Chapter Text
The obnoxious beeping of a chrono that wakes him is the first thing that Kallus notices is wrong. His chrono on the Ghost has a different tone than the one currently screaming at him. Slowly regaining consciousness, he shifts and rolls over in his too-stiff bed to silence the vaguely familiar chrono’s insistent beeping. He groans, his back protesting the movement. His cot hasn’t felt this uncomfortable in years. In fact, it reminds him of his cot back in the Emp-
His eyes snap open and he sits up with a jolt, frantically looking around the small room. He remembers these quarters. They used to be his, after all. It had been nearly six years since he had last seen his sparse living space onboard a star destroyer. The oppressive grey walls make the room feel smaller, as if they are closing in on him. It all has to be a bad dream, right? How else could he be back with the Empire? He pinches his arm as hard as he can. Nothing happens. Karabast! Perhaps the pain isn’t enough to wake him? With barely a second of thought, he quickly swings his fist down to collide with his bad knee. Nothing. He’s still here, trapped in the one place he hoped to never return.
Everything seems too real to be a dream, no matter how much he tries to hope it is. He runs a hand through his hair that hasn’t been cut this short in years. It only solidifies what he has already come to accept. Considering the fact he is here like this in his old quarters and not in a holding cell, something must have happened to send him back in time. The force is the only logical answer for why he has seemingly been sent back in time. Of course he’s the one that has to deal with the stupid force nonsense. If only Ezra or Kanan had still been around, then maybe they would be the ones having to deal with this and not him.
Okay, he can deal with this. Everything is fine. He can just use his Fulcrum frequency and contact the Ghost to demand they extract him early.
It is only then that he realizes there is none of the usual knee pain that he has felt every day since Bahryn. He whips around to check his shelf, dreading the sight he knows he will find. There is nothing there except his standard issue datapad. There is no sign of his and Zeb’s meteorite. Bahryn hasn’t happened yet. He hasn’t become Fulcrum yet.
Horror dawning, he reaches up to grab the datapad and powers it on. His face pales as he checks the date. Quickly doing the math in his head, he realizes he’s been sent all the way back to 5BBY. Karabast, he’s been sent back almost nine years!
Before his thoughts could completely spiral with the implications of everything, his comm chirps at him. He checks the message, finding a summons to come planetside at his earliest convenience (read: ASAP) for a final planning meeting with former senator Gall Trayvis. He remembers this meeting and the subsequent failed mission that followed it. The Ghost crew always had a habit of getting out of tough situations, but this mission was an embarrassment to the Empire. Good. The Empire deserves it.
At least he gets to be on Lothal as he figures out what he is going to do now that he has been sent back. The last thing he wants is to show his hand too early and make things worse. He’s been a rebel too long now to just sit idly by but he has to tread carefully. He would have to start small.
He rises from his cot and decides not to make it, as is dictated by imperial protocol. A little bit of personal rebellion to ease his mind for the coming years. He goes through the motions of getting dressed, relying on over a decade’s worth of muscle memory to put on his uniform properly. As he goes to put on his chest plate, he feels a weight around his neck that he hasn’t realized was there until now. He reaches under his coat, gently slipping a simple braided cord from underneath his shirt, and holds the pendant up to the light. He looks at the piece of his and Zeb’s meteorite and has to choke back a sob. After the Battle of Yavin, they had each chipped a piece off of the stone and turned them into matching pendants. He never would have expected it to be here with him now. It doesn’t make sense, but he certainly won’t protest having a piece of his home with him. The necklace reminds Kallus of everything he has to fight for. He has a family that he can now protect, allies he can save. It’s risky to act so early, but he’s used to risky situations. As is the life of a rebel.
With his new purpose at the forefront of his mind, he carefully tucks his precious necklace back underneath his uniform. For a brief moment he swears he can feel a spark of warmth from the meteorite that had long grown cold.
His chestplate snaps on with a small click, protecting his heart and his reminder of home. It’s almost ironic to think about the imperial chestplate protecting the heart of a rebel. He feels a feral grin spread onto his face at the thought. Finally, he dons his helmet and slips into the once familiar mask of Agent Kallus. Fulcrum strides out of the room, each step fueled by purpose. The Empire doesn’t know what is coming for them.