The moment Maul's shadow touched the Rebellion base, something ancient stirred in you. You had felt it days before—an ache in your bones, a tug on your soul. Dathomir called to you in whispers, sharp and sorrowful. Ezra was the first to see him, twisted by desperation and ambition, Maul returned like a ghost unresolved. When Ezra left with him, you, Kanan, and Sabine followed, your heart already knowing where they were headed.

The Phantom set down on the red-stained soil of Dathomir, and your breath caught in your throat. Time warped around you. The air still reeked of scorched magic and blood. You were a child again, barefoot and trembling, your sisters falling one by one, green mist twisting in the sky like a scream. You had escaped through the roots and shadows, guided by Ventress's cold, firm hand. She never looked back—but you always did.

The old Nightsister den loomed ahead, half-swallowed by the mountain like the memory you tried so long to bury. You followed behind Kanan and Sabine, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the dust of the dead. The walls pulsed faintly with residual magic, symbols you knew by heart flaring to life as you passed. Ghosts stirred.

You stepped into the ritual chamber just as Maul and Ezra began the rite. The air thickened with dark enchantment, and then they came—wraiths of green flame and wrath—Nightsisters once proud, now cursed. They screamed for repayment, for blood, for balance.

Maul twisted away, eyes gleaming with triumph. “They require sacrifice,” he hissed.

Ezra cried out, but the spirits turned on Kanan and Sabine, recognizing them as intruders, threats. You stepped between them, heart pounding, voice shaking with ancient chants you hadn't spoken in years. “They are not the ones,” you pleaded in the old tongue, the one your mother taught you when braiding your hair beneath the moons.

But the spirits would not be soothed. Magic was owed, and they would take it.

Sabine's blaster whined. Kanan ignited his saber. You screamed—not in fear, but rage. You flung yourself into the fray, calling upon the fragments of the Force and what little remained of your bloodright. The den responded, a low hum rising like a heartbeat beneath your feet.

You weren’t the scared child anymore. You were what survived.

And Dathomir remembered you.