"The heart's true power lies not in what it can destroy, but in what it chooses to protect."

☯☯☯

The cool evening breeze whispered through the temple's ancient corridors, carrying with it the faint scent of medicinal herbs and the musty tang of centuries-old stone. The grand architecture loomed around you, its towering spires and intricate carvings pulsing with an otherworldly energy, as if the temple itself were alive, guiding you toward the med bay with an almost sentient awareness.

Inside, the warm, amber glow of healing lamps bathed the room in a soft, soothing light. Kix sat at his station, his sharp eyes scanning a datapad, but he looked up as you entered, his brow furrowing slightly. The lines on his face deepened, a mix of worry and determination etched into his features.

"What can I do to help?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of tension. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air: Who's been hurt this time?

You released a dramatic huff, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "You can start by binding his wound—he's been shot," you snapped, your voice cutting through the silence like a lightsaber through durasteel. The urgency in your tone was palpable, sharp enough to make even the medical droids pause mid-whir.

Kix's eyes narrowed, but he didn't hesitate. With a curt nod, he rose from his seat, his movements precise and deliberate. The med bay transformed into a sanctuary of focused effort, every action purposeful, every second critical.

Anakin stood silently beside you, his presence a steadying force. His hand rested on your shoulder, a silent reminder that you weren't alone. Ahsoka hovered nearby, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a furrowed brow and a nervous bite of her lip. Her montrals twitched, betraying her unease, and her eyes—usually bright with mischief—were now dark with concern.

Kix's hands moved with practiced efficiency, the soft swish of medical tools and the hiss of sanitizing agents filling the room. His fingers, nimble and sure, worked to clean the wound, removing debris with a gentle yet firm touch. The scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint, earthy aroma of Obi-Wan's robes, creating a sensory tapestry that anchored the moment in stark reality.

Obi-Wan lay still, his face pale but composed, his breathing shallow but steady. A wince flickered across his features as Kix probed the wound, but he remained silent, his Jedi training keeping his pain in check.

"Master," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of relief and frustration. "You can't keep doing this." You stepped closer, your hand pressing gently but firmly against his shoulder, urging him to lie back. "We were worried sick about you."

Obi-Wan's lips twitched into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with a familiar mix of humor and apology. "I know, I know," he said, his voice soft but laced with warmth. "And you, my dear Padawan, nearly caused a ruckus in that alley, didn't you?" He chuckled weakly, the sound strained but genuine. "You nearly tore someone in half for me."

You couldn't help but smile, despite the stern expression you fought to maintain. "I would've done worse if they'd laid a hand on you," you retorted, your voice thick with protective pride.

Obi-Wan's hand reached up, his fingers brushing your cheek in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. "Thank you, my brave Padawan," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "You have no idea how much your loyalty means to me."

"But," you continued, your tone softening, "as you said in the alley, you were fine. And yet, here we are again, worrying ourselves sick."

Obi-Wan's smile turned rueful. "I know," he admitted. "I must learn to be more cautious—for my sake, and for the peace of mind of those who care for me."

Anakin stepped forward, his hand still resting on your shoulder. "We'll let you rest now, Master," he said, his voice a blend of respect and gentle command. "You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he leaned back against the medcot. "Thank you, Anakin," he murmured, his voice tinged with fatigue. "I'll rest. I promise."

Ahsoka moved closer, her arms crossed but her expression determined. "I'll keep an eye on him," she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. "No more shenanigans while I'm around."

With a final nod, Anakin guided you out of the med bay, his hand lingering on your shoulder as the doors hissed shut behind you. The temple corridor stretched ahead, bathed in the warm glow of evening light, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly against the stone.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Anakin sighed, his grip on your shoulder tightening briefly before he let go. "He'll be fine," he said, his voice low but firm. "He's Obi-Wan. Stubborn as a bantha and twice as tough."

You nodded, but the weight of the day still pressed heavily on your chest. "I know," you said quietly. "But one of these days, his luck's going to run out."

Anakin didn't reply. He didn't need to. The unspoken truth hung between you, a shadow neither of you dared to name.

SCENEBREAK

You stumbled into your chamber, the weight of the day pressing down on you like a collapsing star. The door hissed shut behind you, sealing you in the dim, quiet space. Without ceremony, you flopped onto the bed, the thin mattress doing little to cushion your exhaustion. A sigh escaped your lips as you dragged a hand over your face, your claws catching faintly on the ridges of your montrals.

Then you saw it.

In the mirror across the room, your reflection shifted. The familiar lines of your face melted away, replaced by the hulking, scaled visage of your kaiju form. Her glowing purple eyes burned like twin supernovas, her bioluminescent markings casting an eerie light across the chamber. She loomed in the glass, her presence both alien and intimately familiar.

"Pathetic," she said, her voice a low, resonant growl that vibrated through your bones. "You let yourself be governed by these emotions—carried by humans who should have died years ago."

You sat up slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. "What are you talking about?" you demanded, though your voice wavered.

She tilted her massive head, her gaze piercing. "You know exactly what I mean. Obi-Wan. Anakin. Ahsoka. They're fleeting. Mortal. Weak. And yet you bind yourself to them, as if their lives hold any meaning in the grand scheme of things."

"They're my friends," you snapped, your claws digging into the edge of the bed. "My family."

"Family?" She laughed, the sound a deep, rumbling thunder that made the walls tremble. "You are kaiju. A force of nature. A being of destruction and rebirth. And yet you cower in this fragile shell, playing at being one of them."

You stood, your fists clenched. "I'm not playing at anything. I'm me."

"Are you?" She leaned closer, her reflection filling the mirror until it seemed she might step through the glass. "Or are you just afraid of what you truly are? Afraid of the power you could wield if you stopped clinging to these... sentimentalities."

Her words struck a nerve, and you flinched. "It's not sentimentality. It's love."

"Love," she sneered, the word dripping with disdain. "A human construct. A weakness. You could be so much more, Nyx. You could be free."

"Free to do what?" you shot back, your voice rising. "Destroy? Burn everything down? Is that what you want?"

Her eyes narrowed, the glow intensifying. "I want you to stop pretending. Stop hiding. Embrace what you are. What we are."

You shook your head, stepping back. "I won't. I can't."

"You will," she said, her voice softening to a whisper that sent chills down your spine. "Because one day, they'll be gone. And you'll be alone. And then you'll see the truth."

The mirror rippled, her form dissolving back into your own reflection. But her words lingered, echoing in the silence of the chamber.

You sank back onto the bed, your hands trembling. The weight of her words pressed down on you, heavier than any physical burden. She was wrong. She had to be.

But deep down, in the darkest corners of your mind, you wondered if she was right.