=== Qui-Gon ===
He had been walking the upper halls of the Temple with Obi-Wan at his side, speaking quietly about the growing unease spreading through the Order.
"RUN!" Quinlan suddenly shouted. "Get out of here! All of you, get the younglings out of the temple! The Black Templar is coming! He'll tear this place apart! He'll kill every last one of you if you stay!"
Qui-Gon didn't hesitate. He never did when the Force spoke this clearly.
"Obi-Wan," he said, turning to his once Apprentice, "sound the evacuation alarm.
The words had barely left his mouth when the Temple shook.
The impact was catastrophic. Stone screamed as something massive punched through the outer structure. The floor lurched beneath their feet, sending Jedi stumbling, and the distant roar of engines drowned out the cries beginning to rise from every direction.
"Master!" Obi-Wan shouted over the chaos.
"Go!" Qui-Gon commanded. "Younglings first!"
They moved as one, training overriding the fear. Qui-Gon swept into a nearby learning chamber just as the doors burst open, younglings screaming, their instructors struggling to keep order. Smoke poured through fractured walls, the sound of distant blaster fire and something heavier echoing like thunder through the Temple's halls.
"This way," Qui-Gon said, his voice firm. He knelt, placing himself at the children's level. "Listen to me. Stay close. Hold hands. No matter what you hear, you do not let go."
A trembling Mirialan child looked up at him, tears streaking down her face. "Master… are we going to die?"
Qui-Gon met her gaze, steady and warm despite the world coming apart around them. "No," he said simply. "Not today."
They ran.
Corridors collapsed behind them as they pushed deeper toward the rear exits, Jedi forming a living wall around the younglings. Qui-Gon felt lives being extinguished in flashes of agony through the Force, but he forced himself forward. Dwelling on it now would doom the ones still breathing.
Plo Koon joined them at a shattered archway, one arm broken. "The main halls are lost," he reported grimly.
They burst out onto the backside steps just as the sky darkened.
A massive ship descended, its engines roaring. Some of the Jedi ignited blades instinctively, fear spiking, but the ship didn't fire. Instead, its hatch slammed open, and a Weequay man leaned out, waving both arms frantically.
"Move! Move, now!" he bellowed. "You wanna live, get on the ship!"
Obi-Wan hesitated for half a heartbeat. "Master—"
"Come on!" Qui-Gon said, already herding the younglings forward.
There was no time for trust, only action. They boarded in a rush of robes, cries, and wounded bodies. The hatch slammed shut, and the ship lurched skyward.
Inside, chaos slowly gave way to exhausted silence.
The ship jumped to hyperspace, and only then did Qui-Gon allow himself to breathe.
Now, on Alderaan, the survivors gathered in quiet clusters beneath pale skies and gentle mountains that felt impossibly peaceful compared to what they had fled. Medical droids moved among them. Younglings slept where they sat, exhaustion finally overpowering terror. Jedi spoke in hushed voices, faces hollow, eyes haunted.
Qui-Gon stood at the edge of the Alderaanian plateau, hands folded into the sleeves of his robes as the wind rolled gently across the high grasslands below. The world was painfully peaceful, rolling green hills, distant spires catching the light of a setting sun, birds circling lazily in the sky, so unlike the screams, fire, and collapsing stone that still echoed in his thoughts.
"So," a gravelly voice said lightly, "you all look like you've had a very bad day."
Qui-Gon did not turn at first. "We have survived," he replied evenly. "That is more than many can say."
"Well, that is good to hear," the voice continued, drawing closer. "I was beginning to worry that I had rescued a group of corpses."
Qui-Gon turned then, eyes settling on the Weequay man who had piloted the ship that pulled them from the jaws of annihilation. Scarred skin stretched across a broad face marked by years of violence and laughter in equal measure. The man stood casually, hands resting on his belt, utterly at ease among Jedi who could cut him down in an instant.
"You came at a precise moment," Qui-Gon said. "Too precise to be chance. Who are you?"
The Weequay grinned, baring yellowed teeth. "Name's Hondo Ohnaka. Captain, entrepreneur, occasional philanthropist… and," he added with an almost cheerful shrug, "an agent of the Imperium."
The words landed like a blade between the ribs.
Qui-Gon's hand moved instantly. The soft hum of an igniting lightsaber cut through the quiet air as green light washed across Hondo's face. Around them, several Jedi stiffened, hands going to their own weapons.
Hondo raised both hands slowly, palms out. "Ah-ah, Master Jedi, let us not ruin a perfectly good rescue with unnecessary violence."
"You bring us here under false pretenses," Qui-Gon said, blade steady, voice cold. "You admit allegiance to those who butchered the Temple, and expect me to stand idle?"
"Easy," Hondo said quickly. "Count Dooku sent me."
That name made Qui-Gon hesitate, just for a fraction of a second, but Hondo saw it.
"Yes, that Dooku," Hondo continued. "Former Jedi, current headache for many important people. He asked me to be nearby. He wanted me to extract as many of you as possible."
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "To keep casualties to a minimum?"
"Exactly!" Hondo snapped his fingers. "See? You are a smart one."
Qui-Gon glanced past Hondo, taking in the wounded, the shell-shocked children clinging to their masters, the empty spaces where friends should have been. His jaw tightened. "And yet thousands died."
Hondo's grin faded, just a little. "Yes. They did."
"Was that Dooku's will?" Qui-Gon asked quietly. "Did he approve of the slaughter of innocents?"
Hondo met his gaze without flinching. "He did."
The answer hung between them, heavy and ugly.
"He believes," Hondo went on, voice lowering, "that the Jedi and the Republic had this coming for a very long time. And after what I've seen?" He shrugged. "I am inclined to agree."
Qui-Gon took a step closer, the glow of his blade casting sharp shadows across Hondo's face. "You speak as though it excuses genocide."
"Oh, no, no," Hondo said, wagging a finger. "I do not excuse it. I understand it. Big difference."
He leaned against a nearby railing, utterly unconcerned with the weapon inches from his chest. "The Republic is rotten, Master Jedi. I know this because I have been paid very well to serve it, quietly, illegally, and often cruelly. Senators who smile in public and order massacres in private. Systems sold for credits. Entire populations written off as acceptable losses."
Qui-Gon's expression hardened, but he said nothing.
"The Imperium," Hondo continued, "simply stopped pretending it was better than that."
"And the Jedi?" Qui-Gon asked. "What crime justified their extermination?"
Hondo's eyes sharpened. "You were hiding someone."
A flicker of unease passed through Qui-Gon's chest.
"Someone of great importance to the Imperium," Hondo said. "So important that entire worlds are now burning because of it."
Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. "Even if that were true, it would not justify the murder of children. Of healers. Of those who never raised a blade."
Hondo straightened, his expression sobering at last. "This is a harsh galaxy, my friend. Ideals do not stop bolter fire. Mercy does not win wars. Only strength survives. And the Imperium has strength in abundance."
Qui-Gon deactivated his lightsaber, the hum fading into silence. "Strength without wisdom is nothing but destruction."
Hondo smiled again, softer this time, almost regretful. "Perhaps. But destruction is very effective."
They stood there for a long moment, Alderaan's tranquil horizon stretching endlessly before them, a cruel contrast to the truths laid bare between them.
"Rest while you can, Master Jedi," Hondo said at last, turning away. "You are going to need it."
Qui-Gon found Obi-Wan near one of the temporary shelters the Alderaanian relief crews had hastily erected along the landing terraces, the younger man sitting on a low stone bench with his elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. Quinlan Vos stood nearby, leaning against a support pillar with his arms crossed, while Plo Koon remained slightly apart from them all.
"We need to speak," Qui-Gon said quietly as he approached, drawing their attention. "All of us."
He folded his arms into his sleeves once more, his gaze moving from face to face before settling on Quinlan. "When you left the order to join the Imperium," he began, choosing his words carefully, "did you know something like this would happen? Did you know they would attack the Temple?"
Quinlan exhaled slowly, pushing off the pillar and straightening. "No. But it's not that simple,'" he said, his tone edged but not hostile. "The Jedi Order… we've been drifting for a long time, Qui-Gon. You know that. Buried in politics, chained to the Senate, fighting wars we barely understood."
"And the Imperium offered something different?" Qui-Gon asked incredulously.
"They offered freedom," Quinlan shot back. "No councils hemming us in, no senators pulling our strings. We were able to move through their territory, through war zones and broken worlds, and actually help people. Real people. Not just sign treaties and negotiate ceasefires that would be broken a week later."
Obi-Wan frowned slightly. "You're saying you trusted them."
"I'm saying we used the space they gave us," Quinlan replied. "We chose our missions. We protected civilians. We stopped slavers, warlords, cults that the Republic never bothered to acknowledge. For the first time in a long while, it felt like we were doing what the Jedi were always meant to do."
Plo Koon finally spoke, his voice filtered and calm. "There were… compromises," he said carefully. "But the good we accomplished was not imagined."
Qui-Gon absorbed that in silence, the Force swirling uneasily around them as his thoughts turned inward. He was about to respond when the sudden whine of repulsors drew all their attention skyward.
A smaller ship descended onto a nearby landing pad, its hull scorched and scarred, bearing the marks of a desperate escape. The ramp dropped with a hiss, and Cin Drallig strode out.
The sight of him drew a collective intake of breath. His right arm was gone, the stump tightly wrapped in layers of medical bandaging, darkened in places where blood had soaked through. His face was drawn, eyes blazing with fury, his entire posture radiating barely restrained violence. He spotted them almost immediately.
He crossed the distance in long, angry strides, stopping just short of Qui-Gon. "You," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You all."
Qui-Gon met his gaze steadily. "Cin—"
"Don't," Drallig snapped, and before anyone could react, his remaining hand lashed out. The blow cracked across Qui-Gon's face, snapping his head to the side. Obi-Wan surged forward instinctively, but Qui-Gon lifted a hand, stopping him.
Drallig's chest heaved as he glared at them. "Do you have any idea what you did?" he demanded. "The Temple was burning. Jedi were dying in the halls. Young Knights, Masters, people who trusted you. And you ran."
"I evacuated the younglings," Qui-Gon said, his voice controlled despite the sting in his jaw. "And those who couldn't fight. I did what I believed was right."
Drallig laughed bitterly. "You should have gone back," he snarled. "You should have returned to the Temple and fought. Instead, I find you here, while the Order bleeds out on cold stone floors."
Quinlan stiffened. "That's not fair—"
"Silence," Drallig snapped, turning on him. "All of you. You left us to die."
The Force around Qui-Gon sharpened, his calm hardening into steel. "Enough," he said, his voice carrying quiet authority. "I will not tolerate your anger. You're injured, grieving, and furious, but that does not give you the right to strike me."
Drallig's lip curled, but something in Qui-Gon's tone made him pause. For a long moment, the two men stared at each other, the weight of everything they had lost pressing down between them.
"Go," Qui-Gon said at last. "Get medical attention. Rest. We will speak again when you are in control of yourself."
Drallig's breathing was ragged as he finally turned away, muttering under his breath. He stalked toward a cluster of medical droids, shoving past a pair of attendants as the machines began to whirr and chirp, preparing to tend to his injuries.
===
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