears, but the sound fades in the face of Kenobi’s fractured neck. A wounded noise escapes Cody’s lips. When Cody cuts Kenobi down, his body will crash to the ground. Kenobi is dead. Any pain will belong only to Cody. He doesn’t know if he can bear watching Kenobi fall like a cut marionette.
Before he can gather his courage, a sharp cut comes at his throat.
Cody staggers, drawing in a gurgling breath. Who?
Only darkness answers.
***
Cody wakes with a gasp.
I’m alive.
He grapples for his throat. His hand comes away bloodless.
Cody blinks and sits up.
His confusion only rises when he feels the familiar warmth of his tent’s heater on his skin. There has to be an explanation. Perhaps Waxer sent out a search team when Cody didn’t return; perhaps the medical team worked a miracle.
He rummages through his pack for his small pocket mirror, then holds it up to his throat. The reflection stuns him.
It is as if his throat was never cut at all.
Cody rushes to his feet, his heart thundering in his ears, and goes outside. The dawn bells begin to ring, and the sound conjures memories of Kenobi swinging by his neck. Now, Cody stares at the tent across from his own.
The fabric rustles.
Kenobi emerges unharmed. He seems unaware of Cody’s stare, stretching his neck and back as he surveys the conditions above.
“Another day is upon us, Commander,” he says.
Cody’s words fail him.
Kenobi clears his throat. “Commander?”
“Yes,” Cody manages. “Yes. So it seems.”
***
As they march, Cody theorizes.
One: he has lost his grip on reality. War is hard. He knows soldiers who have broken under the strain of battle. Yet Cody feels remarkably clear-headed, his memories too vivid.
Two: he is having dreams within dreams. When he woke up two days ago, perhaps he woke up within a dream. Perhaps he was injured and is slowly waking up. This feels more likely than insanity, but still improbable.
Three: Concordia has somehow manipulated time. The idea and all the questions it generates make Cody’s temple ache. Is he the only one aware? Could the Force be involved? If these two days are looping, how could Cody prevent Kenobi from dying?
Cody chews on the question as the sun falls and the men make camp. The most logical person to discuss the matter with is Kenobi, but Cody’s chest lurches at the thought. Cody could frame this as a matter of tactics, yet it feels all too close to Cody’s heart. Tactics are one thing.
He and Kenobi do not speak of their hearts.
Cody also cannot discount the idea that his mind has slipped. Darkness descends on Concordia, and along with it, memories of defective clones herded into dark rooms. Some of their bodies were seen again, complete with different personalities. Others simply vanished. Cody would prefer disappearing to being stripped of everything that comprises him, yet above all, he would prefer to stop worrying about the entire ordeal.
By the time they stop for the night, Cody’s head aches. He gladly takes watch to get a moment of quiet.
The snowy hills stretch into the horizon. Cody takes off his helmet and exhales, his breath twisting in front of him like cigar smoke. His every nerve feels frayed. He can endure heat and rain, but something about the cold disquiets him.
“May I join you?”
Cody peers over his shoulder. Kenobi stands at a distance, the wind fluttering the edges of his robes. Cody’s pulse quickens with the memory of Kenobi’s body swaying from a rope, but he remembers himself.
“No need to ask,” Cody replies.
Kenobi comes to stand by his side. They share silence, studying the same landscape, until Kenobi says, “You were distracted today.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Kenobi’s voice pitches low. “What’s troubling you?”
The day weighs heavily on Cody’s mind. He cannot stop himself from saying, “Tell me what you meant when you said that the Force feels unclear.”
Kenobi doesn’t appear surprised. “The planet is ripe with possibility,” he says. “It’s as if a thousand futures hang in the balance, and the Force shows them all at once. As you could imagine, that makes it quite difficult to discern what is real and what is yet to be.”
“But there is an objective reality.”
“Always. Reality shifts, though. What is true of the future might change from moment to moment. There is no clear path to follow.”
“Then a dream is not destined to come true?”
“There is always uncertainty.”
Cody’s frustration mounts. Usually, he finds comfort in Kenobi’s adherence to a Jedi’s mindset. Tonight, he simply wants Kenobi to promise that everything will be okay. That he will take care. That tomorrow night, they will stand side by side again, and Cody will not find Kenobi’s corpse.
“I don’t like it here,” Cody says. He means for the words to sound indignant and is mortified to hear his voice shake.
Kenobi hums. “It’s quite unsettling, isn’t it?” He’s quiet for a long moment. “We’ll go somewhere warm. After.”
After. They have spoken that word before; Cody has turned it over in his mind, weathering it until it doesn’t sound real. What does Kenobi mean by it? After they take Concordia? After the war?
Cody doesn’t have the courage to ask or even imagine.
Kenobi pulls his robes tighter. “You still haven’t told me what’s troubling you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“If you’re certain.”
Certainty is a rare currency that Cody can seldom spend. He shrugs away Kenobi’s inquiry and pretends not to notice the way Kenobi studies him before turning away. He passes the rest of his watch alone, a storm building in his heart.
The shift changes. Cody goes to Kenobi’s tent. Kenobi doesn’t seem surprised; he doesn’t move from where he sits on his sleeping roll. His eyebrow lifts—half question, half challenge. Cody leaves the question and takes the challenge.
When they fuck, it’s rough and raw, Kenobi on his knees and forearms, Cody behind him. Cody spreads Kenobi wide and drives into his body. There is no need to be gentle with each other. In fact, Kenobi seems to welcome Cody’s desperation, arching into Cody’s hands. Cody digs his fingertips into Kenobi’s skin, his breath ragged.
Maybe if Cody leaves bruises on Kenobi’s hips and an ache between his legs, Kenobi will remember that his life cannot be discarded so easily. Maybe this will quell the fear and fury in Cody’s heart—fear for what is to come, fury that Kenobi died so easily in his dream.
Kenobi comes first, bucking beneath Cody. Cody follows close behind. They slump to the ground together, chests heaving like they waged a private war. Maybe they had. Cody knows this is what he needed tonight.
But why, Cody wonders as he watches Kenobi drift off, was Kenobi so eager for a fight?
***
As they did before, the mountains and the village come to pass. Cody stares at them and feels hysteria building beneath the controlled facade he must present.
There is no doubt that this is the exact scene from his dream.
“The Force still feels unclear,” Kenobi says. “More so. It’s as if a shroud has dropped around the entire planet. I’m hard-pressed to make a judgment without information.”
Words evade Cody.
“It would likely be best if I scout ahead alone,” Kenobi continues.
“No,” Cody blurts. “No. We have no idea what lies ahead. We’ll go around.”
“We aren’t prepared for a mountain of that size. Our supplies will dwindle eventually.”
“But General, at least take—”
“It will be quicker alone.”
His tone is firm. Cody is hurt to find that it’s the same one he uses on shinies—on the Separatists when he argues. There is merit to his title of the Great Negotiator.
As Cody watches Kenobi’s back recede, he realizes that he’d lost the argument before it even began.
***
An hour passes. Kenobi does not return. Cody will not wait any longer than this.
He traces Kenobi’s fading footsteps to the town.
When the bell tolls, Cody wants to weep and rage. He wants to turn away and refuse to look over his shoulder—to hold the possibility that Kenobi is alive.
But Cody has always been practical.
He turns the corner of the tower. Like in the first vision, Kenobi is sprawled out at the structure’s base, his blood seeping into the cracks between stones. He is naked, his clothes nowhere to be seen. Cody stares into the gaping maw of what used to be Kenobi’s sturdy chest—now, it is simply a tangle of broken bones and slit organs. The sight nauseates Cody, yet his soldier’s instincts prickle as he looks closer. Something is off.
His heart.
Kenobi’s heart is missing.
Cody staggers to his feet. He cannot lay down and die beside his general, not when there is still work to do. A heart is a powerful thing—and Cody imagines that the heart of a Jedi carries its fair share of power. Cody cannot think of Kenobi as his love; he cannot look at the bruises in the shape of his fingers on Kenobi’s hips. Cody has to consider the facts:
They are in enemy territory, and the occupants of this village took the first opportunity presented to murder a Jedi and take his heart.
Cody’s mind races. In the first dream—occurence—Cody hadn’t thought to check for Kenobi’s heart. In the second, he hadn’t been close enough to tell. Now, the intent is clear, and the night has hardly arrived. Cody can assume that the sequence of two days will loop again, so he has the time before dawn to organize his thoughts.
He must hurry. He kneels beside Kenobi’s body. Every part of Cody screams to take him back to camp—somewhere safe, somewhere warm—but Kenobi’s weight will slow him down. Cody cannot carry this version of Kenobi in hopes of saving another: the man who does not need to be carried and will walk beside him.
Still, he sheds his cloak and covers Kenobi, then presses his lips to his forehead.
Cody whispers a promise: Tomorrow.
***
Cody sneaks into camp and his tent to avoid questions of the general’s whereabouts. Perhaps concern will grow overnight, but by dawn, everything will be reset.
Please, Cody thinks as he settles in front of his holopad. Let it all be reset.
Beneath his conviction, there is a terrible fear that tonight will be different. That he will wake and Kenobi will be dead. If he is, Cody won’t only be a disloyal soldier—he will be a man who left his lover in the snow and ice.
He shoves those thoughts aside and focuses on his research.
Cody begins with the files provided on Kamino: first the information on Jedi as a whole, and then the dossier he was given about Kenobi. He skims both and finds neither helpful. As he returns to the top of the dossier, his attention snags on Kenobi’s portrait. A lump rises in his throat. Tomorrow, he reminds himself, and closes both files.
He traces a path through files that ends with the extent of his security clearance. Nowhere is a Jedi’s heart mentioned.
Cody checks the time, and his own heart lurches. He has a matter of hours before the cycle begins anew—hours to figure out why a remote village wants Kenobi’s life, and the only man Cody wants input from is dead.
But his security clearance is still here.
Cody opens his tent and checks his surroundings. When he finds the area clear, he strides into Kenobi’s tent. The familiar sight and scents are nearly enough to send Cody running. Tomorrow, tomorrow.
He kneels by the sleeping roll and finds Kenobi’s holopad. He types in the passcodes that are burned into his memory from nights shared completing paperwork. Cody reads anything he can get his hands on—from the military, the Republic, and even from the Jedi archives. His frustration swells with each useless document.
His exhausted eyes burn, but he turns to the next file from the archive written in scrawling, faded script. A sentence catches his attention.
I posit that a Jedi’s body must always be burned upon death.
Cody reads on.
Once deceased, a Jedi’s soul has no use of a physical form. However, interested parties may view a Jedi’s body as a valuable conduit of the Force. There have been accounts of imbalance brought about by the misuse of a Jedi’s corpse. Of particular note: limbs, eyes, skulls, hearts. See: Donovia, Adot, Kela Beta, Concordia.
Cody presses his hands to his mouth. Misuse. The unspecificity of the word turns his stomach. Cody should have burned Kenobi’s body. He should have carried him back, a quicker pace be damned. He should have done anything except leave him behind.
The thought haunts him as he drifts off.
***
Cody wakes to the bells and rushes out of his tent. His surroundings appear as they were two days ago, but that’s not enough. Desperation gnaws at his ribs as he waits.
The fabric door across from him rustles.
Kenobi emerges, and relief nearly buckles Cody’s knees.
Suddenly, all Cody wants to do is throw his arms around Kenobi and bury his face in the crook of his neck. Even privately, he’s embarrassed by the unprofessional desire. Their sexual relationship stems from desire and convenience—it cannot involve their hearts.
Cody pushes down his emotions and says, “Good morning, General.”
“Same to you, Commander.” Kenobi surveys the landscape. “Another day is upon us.”
The same day I have lived again and again.
“So it is,” Cody says aloud.
***
The days cycle on.
For all the information Cody found, he isn’t sure how to utilize it successfully. He tries delaying the troops and speeding them on. He tries persuading Kenobi to stay behind, to let the men scout ahead alone, to traverse the mountains, to charge through the village as a battalion. Kenobi won’t be persuaded. It is as if a magnet draws him to the village.
Cody contemplates not following Kenobi every day. After all, he knows what fate is supposed to befall Kenobi. He cannot stop himself from drifting in Kenobi’s wake and finding his abandoned corpse. Sometimes, he looks as if he is merely sleeping, curled in the snow or swaying gently from a rope. Other days, he is brutalized, barely recognizable.
The days might be erased, but Cody’s memories remain. He sees Kenobi dead in his nightmares—head separated from his body, more blood than flesh, stripped of dignity and left to rot. He imagines a pulse around every corner, imagines a cloaked figure crushing Kenobi’s heart, gore seeping through pale fingers like crushed fruit.
There seems to be no good solution. Cody loses count of the days, yet finally, he comes to a realization: the villagers have never seen a Jedi. They only know rumors carried by the wind—a Jedi’s disposition, their robes and strange weapons. Any face could be a Jedi’s.
Even Cody’s.
***
The night that Cody plans to die, he switches watch shifts with a shiny and stops by the medics. He makes small talk until they turn away. With only a flicker of shame, Cody tucks a vial of sedative into his pack and takes his leave.
Kenobi’s tent is his next stop. He slips inside and finds Kenobi meditating, eyes closed. He doesn’t move upon Cody’s arrival.
Cody’s shame sparks, brighter this time. Kenobi’s trust in Cody is absolute, and Cody…
For the first time since knowing Kenobi, Cody is going to lie to him.
Kenobi exhales. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.” Cody kneels beside him, opens his pack, and takes out a bottle of whiskey. “Care for a drink?”
Kenobi’s eyes sparkle with interest. “A special occasion?
“It’s freezing. I thought you might appreciate some warmth, too.” Cody forces a smile. “I have one glass, but…”
“I’ll find mine.”
Kenobi turns away to search. Cody works quickly. He pours the whiskey, then adds a small amount of the sedative—just enough so that Kenobi will sleep through the night.
“Here we are,” Kenobi says, offering a mug.
Cody nods his thanks and gives Kenobi his drink. Kenobi studies the alcohol before taking a long sip. Cody has to stop himself from sighing in relief.
“Do you like it?” Cody asks.
“I’ve never been much of a whiskey man.” Kenobi’s mouth quirks to the side. “But I believe company betters the drink.”
“I agree.”
Cody drinks and studies Kenobi over the rim of his mug. He has spent countless days and nights learning Kenobi, but he takes the moment to commit him to memory. The proud, strong lines of his face. His hair, brown in darkness and auburn-toned in sunlight. Those eyes that found Cody’s all those years ago.
Those beautiful eyes that are beginning to go hazy and unfocused.
“Cody,” Kenobi murmurs. “Cody, what…”
Kenobi sways. Cody lowers him to the ground, hushing his small, confused sounds.
“It’s okay,” Cody whispers. “You’re okay. Everything will be alright.”
Kenobi opens and closes his mouth soundlessly, fighting against the sedative. Cody wants to weep with what he has done. The deception is to save Kenobi’s life, but it is deception all the same—perhaps Cody’s greatest act of betrayal.
“I’m sorry,” Cody says. “I’m so sorry.”
All Cody has not said to Kenobi lingers on his tongue. On the verge of death, it should be easy to say I love you plainly, yet Cody cannot do it.
“I was…” Cody exhales and summons the courage to speak aloud what he can rarely confront. “I was looking forward to what we could become. After.”
Kenobi’s eyes flutter shut. Cody holds him a moment longer, then presses a kiss to his forehead and stands.
There is little time to waste.
Cody leaves his armor in a neat pile and dresses in Kenobi’s robes. The fabric smells like him, warm and familiar. The weight of Kenobi’s lightsaber in Cody’s hand, too, is second nature. Cody has retrieved this weapon time and time again, all across the galaxy; to take it goes against all he has stood for.
Cody covers Kenobi with a blanket, tucking the corners around his feet. He forces himself to leave and not look back.
***
Cody walks through the night. He sleeps for a few hours beneath a jagged rock formation, then quickens his pace toward the village. Kenobi will sleep through the night, but when he wakes, Cody has no doubt that he will take chase. Cody’s sacrifice has to be complete before Kenobi catches up.
To Cody’s relief, there is no sign of Kenobi by the time he reaches the mountains and the village. He wastes no time taking in the view, only adjusts the lightsaber to be visible on his belt and continues on.
The wind is toothy, needling through the Jedi robes. For once, Cody appreciates the sensation. To be cold is to be alive, and the time he has left is short. He supposes he should be afraid, but he has never feared death, not when he was created for war. Yet when Cody searches his soul, he does find regret. Regret that he cannot live longer. Regret that he cannot see this war to its end. Never regret for saving Kenobi, but regret that one of them must die.
If it has to be one of us, Cody thinks, let it be me.
The village is quiet when Cody crosses its borders. He heads toward the bell tower. In the terrible monotony of the two-day sequence, Cody has wondered what Kenobi encountered upon reaching the village. The silent, abandoned streets are more off-putting than Cody imagines a mob would be. Then, at least, he would know his fate. In the quiet, the way he will die hangs in the balance.
As he approaches the tower, he sees a gray mass. People, Cody realizes. Dozens of them, all dressed in gray robes. Only their faces, as white as the fallen snow, are visible.
A man steps forward. “You are Jedi?”
“Yes.” Cody lifts his chin. “I am.”
“The more that is here, the less you will see.”
The man lowers his hood and looks to Cody with eyes like polished silver. Cody thinks of the reflection pool in the Jedi temple.
He thinks of Kenobi as the first blow strikes his skin.
The mob is upon him in a blink—even if he wanted to fight back, there wouldn’t be time. His world narrows to a sea of claws. Prying hands tear his clothes from his body, fingernails raking down his chest and arms. Blades dig into his shoulders, his sides, his thighs. The crowd drags him to the base of the tower and splays him out on the stone.
Cody closes his eyes as the bell begins to toll.
Then, someone cries out.
“Stop this! It’s me! I’m the Jedi, not him!”
Obi-Wan.
Cody blinks blood away, struggles to his elbows, and meets Kenobi’s wild eyes.
Kenobi stands in the square, his chest heaving with exertion as he faces down the village. “Did you hear me?” Kenobi snarls. “I’m the Jedi.”
Serenity settles over his face as he extends his hand. The snow on the ground quivers, then lifts a few inches from the ground. The robed figures murmur amongst themselves. Kenobi looks to Cody again, and Cody spots something new in his expression.
Guilt.
Why? Cody makes himself think. Why would Kenobi wear his guilt so openly? Why would he chase after Cody with a singular purpose? How could he know his destination? How could he know that this village was after a Jedi?
He couldn’t have.
Not unless he had also lived these days before.
The mass of gray robes descends upon Kenobi. Cody struggles to his hands and knees. His vision lurches, and through the blur, he sees red staining the snow.
His blood.
Kenobi’s blood.
The mob drags Kenobi past Cody, toward the stairs. Kenobi puts up no struggle as they haul him up, toward the ringing bell and the bough. A woman produces a rope.
“Don’t,” Cody begs. “Please, don’t, don’t.”
They force Kenobi onto the platform and form a noose. They secure it around his neck.
“General!” Cody cries out. “Obi-Wan.”
The man and the woman push Kenobi. Kenobi falls, the rope unfurling, and the weight of his own body works to snap his neck.
The wind howls with all the sorrow Cody cannot unleash in his broken state.
I failed. He collapses onto his back and stares at Kenobi’s dangling legs. I lost him.
Darkness descends upon Cody.
***
Cody wakes to new snow wisping through the empty night.
Pain radiates through him. He has been left where he fell, staring up at the bough. Kenobi’s body is still on display, and his chest is cleaved open.
He knew.
Cody stares at his general’s corpse until unconsciousness drifts over him.
He knew and didn’t tell me.
***
The bells knoll.
Cody rises. He does not marvel at his restored body or that he is in his tent. He strides outside and goes to Kenobi’s tent without announcing his presence. He finds his general kneeling. He holds his lightsaber, his knuckles white around the hilt. The sight reminds Cody of his guilt, but his fury burns hotter.
“You knew,” Cody says.
“Yes,” Kenobi replies, eyes downcast.
“You knew,” Cody repeats. “This entire time, you knew, you knew what they would do, and you still… you let them…”
Kenobi finally looks up.
“I did what I had to,” he says.
The tremor in his voice shatters Cody’s resolve. He kneels beside Kenobi. Cody took refuge in the idea that Kenobi’s memory of each terrible death was erased. He told himself that even if Kenobi suffered in the moment, the pain did not matter because the pain never existed. No longer can Cody have that comfort.
Kenobi seems to read as much on Cody’s face. He takes Cody’s hand and places it on his chest. Cody feels Kenobi’s heartbeat against his palm. The relief is momentary. War has shown Cody how fragile a body is, but seeing Kenobi killed time and time again has driven home that he, too, is only a man. Blood and bones, his life protected only by his ribcage.
“I’m alive,” Kenobi says lowly.
“You weren’t,” Cody whispers. “You weren’t…”
“How many times for you?”
“Ten. At least.”
Kenobi’s brow furrows. “I see.”
Dread creeps up on Cody. “And for you?”
“More.”
Cody reels with the idea that he repeated days without being aware—and that Kenobi went through it alone. “Was I—”
“General,” a voice comes from outside the tent. “It’s nearly time to move out.”
“Coming,” Kenobi calls. He grips Cody’s hand for a split second. “Tonight.”
***
Cody passes the day’s march replaying the memory of Kenobi’s hand gripping his. Tonight, he said, so as soon as night falls, he follows Kenobi to his tent. They eat their rations in silence. Deeply familiar, yet tonight, deeply strange.
When they are both fed, Cody says, “You didn’t tell me.”
He tries to frame it as a statement of fact. His accusation bleeds in. You didn’t trust me.
The corners of Kenobi’s mouth lift. “You forget that I have lived this sequence a few more times than you. I told you, once.”
Cody’s head spins. How strange it is to know that he lived without recollection. “What did I do?” he asks. The answer feels vitally important.
“You believed me implicitly,” Kenobi says. “You then drugged me, stole my robes and lightsaber, and died in my place.”
Relief washes over Cody. “I would do the same in every life.”
“Which is why I didn’t tell you.”
“But you didn’t have to choose to die,” Cody pleads. “You didn’t have to keep going.”
“I told you another time. You convinced me to stay.” Kenobi’s voice turns distant, his eyes clouded. “They came to our camp and slaughtered half the men. You included.”
“If it was a good death—”
“No,” Kenobi cuts in. “The Force does not want your blood. The cycle continued.”
“By that logic, the Force doesn’t care for yours, either.”
“Perhaps. But when I go, you and the men live.”
Cody finds himself lost for words. There are none, for this is the crux of Obi-Wan Kenobi: he will suffer endlessly if it means others will not, even if that suffering will be undone. To love Kenobi is to accept his selflessness.
“You didn’t tell me, either,” Kenobi says.
“No,” Cody replies. “I suppose I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I thought I was saving you from knowing the pain you endured.” Visions of Kenobi’s lifeless, desecrated body play across Cody’s mind. “I took comfort in thinking you felt nothing.”
Cody feels foolish and angry all at once. The Force takes no interest in him—how could he believe he could control its whims? Yet he has been thrown into this life, thrown into this war, and he tries to make the few choices he can. Cody chooses to love Kenobi. Cody should not have to feel foolish for wanting to protect him.
Kenobi thumbs over the inside of Cody’s wrist, pressing down softly on his pulse point. “There is nothing you could have done. Even Jedi buckle under the weight of infinite possibilities from the Force, and you did not. You remained yourself.”
“I still feel as if I let you down.”
Kenobi smiles softly. “When? You have never once let me down.”
Cody closes his eyes and exhales. The weight of the cyclical days is still heavy, but it is halved. He doesn’t have to strategize in secret—alone. Neither does Kenobi.
“What power does a Jedi heart have?” Cody asks. “The archives were unclear.”
“The…” Kenobi raises a brow. “My passcodes?”
“Quite intuitive.”
A soft laugh escapes Kenobi’s lips. “Then we’re working with the same information. I commed Master Yoda to confirm during one cycle, and not even he knew.”
“If we leave the planet?”
“I tried as much. We were shot down.” Kenobi runs a hand through his beard. “I suppose we could try to see what fate my heart meets.”
“You’d need me to watch.”
“Yes.”
As a soldier, Cody takes no issue with the mission. As a man, he is nearing his threshold of how much pain he can watch Kenobi endure.
“General,” Cody says. “We don’t—”
“The day will reset—”
“Does what happens with your heart trouble you? Or is it only valuable knowledge?”
“I have no need for it beyond my body,” Kenobi says.
“But it is still a part of you. I know that it’s your heart. I don’t know what they do with it. That’s why I have been able to continue on.”
“My heart is not me.”
“Your heart is… I’m not a Jedi. I’m not like you.” Cody’s breath hitches. He is veering close, far too close, to the flames of all they do not say to each other. “You couldn’t let me die. I can’t do this. Not without trying something else. Have you gone to either mountain?”
“No,” Kenobi says, his voice clipped.
“We’ll try that.”
Kenobi studies Cody for a long moment, silent.
“Please,” Cody whispers. His desperation grows. “Obi-Wan. Please.”
“I need to meditate,” Kenobi says.
The dismissal is clear.
***
Sleep evades Cody once he leaves Kenobi. He lies on his back, listening to the wind howl beyond the thin fabric of his tent. Finally, he gives up on rest—it is of little value, anyway. His body and mind will realign when his hourglass cage tips once again.
Instead, he stands and watches Concordia’s surface rearrange itself with each flurry of white. A thousand different possibilities. Like shuffling a deck of cards. Like two days looped again, and again, and again. Like a galaxy at war, each day hanging in the balance.
Cody gazes beyond the hills, to the mountains. Shock reverberates through him. He can see blood oozing down the side of the westward mountain, a darkness threatening to drown the entire planet. A part of him yearns to run to it, to let the flood douse out his life. He opens his mouth to cry out, but when he blinks, the mountains are carved white once again.
A trick of the light, he tells himself, and returns to his tent.
***
Cody eventually falls into fitless rest—or at least he assumes he must, for the next thing he knows, there’s a soft touch on his arm. He sits up, letting the blankets fall aside.
Kenobi crouches beside him with a burdened expression. “The men will hold this position,” he says. “We’ll leave before dawn.”
There is no need to question where the journey will lead. Kenobi ducks out, and Cody quickly gears up. When he’s finished, he walks outside. Instantly, a chill shoots through him, but the feeling has nothing to do with the cold.
Kenobi stands and observes the same view that helped pass Cody’s sleepless night. If not for the new snowfall, Kenobi would be standing Cody’s footprints.
“Which one?” Cody asks.
“The western range,” Kenobi says.
“Did it call out to you, too?”
Kenobi turns sharply. Cody expects to see confusion or horror in his eyes, yet Kenobi’s lips are slightly parted, the same way they were after they kissed for the first time. Surprise, perhaps. Wonder, if Cody is feeling brave. He doesn’t consider himself the type to strike wonder in anyone—he is too plain, too practical.
“What did you see?” Kenobi murmurs.
The gory flood feels too powerful to speak of aloud, like Cody might summon it. He shakes his head and simply says, “West it is.”
***
Like Cody has done on so many strange planets, he walks side by side with Kenobi.
His body weathers the elements. His mind is with the forgotten days he lived out. They should be of no consequence, yet he cannot help but be disconcerted by the notion of acting without memory, without control, without agency. The idea begs another question, too.
“Why me?” Cody blurts.
Kenobi glances over, his eyes brightened by the cold. “Come again?”
“You were the only one in the loop initially. Why was I brought in, General?”
“Better Jedi than myself have questioned the will of the Force and come up empty.”
“Try.”
Kenobi pauses, statuesque against the snow. “The Force has a way of delivering to us what we most need at the moment.”
Cody swallows hard. “And what you needed was…”
“Someone brave,” Kenobi finishes. “Someone steady.”
“Could it have been anyone?”
Cody has turned that question over and over in his mind, in every context and angle. He was a man with a shared face, a shared body. He was crafted for war. Nothing more.
“No,” Kenobi says. “I didn’t… I never could have anticipated this.”
They begin their journey again, walking in silence. The mountain range nears, and the turmoil in Cody’s heart grows.
“Cody,” Kenobi says quietly. “It does not always have to be General.”
It is the closest they have come to speaking of it. Kenobi is extending a hand, and all Cody has to do is take hold. Doing so should be so easy, but Cody cannot bring himself to do as much. He would judge any of his brothers harshly for what already swirls between him and Kenobi; he would tell any one of them that he was being reckless and to think of his duty.
“What should it be, then?” Cody asks.
“Obi-Wan,” Kenobi says.
Cody meets his gaze. Kenobi has only spoken his own name, but his eyes say much more. Cody sees all that Kenobi will not allow himself to ask for. Cody sees the same truth that his own soul reflects: that he was foolish to think that sex between them could exist without feeling. Yet he cannot help but feel that no matter what Kenobi says, Cody was brought into this cycle as a warning: if he continues disrupting the Force’s balance, it will only lead to ruin.
“There is a war to win, General,” Cody says, as soft as he can.
Blame the war, always the war.
“And after?” Kenobi asks.
Cody exhales. After was difficult to believe in, even before living the same two days over and over. Now, he feels even more trapped in the present of violence and fear. What life is there after for a product of war?
He leaves Kenobi’s question unanswered, pretending he never heard it at all.
***
“Ahead,” Kenobi eventually says.
Cody follows his pointed finger to a worn stone path. It winds into the mountain, the end concealed by white fog. A shiver rolls through Cody, and instinctually, he reaches for his blaster. He doesn’t need a connection to the Force to know how strange this place is.
The fog ripples. From it, three veiled figures emerge—from what Cody can observe, they appear to be neither man nor woman. They are humanoid, though, and clad in the same gray robes as the villagers. The winds shift, pulling away their coverings to show white eyes.
They do not attack.
They do not speak.
Kenobi is the first to break. “Hello,” he says. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is my second-in-command, Cody. We represent the Jedi and the Republic. What may I call you?”
The person in the middle steps forward. “We are the true worshipers of the Timekeeper.”
Kenobi frowns. “The Timekeeper?”
“They who balance the scales.”
“You call yourself the true worshiper,” Cody calls. “Who are the others?”
“The galaxy is in turmoil,” the person on the left says. “The Timekeeper thrives in symmetry. Those who have left the mountains seek to gather power that is not theirs.
“They seek to tilt the scales in their favor,” the person on the right adds. “They each seek to be a Timekeeper and believe that power displaced will be restored.”
Understanding dawns upon Cody. “They want to be Jedi. They think if they sacrifice a Jedi’s life, they can take their power for themselves.”
“They succeeded,” the middle worshiper says.
“My connection to the Force is intact,” Kenobi says. “They could not have—”
“They did,” they cut in. “To hang a body from the home of a bell and toll its knell is to guarantee the divine. To consume is to become.”
In their mirrored eyes, a terrible scene plays out. As clearly as if seeing it himself, Cody watches a man hold Kenobi’s heart and sink his teeth into it. Cody’s stomach lurches.
“But I am here,” Kenobi says. “I am alive, and time is replaying itself.”
The middle worshiper studies him. “Then the Timekeeper knows you are not destined to die upon this planet, and neither is your second. They preserve your life.”
“We have to leave, though,” Cody says. “We cannot live in this loop forever.”
“The Timekeeper has expended their force to preserve your life. The scales have been disrupted. They require new energy to propel the world forward.”
“Quite fair,” Kenobi says. “How do we go about paying our debt?”
All three people turn and start down the stone path.
“It appears as if they’d like us to follow,” Kenobi says.
Cody stares after the trio. “How do we know that we weren’t fed a load of lies?”
“We don’t, but we aren’t spoiled for options. I also suspect that their Timekeeper is of the Force in some manner.” One corner of Kenobi’s mouth lifts. “If anything, this will add some variety to our recent experiences, Commander, but if you’d like to stay here—”
“No,” Cody interrupts. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”
***
The three worshipers bring Cody and Kenobi deep within the mountain, to where the light hardly reaches. Cody blinks, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they do, he drinks in the sight before him. The sides of the mountain curl around a room of carvings. Cody notes a thousand measures of time etched into stone—scales, hourglasses, clocks, sundials, and devices he doesn’t recognize. A raised platform rests below the images.
“The Timekeeper takes from this altar,” one worshiper says. They have shuffled, like a coin hidden under three cups, and their faces have blurred. Cody can no longer distinguish them from each other. “Do you know the ritual?”
Kenobi smiles thinly. “I’m afraid not.”
“The Timekeeper exists beyond our realm,” another worshiper says. “We reach them through death in small doses, done and done unto the vessel representing the Timekeeper. Only then is your soul open to the divine.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It is easier shown.”
Those mirrored eyes shift again. This time, Cody does not see Kenobi’s death. He sees the three worshipers, tangled together upon the altar before them. Their naked bodies twist together, hands and hips working in tandem as a crowd observes. Cody supposes the person in the middle in the vessel—they take one of their lovers between their legs, the other in their mouth. Cody feels heat rise to his cheeks, yet he finds himself enthralled as all three of them reach their climax in the same breath.
The vision fades.
“Do you see now?” a worshiper asks.
“Yes.” Kenobi’s cheeks are ablaze with red. “It’s… much clearer.”
Cody stares at the altar, lost for words and embarrassed. Yet beneath the instinctual reaction to seeing something so intimate, a thrill courses through Cody. His connection with Kenobi exists in stolen moments and cramped spaces. There is a magnetic draw to the open, shameless nature of what he witnessed.
“Is there any danger to it?” Kenobi asks.
“To the vessel,” a worshiper says. “The Timekeeper is highly intrigued by physical forms. If the connection between you and your vessel is not strong enough, the Timekeeper may overwrite them for their own use.”
Kenobi shakes his head. “Then we won’t do it.”
Cody steps forward. “General—”
“We won’t.”
“Give us a moment.” Cody stands between Kenobi and the worshipers. “This may be the only way to end the loop.”
Kenobi meets his eye. Cody’s breath catches in his throat. Before the altar, Kenobi is a portrait of contradictions—shadows and light, his soft skin and the angular lines of his body. Cody frequently forgets the uncanny nature of the Jedi, these strange creatures of the Force. Yet even though Cody may forget, he will never run from it.
“I will not risk your mind,” Kenobi whispers. “Rituals of the flesh hold a particular power. Even Jedi are highly reluctant to use them.”
“Obi-Wan.” Cody’s voice shakes, but he pushes on. “Death, every two days. That is no way to live. I accept the risk.”
“I cannot ask this of you.”
“You cannot ask for what I would give freely.” Insecurity creeps into Cody’s mind. “There are only dangers if our connection is not strong enough. Do you not…”
Kenobi’s expression softens. “Quite the opposite.”
The weight of Kenobi’s admission settles over Cody. Anywhere else in the galaxy, he might have felt fear of what their feelings might ruin, but the curve of the mountain protects them from prying eyes. Here, they are stripped of all their duty and titles.
Here, they are safe.
The altar calls to Cody. He indulges in the feeling and traces his gloved hand along the stone edge. He slides off his gloves to examine the rough, carved details and the items beside the platform—candles, laces and cables, oils, and objects Cody doesn’t recognize. When he glances over his shoulder, Kenobi—Obi-Wan—is watching, his hunger unmasked and plain.
Heat curls through Cody’s core, and the divine calls to him.
He removes his armor, too flushed to care about the chill. His trembling hands fumble once, twice, over the clasp of his vambraces. Only then does Obi-Wan come to him.
Obi-Wan makes fast work of his armor and blacks, then presses his lips to the side of Cody’s neck. Cody arches into the warmth of his mouth, tipping his head back.
His eyes connect with those of a worshiper.
All three of them have faded to the edge of the room. The proper part of Cody wants them to avert their gazes, yet he also has some desperate urge for them to see. To witness.
It’s only fair, he rationalizes. I saw what they got up to.
Then, Obi-Wan sinks his teeth into the sensitive skin near Cody’s collarbone, and his capacity for reason vanishes.
Cody settles on the edge of the altar as Obi-Wan removes his own clothes. He has seen Obi-Wan bare in a dozen different contexts, yet he has never seen him like this, unburdened and eyes darkened with desire. Cody aches between his thighs, and he moves to go to his hands and knees.
Obi-Wan grasps his wrist. With a gentle touch, he lowers Cody to his back instead. Cody’s head spins—for all the times they have come together, they have never confronted each other like this, face to face and heart to heart.
“Alright?” Obi-Wan murmurs.
Cody laughs breathlessly. “More than.”
A smile comes to Obi-Wan’s lips before he kisses Cody, softly and sweetly. He pulls back, inhaling and exhaling deliberately. Yes, Cody thinks, matching his rhythm. He will follow where Kenobi leads; he will allow this path to unfold.
Obi-Wan presses kisses down Cody’s chest, pausing at his nipples to suck and bite lightly. Cody gasps, his cock aching.
“Obi-Wan,” he breathes.
More, he means.
Obi-Wan drags a finger through the waiting oil, then spreads Cody’s legs and eases a finger inside him. He opens Cody with agonizing care, adding another finger and crooking them.
“You always…” Cody fights the tide of pleasure threatening to take him. It must be together. “You always go too slowly for your own good.”
“I don’t want—”
Cody swipes his hand through the oil and reaches for Obi-Wan’s hardened cock. He strokes him, delighting in Obi-Wan’s ruined expression.
“Inside me,” Cody says.
Obi-Wan grins toothily. “How persuasive.”
“A symptom of far too much time with the Great Negotiator.” For once, the title feels light and teasing on Cody’s tongue. “I need you inside me.”
Obi-Wan kisses him again, and without another word, pushes into Cody’s hole.
Cody’s body ripples with the weight of Obi-Wan’s cock inside him, and his mind reels with new information. On his hands and knees, he’d never seen how Obi-Wan’s lips fell open in a soundless moan. He’d never witnessed the rose-red flush that spread beneath the hair on Obi-Wan’s chest, never experienced this exact angle.
Cody splays his legs wider, desperate for more. He holds Obi-Wan’s hips with his thighs, in command of his own pleasure and Obi-Wan’s pace. He has absolute trust in Obi-Wan, yet there is still a thrill to knowing that he holds this particular power.
Cody arches his back experimentally. Obi-Wan’s hips snap forward, his cock driving deeper in Cody’s body.
“Sorry,” Obi-Wan pants. “Cody, I—”
Cody cups a hand over the back of Obi-Wan’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair to drag him closer, and whispers, “I won’t break. Let me feel you.”
His words seem to shatter the last of Obi-Wan’s fragile control.
Cody digs his nails into Obi-Wan’s lower back as Obi-Wan fucks him in earnest. Their every inch of skin presses together, forgiving where the stone is harsh. Cody’s world narrows to Obi-Wan—the weight of his cock, his rough breaths, his earthy scent.
Yes, he thinks. This is divinity.
The power between them builds. Cody nears a brink, and Obi-Wan’s rhythm grows sporadic. He must be close, too.
“I am one with you,” Cody whispers. “You are one with me. The Force…”
Kenobi shudders, and warmth consumes Cody from within.
Cody’s vision goes white.
Distantly, he’s aware of his body moving against Obi-Wan’s, yet his mind is beyond the altar—in the realm of the divine.
All at once, Cody sees his body splayed on the altar and Obi-Wan touching himself in the showers of the Vigilance, stifling his cry of Cody’s name; Cody sees a vibroblade slashing across his unscarred face and Obi-Wan hanging from a rope; he sees violence and fear and hatred and good soldiers follow orders and thousands of lights flickering out across the galaxy and his brothers in their growth chambers and Kamino stolen by sweeping tides and Obi-Wan amongst swirling desert sands and the Force, he sees the living Force and all its pain.
He sees time and its keeper, a figure in brown. Instinctually, Cody knows this is not their true form, only the one most comforting to him.
The energy you bring is powerful, they say.
They say, You may stay and be safe from what could be.
A road unfurls. Cody yearns for its safety, for its certainty. Yet looking at it for too long hurts his eyes. He looks back, over his shoulder, and sees Obi-Wan cradling his body.
You can have my offering, Cody tells the Timekeeper. But the rest is mine.
Cody imagines himself back in his body. He envisions all his hands have done unto the galaxy, pain and pleasure and all between. He envisions his heart safe within his ribs and the broad range of his own shoulders. He envisions every scar, lingering on the details of the raised skin that loops around his eye. He reaches into the Force and finds two potent memories, belonging not to himself, but to Obi-Wan:
Cody’s head thrown back in laughter.
Cody’s smile.
In a breath, Cody’s vision clears, and he is on the altar again—mind and body aligned. He takes in the pleasant ache between his thighs and Obi-Wan’s stricken expression.
“I’m here,” Cody says. “It’s me.”
***
Cody lays in Obi-Wan’s arms, half-awake, half-asleep. The worshipers move around them. He’s distantly aware of one approaching the altar.
“The Timekeeper sends their gratitude,” they say.
“Will time move as it should?”
“The past and future are balanced.” A beat. “But you and your men must leave this planet and never return. The Timekeeper wants nothing of this growing darkness.”
Obi-Wan is quiet for a long moment. His grip tightens on Cody, and for a moment, Cody thinks he will argue on behalf of the Republic.
Cody reaches for his hand. “We cannot stay.”
He does not have the language—or even the full understanding—to convey what the Timekeeper showed him. He tries to project all he feels into the Force.
Obi-Wan exhales. “Alright. As soon as we return to our men, we will be gone.”
“Sleep until dawn,” the worshiper says. Their unreadable eyes find Cody. “Fate has no claim over you tonight.”
Cody lies soundly in Obi-Wan’s arms and drifts, dreamless.
***
When Cody wakes, Obi-Wan is already dressed, and the worshipers are gone. Obi-Wan has his comm in hand, and reality sinks in. They must leave this place. Cody finds himself reluctant to do as much.
He dresses slowly. Obi-Wan is quiet as they leave. The small hours are upon them, the stars and sun trading duties. Cody inhales the cold air. Concordia is unchanged, yet somehow, Cody sees it differently. Knowing he will never return unearths a complex sorrow. He has suffered on this planet, but he has also become more of himself.
They are nearly down the mountain when Obi-Wan asks, “What did you see?”
“I hardly know myself,” Cody admits. “I felt as if the entire galaxy washed over me.”
“Nothing distinguished itself?”
“I saw when I got my scar. I saw you, also, on a desert planet.”
“The truth of visions often takes time to reveal itself.” Kenobi casts a sidelong glance at Cody. “But I believe the Force brings us precisely where we are supposed to be.”
Heat prickles over Cody as Obi-Wan takes his wrist.
“Tell me if I’m out of line,” Obi-Wan whispers.
With the wind and snow swirling around them, Obi-Wan presses his lips to Cody’s. The kiss is soft, a gentle question that expects no answer in return. Even when Obi-Wan pulls away, he lingers close enough for his beard to graze Cody’s cheek.
“What if we are wrong for this?” Cody murmurs.
“Has anything felt wrong?”
Obi-Wan poses the questions in a neutral yet curious tone. Cody can tell he is asking with an open, selfless heart—if Cody says that anything felt wrong, he would never speak of it again. For a moment, Cody considers saying yes, this is wrong. What they are doing is dangerous, so unbelievably dangerous. If the wrong people were to discover what existed between them, the Republic’s fate could hang in the balance. Cody has a duty.
But duty be damned.
Cody also has his own desires.
“No,” Cody says. “We can be faithful to the Republic and each other.”
The future is uncertain. The Republic will not have Concordia because of their actions. Cody cannot worry about that as he walks alongside Obi-Wan toward the camp.
For the first time in weeks, Cody hears the bells and knows a new day with new potential is upon him.