Eli didn't go back to sleep.
He sat on the stone bench beneath the wide window in the training corridor, watching the traffic flow over Coruscant's skyline. It should've been beautiful—the sun painting the clouds in gold and copper—but now it felt ominous. Every shuttle might be carrying death. Every shadow could be the start of it all again.
He ran his fingers along the hem of his robe.
No blood. No pain. His body was whole.
But inside, something had cracked.
He remembered Niyala's body crumpling beside him.
The blue saber.
The heat of the blaster.
The silence of death.
And then—he had returned.
There was no doubt in his mind anymore: he was looping.
Why? How? The Force? A curse? A miracle?
It didn't matter yet.
What mattered was the countdown.
He had less than a day before the massacre began.
And this time, he wouldn't die in a hallway doing nothing.
---
When the rest of the younglings stirred, Eli was already dressed and waiting. He watched them file out, sleepy-eyed and yawning, unaware of the storm creeping toward them.
He spotted Niyala.
Alive. Whole.
She waved lazily. "You're up early again."
He nodded, heart heavy. "Couldn't sleep."
He stepped beside her, matching her pace down the hall.
"You ever think about sneaking into the archives?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"
He shrugged. "To learn something they won't teach us."
She snorted. "Like what? The battle records?"
"Like how Jedi die in war," he said flatly.
That silenced her.
She glanced sideways. "You're serious again."
"I'm always serious now."
---
He didn't try to convince the Masters yet.
He knew they wouldn't listen—not without proof, not from a youngling. If he caused too much disruption, they might restrict him, monitor him.
And if he couldn't move freely by nightfall, he'd die again.
So Eli kept his head down through morning training, pushing through drills with forced focus. But inside, he was memorizing everything—every exit, every route to the Temple's deeper levels, every patrol of clone troopers already stationed inside.
They were already here. That fact alone chilled him.
He watched the clones like a hawk.
Their expressions were unreadable behind helmets, their movements crisp, professional. But one of them, standing near the Grand Hall's inner lift, casually rested his fingers on the trigger of his blaster when a Jedi passed.
Just like before.
Just like hours before they'd begin the slaughter.
---
At midday, Eli excused himself from a kata demonstration and slipped away.
He moved with purpose through the Temple's lower levels, navigating back halls and service corridors he vaguely remembered from his first life. It was dangerous—he wasn't supposed to wander unsupervised—but every second mattered now.
He had to find something. Anything.
He finally reached the Jedi Archives.
The tall spires of data shelves loomed above him like silent monuments. Holobooks flickered with stored holograms. Ancient records hummed quietly.
Eli moved fast. He climbed a side console, accessing the training logs and restricted war briefings.
His fingers hovered above the interface.
What should he look for?
Clone behavior? Jedi responses to betrayal?
A name popped into his head. One burned into memory:
Skywalker.
He keyed it in.
"Access restricted to Knight-level authorization," the terminal chirped.
"Of course," he hissed.
He tried again—this time for basic Temple security protocols.
A file opened. Floor schematics. Surveillance blind spots.
Yes.
He downloaded what he could onto a datachip, stuffing it into the hidden fold in his belt. He didn't know what he could do with it yet, but it was something.
---
As he left the archives, someone called out behind him.
"Eli?"
He froze.
It was Master Tallis.
"What are you doing down here?"
"I—uh—got turned around."
Tallis frowned, stepping closer.
"You weren't at the refectory. And I noticed you meditating alone this morning."
"I needed space," Eli said. "There's… something wrong. I feel it."
Tallis tilted his head, his voice gentler now. "Fear is normal, especially in times of uncertainty."
"You're not listening," Eli said, voice trembling. "Something terrible is going to happen. You need to get everyone out of the Temple. Now."
Tallis blinked.
"Eli, listen to me—"
"No, you listen!" Eli shouted, louder than he meant to. "The clones are going to turn on us! Anakin Skywalker is going to lead them—he's going to kill everyone!"
Silence filled the corridor.
Tallis stared at him. Not angry—concerned. Worried.
"You've had a vision," he said slowly.
Eli stepped back, desperate. "No—it already happened. I already died. This is my second chance. I don't know why—but it's real. I saw it. I felt it. Niyala died. I died."
Tallis reached forward, hand gentle.
"We'll take you to the healers. They can help you sort through this—"
No.
Eli shook his head.
"I'm not crazy."
He turned and ran.
---
Evening fell again, faster than it should have.
As the sky outside turned copper and the city lights rose like stars below, Eli sat alone in a storage alcove behind the Temple dormitory, knees to his chest, listening.
Waiting.
He'd tried.
He hadn't warned everyone. He hadn't convinced anyone. But he'd learned the routes. He'd seen the files. He knew where the clones would come from. And this time, when it started, he would move faster.
He'd save Niyala.
He'd live longer.
He'd find a way.
The breeze shifted through the open corridor.
The low hum of a gunship approached in the distance.
Here we go again, he thought, jaw tight.