Imperfect

Chasing Spirits

I neither own these characters or the literary universe in which they live, though there are a few new faces and places that are of my own design. I neither make nor intend to make any profit off of this writing, but indeed I expect die poor, clutching a legal pad and pen to my chest, a half written chapter scribbled on the fading yellow page.

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Prologue

(Ten months after the events of Perfect)

Padawan, where are you? That is the question I ask myself everyday. It is just one of many. With every breath, every heartbeat, I wonder where you are, what you are doing. I worry if you are safe, if you are happy. I hope you are.

I fear you are not.

Fear.

I have much of that within me, so much so that I let it drive you away from your home. Away from the Jedi. Away from me. And that's precisely what it was... fear. I was afraid that I was not a good master, that I was incapable of being so. My failure with Xanatos the bitter evidence that validated the truth of my concerns. Then I met you and all those old fears came to the fore. I let that fear guide me when I should have focused on guiding you. I was so frightened of failing you that it allowed for no other outcome.

I failed you, Padawan. I knew that the moment I touched your mind, the moment I touched your pain, the moment I saw myself through your eyes...

Pity. Disappointment. That is how you saw me, how you thought I saw you. The truth is I have never seen you that way. Not once. Not ever. But you were right about pity and disappointment being a part of your apprenticeship under me. You thought these two things were your master, but they were not yours. They were mine.

I have permitted pity and disappointment to master me since before you were born. They are, perhaps, the greatest of my failings, though they share good company with my arrogance and stubbornness. Maverick they call me. Rebel. Fool is what I am. I realize now with you gone how poor a Jedi I am, how poor a master, and how poor a man. None of these are mantles I am fit to wear.

But you are. You can still if only you would return, not to me, but to the Temple, to the Jedi.

You are meant to be a great Jedi, my Padawan. Please, I beg you, don't let me take that from you. There is little of me left that I value, but I would gladly surrender it all for your safe return.

I have never given much thought to religion. After seeing so many people, so many planets with each its own religious customs, beliefs, and mores, I have never felt a need to add my own to the great multitude. I had the Force. That was enough, but now... now I find myself praying daily to any gods who may listen. I would serve them all. I would sacrifice myself upon any number of strange altars. I would praise or curse the divine. I would even submit to the Dark. I would do anything.

Anything...

To give back what I took from you.

Mace and Yoda think I am losing my mind. Perhaps I am. There are days when I sit here staring up at the model galaxy spinning before me and I can almost feel my sanity slipping away, but I cannot bring myself to care.

There is nothing left for me here without your bright presence, without your Light. The galaxy is now such a dark place that the Darkness no longer frightens me.

Perhaps that is what I should fear... I think Mace does. There is something in his eyes when he looks at me that looks like pity. It looks like disappointment. I know that's what