Eli Kaen stood alone beneath the shattered light of the eastern rotunda.
The Temple was burning.
He had watched the flames creep through the corridors more times than he could count. But this time, he hadn't run. This time, he sent his friends away — not because he had a plan that would work, but because he wanted them to live a few seconds longer.
Tavi had hesitated when Eli shoved him toward the auxiliary stairwell. "What are you doing?! We can't leave you—"
"You have to," Eli had said, his voice low but commanding. "Go, both of you. Hide."
"But—"
Eli grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard. "Please. Just trust me."
And then they were gone.
Now, he waited.
Blaster fire echoed down the marble corridors. Heavy boots clattered closer with each passing breath. The 501st Legion, precise as clockwork, just as they always were. No matter how the loops bent around him, they came at the same time. From the same direction. The same number.
He stepped into the center of the hall and raised his training saber.
Blue light flickered against his face.
He drew a deep breath. Then another.
He set his feet in the Djem So stance — shoulders back, saber angled down in a ready guard. He wasn't good at it. Not yet. But it was the only form he had begun to understand, and it was a form of power.
And Eli needed power now.
They rounded the corner in formation. Five at first. Then ten. The clone troopers raised their blasters in fluid synchronization. Eli didn't wait.
He charged.
The first volley hissed through the air. He batted one bolt wide, spun low, and darted between two support columns. Marble exploded beside him from missed shots.
He ducked, rolled, then sprang into motion.
A bolt clipped his side — he grunted, pain blooming. But he kept going.
He slammed his saber into the side of a clone's helmet. It cracked, dropping the soldier. Another tried to aim — Eli knocked the blaster aside and drove his blade into the trooper's thigh. The man went down.
Two. He had dropped two.
That old flicker of hope surged.
Then came the next wave.
He turned — too slow.
A bolt slammed into his upper arm. Another caught his leg. He collapsed against the wall, gasping.
They closed in fast, blasters trained on his heart.
He lifted his saber with trembling hands. His form faltered.
The final volley lit up the corridor in a blinding blue-and-red blaze.
And then—nothing.
Darkness.
---
Eli's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above him was whole again, the lights dim but stable. He was back in his dormitory bunk. No smoke. No pain. No scorch marks.
No victory.
He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His muscles trembled, phantom pain still crawling across his chest and side.
Fourteen lives. Fourteen failures.
But this time… he had pushed farther than before. Slightly farther. He had knocked out two clones. Misstepped less. It was progress. Painful, incremental progress.
He dressed and walked out of the dormitory, drifting down corridors filled with unsuspecting faces. His classmates laughed, teased one another, talked about lessons. They didn't know. Couldn't know.
They hadn't seen death over and over again. They hadn't seen their friends die every time.
He passed Master Tallis in the hall and offered a quiet bow. She smiled faintly in return, unaware that the last time they met, she'd been gunned down trying to defend younglings.
He pressed forward.
He found an empty training room and began his drills immediately.
Djem So. Power. Counterattack. Control.
Strike. Reset. Step. Rotate. Slam.
Again. Again. Again.
It was nearly midday when the door creaked open.
Tavi peeked inside. "There you are! We've been looking everywhere."
Eli didn't stop.
His saber whirled through the air, humming with effort.
Niyala followed, arms crossed. "You missed the meditation session."
"Busy," Eli muttered.
"You've been like this all week," she said. "You barely talk to us. You don't joke anymore. What's going on?"
He finally stopped, breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
"You wouldn't understand."
Tavi frowned. "Try us."
Eli hesitated. He couldn't tell them. How would he even begin?
"I've just… I'm trying to improve."
"You mean you're obsessing," Niyala replied. "You look like you haven't slept. You're not eating. You're training until you collapse."
He looked away. "It's important."
"Is something going to happen?" Tavi asked, his voice quiet now. "Something bad?"
Eli's hands tightened on the hilt of his saber.
"Yes."
Silence followed.
"I can't tell you how I know," he said. "But I need to be ready."
Niyala took a slow step forward. "Eli… we're worried about you."
He forced a smile. "I appreciate that. Really. But I need to do this."
They exchanged uncertain glances. Then Tavi grinned half-heartedly.
"Alright then. If you're going to train yourself into the floor, we might as well help."
"What?"
Tavi grabbed a practice saber off the wall. "I've been meaning to work on my timing."
Niyala rolled her eyes but picked one up too. "Let's not make a habit of this. My posture's going to suffer."
Eli stared, a strange mixture of warmth and dread welling in his chest. They didn't remember — they never did. But somehow, some part of them still reached out to him. Still chose to stand by him.
He nodded once.
They trained together for hours. Niyala focused on deflection drills. Tavi sparred with wild, unrefined enthusiasm. Eli corrected their stances, giving advice he had no business knowing.
But as the sun set and the Temple glowed orange through high windows, Eli stepped back and watched them. Laughing. Moving. Alive.
And he felt the weight of time press down on him.
He wasn't training to win this loop. He knew that now.
He was training to survive the next one.