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So maybe he should have considered there was probably a reason why they trapped this guy in stasis in the first place. And maybe the fall of the Jedi Order shouldn’t have been the first thing he told him.
“You dare stand against me?”
The saber, red from the rage of the man he freed, hisses in its proximity, its glow almost as angry as Dagan, inching closer and closer to his face. Cal is no fool—his foe is formidable, and definitely out of his league.
It was time to put an end to this.
With a shove, Cal puts just enough distance between them for him to elbow Dagan in the face. Channelling the Force, he pushes the ex-Jedi away, throwing him back.
“Stop!”
Dagan falls to the ground. Cal seizes the moment to breathe, calm his racing heart and collect himself.
“I am not your enemy.”
Dagan pushes to his feet, glaring, his hatred a cold chill in the Force—and yet, underneath, Cal could feel his anguish, a pain that burned as hot as his rage.
Cal looks at him, a man near consumed by his own anger, and the memories he’d seen rise involuntarily, the smile on his face as he’d presented Tanalorr to Santari, the gentleness of his touch in that one moment before the invaders arrived…
Cal thinks of it, then of Cere, Trilla…
“I won’t fight you.”
His saber sheathes itself. Cal hooks it to his belt as Dagan regards him with something akin to confusion.
“You said the Order gave up on Tanalorr, that you were betrayed, by the one you trusted most.”
Dagan swings his blade against the ground, his anger flaring like a bolt of lightning through the Force.
“If Santari had only stood with me, we could have convinced the council that Tanalorr was worth the sacrifice! That our dream..was worth fighting for. Instead, she…” he trails off, too angry to speak.
No…too hurt. The Force, it screams with his hurt. Her rejection, however rational, burns.
Cal remembers this pain acutely, when the people he considered family had walked away from his mission, one by one.
Before the man can get violent again, Cal holds up his hands, attempts to push as much calm and peace into the Force as he can.
“Easy,” he says, taking a step back, “like I said, I’m not your enemy.”
Dagan points his blade at him, accusatory.
“You are a Jedi-”
“From a different time. The Jedi you knew are gone. And so are mine. We’re all that’s left.” His voice shakes, his pain just as palpable. A beat of silence. Cal swallows past his hurt, gathers his courage and resolves himself, gazing evenly at Dagan.
“I know what it’s like. To be betrayed by the ones closest to you. To be alone.”
The memories of Order 66 flash across his mind, just as vivid as the day it happened. He blinks them away, grounds himself in the present.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I can feel your suffering. Your pain…it’s eating you alive.”
For the first time, Dagan falters, his eyes widening, the blade wavering in his grip. Then he is spiralling in the Force, a maelstrom of anger and despair.
“You don’t know anything about me!”
“No, but she does. Santari.” The name shakes him, gives him pause again. Cal takes it as his cue to go on.
“I found a droid, trapped, in the underground paths of the forest array. When I touched it, I saw her, ordering it to take this tuner into the array and stop for no one. She said that the key to Tanalorr would be here, and feared it would be lost forever.”
“..What?”
Dagan stares at him, lowering his blade, trembling. There is rage, still, but underneath, a welling of something more—something like hope, and grief.
“For two hundred years, that droid was trapped, but I freed it, and took up its mission, hoping to find the key to Tanalorr. Instead, the tuner led me here, to you.”
“That’s impossible.”
His blade extinguishes, his rage subdued, but a tidal wave of grief sweeps in to take its place, enough to almost bring Cal to his knees.
“She obeyed the Council’s order! Refused to let me take the compass and tried to destroy them all-”
“But she couldn’t destroy you.”
Dagan gasps, falling to his knees, hand reaching to grip at the place where his other arm was severed. There’s more to this story, but Cal thinks he can guess what happened between them, how he lost his arm.
His heart clenches. The tragedy is not lost on him. He steps forward, kneeling down, holding out the tuner like an offering to him. His voice is soft, regretful.
“She thought of you, Dagan. She sent that droid to free you. To protect you. To protect Tanalorr.”
The saber slips from his grasp, rolling across the floor. Carefully, Dagan plucks the tuner from his hand, cradles it in his palm, eyes fixed on it in despair.
“Then why didn’t she come herself?” He whispers, “why didn’t she…”
“I don’t know,” Cal admits, “but I do know that she cared about you, even then. She never forgot about you, or Tanalorr. She believed in you, still.”
Cal takes a deep breath, steeling himself.
“And so do I.”
He rises to his feet, offers his hand to the broken man before him.
“The galaxy has changed. The Empire is wiping out those of us that are left. We can’t afford to fight each other.”
Dagan’s fingers curl over the tuner as he looks up, conflicted.
“Tanalorr-”
“Like I said, times have changed. I’m not like the Jedi you remember. The Order of your time might not have seen Tanalorr’s purpose, but there is one for it now. The Empire is hunting down any remaining force sensitives. Surviving Jedi, children…all of us. But Tanalorr could be our second chance, somewhere The Empire could never reach. A chance…to build a home.”
Cal pauses, gazing at Dagan, willing him to accept, praying to the Force that some sliver of the Jedi he’d seen in his visions still existed, that there remained a goodness to appeal to, underneath it all.
“That’s what you wanted, right?” He prompts, voice an edge of uncertainty.
Still, the fallen Jedi stares at him, tuner in hand, unsure. He clings to the tendrils of his anger, not quite ready to let it go, torn between desires—for vengeance, and for peace. There is a fear in his eyes, too. Like he does not dare hope again.
“Please,” Cal says, pleading now, “I know what it’s like, to have..everything…taken away from you. The anger…it feels good. But you can’t give in to the darkness. It will consume you, and the path you are on will only lead to destruction. There’s enough of that in this galaxy already. What we need is hope.”
Dagan huffs, a laugh full of bitterness and doubt.
“I have Fallen, Cal Kestis. Hope is the last thing you should expect from me. You are two centuries too late.”
“Maybe. But someone has to try.”
Silence.
Dagan does not reach for his hand.
Slowly, he pockets the tuner, stands. The saber flies back into his hand as he steps forward. Cal tenses.
Nothing. No ignition, no anger. Only an air of reluctant defeat and muted grief, echoing through the Force. Dagan rolls his saber in his palm, sighing in relent.
“Well?”
Relief shatters over Cal, like rain after a long drought. Despite himself, he smiles, and Dagan’s eyes widen in shock at it, and perhaps the hope singing through the Force.
“This way. I know a place we can get you some clothes.”
With that, he turns, jogging out of the room with barely contained excitement, and after a beat of hesitation…Dagan follows.