The Chosen Two


In Revenge of the Sith, Master Yoda believes that the prophecy of the Chosen One could have been misinterpreted… and he was right. There was an important element missing from the original text: blue milk. However silly it sounds, the blue milk was to be glazed over the back of the aging parchment, filling in on the details of galactic peace and balance. The exact prophecy was long forgotten by the time of the Clone Wars… forgotten by all except for one young Padawan. While snooping around the library, she found a small area scattered with ancient dust, dust that did not belong there. Using her incredible Force powers, she pieced them all together to find a long-dissolved piece of parchment, which she quickly holocopied and preserved. Quite by accident, she found the missing words on the back when her miniature Thernbee spilled the simple mixture on the old text. The prophecy now read:

One will come,

To bring balance to the Force,

Forever destroy the Sith, he shall

Become the Chosen One

Another will come soon after,

In a similar way,

Far different, yet the same

Seemingly more powerful than the First

But one shall strike the other down,

And become what they swore to destroy.

Chapter One

Rezmir Ikkmu sat cross-legged inside her quarters. She gathered the Force around her and created a whirlwind, spinning faster and faster and faster… it was no use. Even with her advanced abilities, it was impossible to undo what was done. Master Bant Eerin was dead. She died on Rezmir's homeworld because of the young Padawan's actions. In other words, Rezmir had killed her own Master because of her fury at the injustice of General Grievous's mistreatment of her people, only for the very convenient location as a galactic stepping-stone to Coruscant. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she slowly rose to examine the hologram again. Rezmir's dominant left hand absentmindedly swept aside her reports on the incident as she studied the hologram, when there was a weight on her back, pulling her to the ground. She instinctively did a back handspring, spun around, and grabbed her assailant by the throat as he lost his grip. It was Kinwa, her miniature Thernbee, trying to remind her of the Council debriefing this morning. Rezmir checked the chrono on her wrist, then almost flew to her closet to change out of her sleepclothes. She hadn't much time, and the Council did not appreciate tardiness.

Ahsoka Tano strolled through the Temple with her Master, Anakin Skywalker, and Obi-Wan Kenobi. "I still don't understand, Master: how could a seasoned Jedi warrior be so easily defeated by Grievous?" Skywalker asked. Master Kenobi halted and turned on his former apprentice. "And what exactly gave you the idea that Master Eerin was killed 'easily', Anakin? I knew Bant, and she wasn't one to go down without a fight." Skywalker sighed and turned to Ahsoka. "Why don't you go fetch your Padawan friend for the Council meeting? The sun will be up soon." Ahsoka tried not to grin and set her pace towards the student quarters. "Me? Fetch Rezmir?" she laughed. "If I know that Makkmli warrior, she's already at the Council chambers, patiently waiting for Master Windu to call her in."

How wrong Ahsoka was. Rezmir hurriedly slid into her clothes. She wore a black one-armed torso piece somewhat similar to that of Aayla Secura, who had taken a special interest in her since she was a child. A silver healing scarf wrapped around her midsection, connecting the torso piece to her short, black skirt. Silver leggings, with flexibility cutouts, flowed into her matte black, knee high boots. The only contrast to her understated outfit was the stark white pair of fingerless gloves, the right one extended to her elbow to allow for comlink communications. There was Aurebesh writing on the palms of those gloves: "PEACE" on the right, "JUSTICE" on the left. Three small bands of threaded Phrik alloy graced her biceps, as was customary of her people; the more bands you wore, the more stages in whatever profession you chose you had succeeded in. Rezmir wore them proudly for birth(which automatically counted as succeeding in having life), youngling, and Padawan. As opposed to having a small collection of hairs representing being chosen as a Padawan, Rezmir simply pulled all of her silvery-white hair (which turned blue with age) into a large, long, practical braid which extended to her low back. She was, as some might say, quite beautiful.

Tearstained grey eyes darted to the door as footsteps approached. Rezmir quickly wiped them on her sleeve and checked herself in the reflective durasteel which was her desk. Careful not to get the blue, tattoo-like birthmarks on her face confused with excess moisture she dabbed at her face with a stray piece of material. Rezmir then licked her fingers and smoothed down a few stray hairs, in the only common movement about her that was, as her brother would say, "of the lower class". It was then that a low, peaceful tone echoed through her room. It was Ahsoka, no doubt, tapping her foot impatiently for her friend to emerge. The Force-presence of the only person who Rezmir dared share her most personal feelings with brought a small grin to the favored student's face. Even though Ahsoka was two standard years younger than she, Rezmir enjoyed having someone so energetic and erratic around, in contrast to her own calm, businesslike front which only her former Master had ever seen. Oh yes, Rezmir chuckled, she put on a very good show.

Ahsoka glanced compassionately toward her friend, but did not dare speak, allowing Rezmir to fully complete her thoughts before breaking the silence. She did not have to wait long. "The Council certainly has a knack for timing," Rezmir said wryly. Ahsoka frowned at her friend's uncharacteristic bitterness.

"You can't grieve forever, Rezmir," she said plainly.

"Who says I'm grieving?"

Ahsoka grabbed her friends arm and tilted her head upward to look the tall Makkmli straight in the eye.

"I do."

Rezmir grunted and pulled her arm easily from Ahsoka's grasp, resuming a fast pace, pumping her arms to gain momentum. Ahsoka took on a quick jog to keep up with the long strides.

"It's been a week, Rezmir. The Republic is losing ground, troopers…" Ahsoka paused before finishing her sentence. "And Jedi Generals to lead them." Rezmir stopped and, for the first time in a week, did not hide the pain in her eyes. Ahsoka's plea came in a whisper: "We need you, Rezmir Ikkmu."

"The Council has decided that, despite your advanced abilities, you require further training, Padawan Ikkmu. Especially in the form of lightsaber combat." Mace Windu's monotonous voice rang in Rezmir's ears. She was wearing her mask again, and accepted this criticism with a small nod. Grand Master Yoda continued the critiques.

"Good against extremities, extremities are. Good against blasters, extremities are not." He was referring to Rezmir's fighting style. She preferred to use her hands and feet in a fluent, warrior-like attack system, which had, in fact, been very efficient against battle droids. Master Eerin had understood, why can't you? I wonder what Master Windu means by 'further training'? Hmm.

"For the rest of your training, you shall be assigned to a member of this Council." Mace Windu looked around the room, letting his somber, prompting gaze fall on each member, who seemed to be contemplating the young Makkmli princess. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, accepting her as his student. Rezmir gulped silently. Master Kenobi? I guess they really were serious about improving my lightsaber skills, but The Negotiator? Dang. The Jedi in question strolled to the center of the Council Chambers.

"I accept the challenge, and blessing, of tutoring such a talented student," Obi-Wan stated calmly, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. Jedi around the room were nodding their approval, all except for the only one with the authority to veto it: Grand Master Yoda.