The steady hum of the Republic transport buzzed faintly in Jason's ears, but he didn't hear it. He sat by the viewport, one hand propped beneath his chin, eyes half-focused on the traffic of Coruscant's upper atmosphere.
Below him, the durasteel towers of the galactic capital stretched like needles toward the sky. Endless lights, endless lives. The city-planet had never felt so distant.
Not after Rugosa.
He hadn't stopped thinking about it. The way the droids fell like waves. The moment Ventress leapt out of the shadows. The look in Yoda's eyes when he spoke to the clones—not as soldiers, but as people.
And still… that pulse. The one he felt during the fight. The same whisper that haunted his meditations.
Like something inside him was waiting to be remembered.
The transport landed in the temple's private hangar with a quiet hiss. Jason stepped down into the stone halls of the Jedi Temple, breathing in the calm, sacred air. The scent of incense. The cool hush of silence between pillars.
He should've gone straight to report in. Obi-Wan would be waiting.
But the Force… tugged.
A subtle, wordless pull. A sensation he couldn't quite place—like someone gently taking his hand, leading him through a dream.
His boots echoed through the empty halls as he followed it, passing meditation rooms, empty sparring chambers, and eventually—into the Jedi Archives.
Tall stacks of ancient holobooks and databanks stretched high above him, glowing softly under bluish light. Jocasta Nu was nowhere to be seen. The archives were silent.
Jason paused in the center aisle.
The Force shimmered.
Then… from one of the sealed alcoves on the side wall, a faint blue glow pulsed.
Jason approached cautiously. The alcove's security lock flickered—and unlocked by itself.
"That's not creepy at all," he muttered.
Inside, on a plinth of stone and metal, sat a holocron. A cube, humming faintly with age and power. Its surface etched with ancient lines. He reached out… and it opened.
A soft, ethereal voice spoke. Female. Calm. Commanding.
"Battle Meditation is more than strategy. More than influence. It is the shaping of morale. The stirring of courage. The harmony of allies and the dissonance of foes."
A shimmering image formed above the holocron—partially obscured by age and time. A woman in simple robes, her hair braided behind her, eyes closed in meditation.
"It is not domination. It is focus. The will of many guided by one. And in that unity, victory is born."
Jason stood still, heart suddenly pounding harder than it should. There was… something in her voice. Familiarity he couldn't name.
"I am Bastila."
The name hit him like a shockwave.
Jason staggered slightly, his chest tightening. "Bastila…?"
The holocron said nothing else. The image flickered and faded back to dormancy.
Jason stood alone in the alcove, staring down at the cube, brow furrowed.
"Why does that name feel like I've heard it before?"
But he hadn't. He was sure. He'd never even read of a Jedi named Bastila in the archives. Still… the name echoed in his thoughts like a dream half-remembered.
He closed the holocron carefully and lifted it in both hands.
There was only one person he trusted enough to ask.
[Later – Obi-Wan's quarters]
Obi-Wan Kenobi raised one eyebrow as Jason placed the holocron gently on the table between them.
"A holocron from the restricted archives?" Obi-Wan asked, folding his arms.
Jason grinned faintly. "It… sort of found me."
Obi-Wan's expression didn't change, but his eyes softened. He touched the holocron and activated it.
Once again, the voice of Bastila echoed through the chamber.
Jason watched closely this time. The clarity of her words. The serenity of her presence. There was something powerful in it—something that struck deep.
Obi-Wan listened silently, eyes narrowing slightly when the name was spoken.
"I am Bastila."
Jason exhaled. "You ever heard of her?"
Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "Only vaguely. A Jedi Knight from the distant past. From the old republic. Her techniques were… controversial. Powerful. Battle Meditation, if I recall, allowed her to sway the morale of entire armies."
Jason nodded. "I want to learn it."
Obi-Wan studied him for a moment. "You've always had a… persuasive energy. But Battle Meditation is not about charisma. It requires depth. Stillness. Responsibility."
Jason tilted his head. "Think I'm not ready?"
"I think," Obi-Wan said carefully, "that you must be willing to lead not with words or sabers—but with presence. With focus."
Jason's eyes lowered to the holocron. "Then I'll train for it."
[Following days – Jedi Temple Training Rooms]
The training was different from anything he'd done.
Jason sat in the center of a meditation circle, surrounded by clones sparring with each other under instructor supervision. Jedi Masters observed from balconies above.
The holocron sat on a pedestal before him, its blue light pulsing in rhythm with his breath.
"Let the Force carry your intent outward," Bastila's voice said in his mind. "Not to control… but to inspire. Let them feel your clarity."
Jason's eyes were closed. He didn't try to direct the clone troopers. He didn't speak.
He breathed.
He opened his mind.
Slowly… he felt it.
Their movements began to harmonize. Subtle at first. But real. Defensive blocks timed tighter. Communication more fluid. Their awareness sharpened. They weren't just training. They were flowing.
One of the Masters above leaned in to the others. "He's doing it."
Jason exhaled slowly, sweat glistening on his brow.
He didn't know how.
He didn't know why it came so easily.
But deep within him, something answered Bastila's voice.
Something old.