Maul was running out of time. His connection with his to-be apprentice for that night was nearly over. Formed in the ancient fires of the sith's former glory, it was stronger than the one he had had with his own master. Despite this development, the former sith apprentice himself had difficulty entering his apprentice's mind.

The defenses were formidable - more than he expected from a fifteen year-old. Maul knew the youth had more potential than his former jedi mentor realised. Or maybe he knew, but that wouldn't be a factor in his plan, at least not in the major sense.

Maul furrowed his brow, a single droplet of perspiration sliding down his forehead. It completed its journey by slapping down to the floor in between Maul's crossed legs. The former sith didn't register it, instead clenching his open palms and letting them rest atop his knees. His teeth gritted as he slammed his force signature against his apprentice's again. The barriers that had been metaphorically constructed, in the shape of durasteel walls, shook at the contact through the force. The feeling reverberated and Maul felt immediate pushback from the youth. A small smirk began to form on his cracked lips. The youth was learning.

Really, this game of mental slugging was one Maul was assured he would be the victor in. He was simply toying with him; the youth had entered the stage in human existence called "puberty" by the medically minded. It meant the youth's emotions would be in constant turmoil. Fear would mingle with hatred, jealousy, depression, and occasional joy, all to confuse his apprentice. It would weaken his psychic barriers further, and, he'd eventually enter the youth's mind. He'd take the broken, malleable physical and emotional center and make it his own. That came later though, and he had larger banthas to kill.

The connection was fading for the hour, and Maul withdrew his efforts and exited what little imaginary ground he'd gained for now, and opened his eyes. The cabin in his ship, the Savage, was a mess; he didn't notice the objects that had been lifted during the session of mental shock-boxing. Rising from his meditative position on the floor of his cabin, the dampness of his tunic taking by surprise; that hadn't happened before. His apprentice truly was improving.

Ezra Bridger shot up in his bunk, his head slamming against the durasteel ceiling of his and Zeb's cabin. The youth hissed quietly in response to the pain. Not so much for the pain - he'd dealt with that before - the main problem on and assaulting his mind was Maul. The former sith was relentless in his mental attacks, the connection formed on malachor was, to Ezra, unbreakable no matter how he tried. And he tried.

Sighing to himself, he slid off the bunk soundlessly, ignoring his lasat companion's snores. Taking a spare cloak, he draped it over his shoulders and raised the hood attached to it, the soft, facsimile simmer-silk material feeling warm against his clammy skin. Pulling it tighter around him and reaching out his right hand, he summoned his lightsaber. It was immeasurably weightless in his grip, the handle polished and gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the lights of the Ghost.

His footsteps echoed smally in the hallways of the ship, drawing the attention of none of his fellow crew members - his de facto family, by most definitions. At the time though, the last thing Ezra wanted was any contact with other beings. He personally felt the most vulnerable at this time - other than when he took the liberty of rest, if you could call it that - his mental defenses having already exhausted a large portion of his already depleted energy.

His movements stopped for a fraction of a moment when the frigid air of Hoth, the location they were scouting, hit him through his cloak. It didn't bother him much, not with what he'd experienced in his sixteen years of living and two years of serving the rebel alliance. A cause that was feeling increasingly monotonous with every victory, but the youth knew he should appreciate the conditions he was living in, since the improvement was vastly superior to what he first had. He knew he should've appreciated these efforts, and he did, but if it was one thing Ezra Bridger hated it was monotony.

The Jedi to-be slid the cloak from his shoulders, suppressing the shiver that threatened his tranquility with will, setting it behind him. He crossed his legs, straightened his back, and closed his eyes. He took in on frigid breath after another, refusing himself the luxury of anything but the air that was provided by the ice world. His lungs adapted quickly, used to far worse air quality from Lothalian streets. And then it happened. No matter how many times he meditated, the overwhelming feeling of the force opening itself to him caught him off guard.

That wouldn't stop him, not that it ever did in recent times. Ezra didn't know the amount of time that had passed as he replenished his tattered psychic barriers, letting the force heal his wounds, none of which were grievous - yet. That was what worried him. He searched the force for the future and found nothing for a few moments before he was rewarded.

The image was static, like a flimsi photograph, or its hologram cousin, and was utterly confounding: It was him, eyes seeming to have disappeared from their sockets, yet there was no sign of gore at all. A strange green color tinted the image, and he was wearing...nothing? Just as he realised this, the image faded. Ezra probed the force for a few moments more before wrenching his mind from the currents of the force.

His eyes opened slowly, and Hoth's environment assaulted him immediately. He couldn't suppress the shiver that cascaded down his spine. A second did the same as he picked up the cloak, shaking the snow that congregated on it, slid it over his shoulders, and was halfway through raising the hood when he stopped. There was another force signature with him. He had trouble recognising it for a moment when he realised who it was.

Sabine.

The only mandalorian member of the crew and the one his first crush was focused on had been watching him. For how long, he didn't know. In fact, he wasn't aware of remembering opening the boarding ramp of the Ghost. He dismissed the thought, assuring himself that he'd done it hundreds of times, and wasn't deemed important enough by his brain to remember.

"Good morning," he said crisply, cocking an eyebrow at the mandalorian, who had leaned herself against one of the landing gears. Sabine didn't react immediately, peering at him with curiosity and a bit of suspicion. When she responded, it was exasperated.

"'Good morning'? It's two AM, Ezra. What's wrong?" The entire statement wasn't that surprising to the teen, considering how he'd been acting; He didn't speak often, staying inside his joint cabin with Zeb, only coming out for meals. And even those weren't the most commonplace. On an average day, it was akin to his living as a thief on Lothal. One meal a day, and a small one at that. And the non force-sensitive crew members of the Ghost were immediately worried.

"I'm fine." Was Ezra's response, and he was nearly up the ramp when he felt a hand tugging at his arm.

"Ezra, stop it. This won't help. Starving yourself won't, and neither will avoiding us. It'll only make things worse. Talk to us - we care about you." Ezra's shoulders tensed at the statement; it was about what he expected from her, considering that neither him or Kanan had yet to divulge any mission details bar the obvious. He also was sure that explaining it would open a whole other can of worms.

"Y-you wouldn't understand. I just need time." The youth responded sadly, his azure eyes looking more dead and lifeless than they had in months. Sabine glared.

"What wouldn't I understand?" She snapped, "I've seen - done - more than you have; I've seen war. I can empathize."

"Have you ever been afraid to sleep?" Ezra murmured quietly, causing the eyes that glared to shift uncomfortably.

"What?"

Ezra didn't bother to respond, turning on his heel and striding to the cockpit of the Ghost. He slumped down in the seat, squirming slightly as he tried to get comfortable. Eventually he succeeded, and felt his eyelids growing heavy. A pleasureable feeling descended upon the youth, before he snapped up. He couldn't fall asleep - too many chances for Maul to attack him. He rose from the seat and headed to his and Zeb's cabin, retrieving the sith holocron from Malachor and finding a shadowed spot in the cargo bay. He set the holocron on the floor in front of him. He sat down across from it and crossed his legs. Hesitation ruled his emotional state at that moment.

AN: I thank god for Hamilton. That musical's music is what helped me power through this. I don't know when I'll be updating this story next, I just guarente a wait. I'm currently working on "Bonds Of Steel" for the moment and it'll probably be several weeks before I'm finished with it. Might post chapters to this story, I don't know. Any reviews/follows/favorites would be duly noted. I'll see you next time. - Raging Celiac.