As the sun beat down upon the balcony outside her quarters, Ala did not feel its heat. She was cold. Her very core shook from the reality of the recurring vision. It was not a dream. No. It was a waking vision, even at times when she was not meditating. It just took her away. Thankfully, so far, no one had noticed.
The place the vision swept her off to altered from vision to vision. Once, she found herself with yellow blades illuminating a dark cavern as she fought with the Sword of Shiraya. Another time it was under the transparasteel dome of an underwater city. Another again, atop a windswept spire on a city among the clouds. Each time, three yellow humming blades clashed in a frantic, desperate series of blows.
She knew what it was. It was the end. Not hers. But his. As strong as he was, as powerful a saber-wielder he might be, she knew in her heart that he could not kill her. And she knew, in her heart... that she could kill him. For the Order. For the future. For everything they had once held dear.
But Ala revolted against the notion. Sitting beneath the summer sun of her adopted home of Naboo, Ala felt the heat of defiance warm her from within. The future was always uncertain. It did not have to be the way the visions showed. It could be different.
She could convince him. She could save him.
Beside her, the portable holo-projector had paused mid-run. She glanced at it again, for the thousandth time. The image of Lorn, saber slicing through the security controls outside Acier's cell, shimmered and flickered. Her eyes narrowed.
She would save him. But not because of the love for him to which she clung.
She would save him. Because she was a Jedi. And that is what Jedi do.
