**Chapter 408: Fractures**
The room was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet that followed meditation or rest — but the hollow, suffocating kind that pressed in from all sides, filling every corner with things left unsaid.
The quarters on Lantilles had been reassigned to them only hours ago. Temporary. Functional. Cold.
And empty without him.
**Ahsoka Tano** sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone pale beneath her orange skin. Her montrals twitched faintly, picking up nothing but silence. No presence. No familiar pull in the Force.
Just absence.
Flare paced near the viewport, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her usual fire dimmed into something brittle. Stella stood by the door, unmoving, as if leaving her post would make everything final.
No one spoke at first.
They didn't need to.
They could all feel it.
The break.
Ahsoka exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down her face. "I thought… I thought this was supposed to help."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Flare stopped pacing.
"Help?" she echoed bitterly. "This doesn't feel like help. This feels like we just… cut him off."
Stella finally moved, turning slowly to face them. "We didn't cut him off," she said, though even she didn't sound convinced. "We… we just stepped back."
Ahsoka let out a hollow laugh.
"Stepped back?" she repeated. "From him? From *Dagon*?" Her voice rose. "You don't just 'step back' from him. He doesn't… he doesn't work like that."
Silence fell again.
Because they all knew it was true.
Dagon didn't let people in halfway.
He was all or nothing.
And now—
He had nothing.
Flare's shoulders trembled. She turned back toward the viewport, staring out at the distant stars. "He almost died again," she whispered. "On Naboo… I felt it. The bond—" she pressed a hand to her chest "—it just… dropped. Like he was gone."
Her voice broke.
"I thought that was it. I thought we lost him."
Stella swallowed hard, arms tightening around herself. "And next time?" she asked quietly. "What happens next time?"
No one answered.
Because they all knew the answer.
There would *always* be a next time.
Ahsoka stood abruptly, pacing now, restless energy replacing the numbness.
"I was there first," she said, voice low but shaking. "I saw what he was becoming before any of you did. I stayed when everyone else would've walked away. I—" she stopped, clenching her fists. "I thought that meant something."
"It does," Stella said softly.
"Then why does it feel like we abandoned him?" Ahsoka shot back.
That hit.
Hard.
Flare turned, eyes red.
"Because maybe we did!" she snapped, tears spilling freely now. "Maybe we left him when he needed us most! He keeps throwing himself into death and we—what—decided it was too much?"
Her voice cracked into a sob.
"I don't want to lose him," she whispered, almost pleading. "I don't care how strong he is. I don't care how many times he comes back. One day he won't."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Stella looked away, blinking rapidly.
"He's changing," she said quietly. "You've both seen it. Zygerria… Malachor… the holocrons… He's carrying too much. And every time he uses that power…" she hesitated "he goes a little further."
Ahsoka stopped pacing.
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
"I know," she admitted. "I can feel it. The dark side… it's not controlling him — but it's *there*. And he's using it more."
She looked up, eyes glassy.
"But that doesn't mean we leave him alone with it."
Flare shook her head, wiping at her face angrily.
"What were we supposed to do?" she demanded. "Stay? Pretend it's fine? Watch him kill himself piece by piece?"
"Yes!" Ahsoka snapped.
Both Flare and Stella froze.
Ahsoka's breathing was uneven, her entire body tense.
"Yes," she repeated, softer now but no less intense. "We stay. We fight him if we have to. We drag him back if he goes too far. That's what we were supposed to do."
Her voice broke.
"Not this."
Stella's composure cracked then. She turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth as a quiet sob escaped.
"I can't watch him die," she whispered. "I can't… stand there and feel it again. It's like something inside me just… tears apart every time."
Flare slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands.
"I hate this," she muttered. "I hate that we had to choose. I hate that loving him feels like a battlefield."
Ahsoka slowly sank back onto the bed, shoulders slumping.
"He didn't even argue," she said after a long moment.
That made both of them look up.
"He just… accepted it," Ahsoka continued, staring at nothing. "No anger. No fight. Just…" she swallowed "that look."
Flare's voice was barely audible.
"Like he expected it."
Ahsoka nodded faintly.
"Yeah."
Silence returned — but this time it was heavier.
Final.
Stella took a hesitant step forward. "Do you think… he's okay?"
Ahsoka didn't answer right away.
When she did, her voice was almost a whisper.
"No."
Flare let out a shaky breath.
"Then we should go back," she said suddenly, lifting her head. "We should fix this. We can still—"
Ahsoka shook her head slowly.
"No. Not like this."
"Then what?" Flare demanded, desperation creeping back in.
Ahsoka looked toward the viewport, toward the stars — toward wherever he was now.
"We get stronger," she said quietly. "Strong enough that next time… we don't have to choose between loving him and surviving him."
Stella frowned slightly. "And if there *isn't* a next time?"
Ahsoka's jaw tightened.
"There will be," she said firmly.
Flare laughed weakly through her tears.
"You sound pretty sure."
Ahsoka didn't look at her.
"I have to be."
Because the alternative —
Was losing him forever.
The three of them sat there in the dim light, each lost in their own storm of guilt, fear, and longing.
Bound by the same truth.
They hadn't stopped loving him.
Not even close.
And that was the problem.