Caleb Dume opened his eyes. He was sitting on the ground, although with all right he should have been with the crew. He touched the podium, of course. He must have chosen the right one. As his vision cleared, the republic camp on Kaller came into view.

   The more he looked, the more panicked he became. Jedi robes and uniform covered his fourteen year old body. But nothing could prepare him for what he saw next. Clone troopers. Simply sitting and laughing, as if nothing was wrong. And nothing was wrong, at least not yet. A part of him was overjoyed. He could save her. He could save everyone. It hadn't happened yet. There was still time to fix everything. The young padawan ran toward the figure he knew so well, to save her life. He opened his mouth to tell his master, to save everyone.

   But a vision flashed before his eyes, a familiar twi'lek girl looking up in fear as a falling catwalk came crashing down on her. Even if the Empire wasn't there, Hera would still be fighting the separatists. She would always end up on Gorse.

  And everything and everyone he could save suddenly didn't matter. Because if Kanan Jarrus didn't exist, Hera Syndulla wouldn't make it out alive. But he couldn't sacrifice everyone in the galaxy for her. Could he?

  Before he could do anything, his surroundings changed. He was still Caleb Dume, but he stood behind Kanan Jarrus. A man drinking his thoughts away, drinking away everything and everyone he had left behind. And he saw himself fighting Vidian. And not being able to use the force. He had drank so much to forget that he had forgotten. No. The force had given up on him, discarded him like a useless piece of garbage. 

   And when the catwalk fell, Hera Syndulla fell victim to the poison that he had drowned himself in. Every drop of ale came out in a sea of tears. Every sip of wine, a pool of blood. 

Poison that couldn't kill. That's what the bartendenders always said. 

But he had ordered and he had served. 

Neverending heartbreak and guilt, on the rocks.