One hour later, in the shattered throne room of Theed, the air was heavy with smoke and ruin. The real Morgan still sat composed, her lips curled into a smile that hadn't faded since Jin-Woo departed. The other self—the magecraft alter ego she'd woven to stand beside him—had long since dissolved on her command.
Padmé studied her with suspicion, arms crossed, her voice edged.
"That smile of yours… it looks like you and Jin-Woo have cooked up something nasty for the enemy, haven't you?"
Morgan tilted her chin, the weight of her gaze carrying the haughtiness of a queen who had ruled a lost age. Her words were smooth but veiled with mischief.
"A surprise, dear Padmé. No spoilers, please. You'll see when the moment comes."
Obi-Wan, frowning, stepped forward, his tone sharper.
"Morgan, I'm no fool. That beast—the Summa Verminoth—it was the size of a starship. And it fled from Jin-Woo. it ran like it had seen something worse than itself. Something… monstrous, in human skin."
Qui-Gon, who had been preparing to ask his own question, paused and allowed his apprentice to speak first. His calm gaze lingered on Morgan, silently measuring her response.
Morgan smirked, her voice turning into a taunt,.
"Oh? Not asking about Jin-Woo's army instead? That's the question you should be asking. After all, his shadows—do they not trouble you? They appear out of nowhere, endless, not like your quaint Force ghosts. Those float and whisper. Jin-Woo's, however…. They kill. And they do not fade. They are immortal, bound only to him."
Morgan's eyes glittered as she looked between the Jedi, her smirk widening.
"Quite the difference, don't you think?"
The doors creaked open just then. Jin-Woo stepped through—not a dramatic entrance, but calm, precise. He closed the door behind him like a polite gentleman, shadows trailing faintly at his heels.
Padmé arched a brow. "I thought you'd just destroy the door instead."
Jin-Woo gave her a faint grin. "I'm not a brute, Padmé."
She gestured out toward the ruined cityscape beyond the shattered windows. "Yeah? Well, the city begs to differ. Half of Theed is wrecked because of that black blade you summoned."
Jin-Woo's smirk twisted into mock innocence. "I fought Maul. It was… the hardest fight of my life."
Talon snorted, folding her arms. "Ha. Very funny, Master Jin-Woo. Unfortunately for you, everyone in this room knows the truth. You enjoy toying with people. Drawing it out. Playing your games. Instead of finishing it quickly."
Talon's words still hung in the air when Jin-Woo's smile shifted, faint but deliberate. He didn't rise to the bait—he let it fade, choosing instead to pivot.
"Any questions, then?" he asked, his voice casual, but the weight in the room shifted.
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed, his thoughts stirring. What should I ask? His purpose for helping? He already holds every card… The silence stretched. His mind went deeper, to something that had been gnawing at him for years. Or should I ask about this… Is Jin-Woo the infamous Shadow Monarch who appeared at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant nine or ten years ago? There were no casualties… but something happened. When we meditated in the Temple afterward, our focus broke, as if something had burrowed into the Force itself.
Jin-Woo's smirk widened ever so slightly. The technique he had flared—projective telepathy—made the answer unnecessary. He already heard Qui-Gon's thought as though it had been spoken aloud.
His own mind whispered back, private and sharp. If I told Qui-Gon the truth—that I invaded Tython itself a decade ago—their precious cradle, the world of the Je'daii, progenitors of both Sith and Jedi… if I told him I transformed it into Shadow Tython, Reanimating it until the galaxy's Force connection itself diminished by a fraction…
Jin-woo let the thought linger, knowing the chaos it would cause if spoken. …they would all lose their minds.
Obi-Wan straightened, his voice careful but firm. "Then I would ask, Jin-Woo—if you'll allow it."
Jin-Woo turned his head slightly, smirking. "Why are you so formal with me?"
Panaka spoke up,. "Because anyone would freak out seeing what we've seen. An army— ocean of darkness —coming out of nowhere. Out of your shadow. As if they've always been part of you."
Jin-Woo tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "All right, then. Shoot."
Obi-Wan didn't hesitate. "Why didn't you make yourself emperor—or chancellor—after the Senate nearly collapsed under your Force presence?. You had them on their knees, terrified. No one would have dared to oppose you. But… you let them live. You didn't crown yourself. It's almost as if you only wanted to teach them a lesson. Why? And why keep helping us, when it's clear you hold all the cards?"
For a moment, Jin-Woo said nothing. Then he chuckled,. "Are you an idiot? If I had done that, I'd have lost more than I gained. Every faction in this galaxy has its own uniqueness—its own value. Crushing them would mean erasing what makes them useful. And as for crowning myself?"
"Why would I bother? This galaxy is broken. Squabbling over scraps. A failed system choking itself to death. Becoming emperor here is worthless. I have greater things in mind than ruling over a pile of squabbling children."
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. His voice carried a calm, probing weight. "I have a 100 percent confirmation about your power. , you can wield the Force—you proved that on Coruscant. But what you show us now?. An ability tied to darkness—not the dark side, but pure darkness, as if drawn from space itself. And layered atop it… death. Death manipulation. Your primary strength is shadow and death. That is why the Daughter of Mortis calls you the King of the Dead."
Jin-Woo's smirk deepened. He nodded in silence, offering no correction. Qui-Gon was right. But he was also incomplete. The Jedi had not seen what still lingered within him—the original power he had as Magsarion. A power rebuilding itself piece by piece, waiting to reach completion again.
Obi-Wan, ever curious—and sometimes irreverent—broke the heavy air with a half-jest.
"You almost remind me of the Dathomir witches. Their magick… unnatural. They say the Nightsisters can even resurrect themselves. Are you the same? Can you truly make yourself immortal?"
The air chilled instantly. A mist seeped through the cracks in the ruined throne room, dread thickening the atmosphere. Qui-Gon's hand fell to the hilt of his green saber, ready, his posture taut.
Jin-Woo's gaze shifted. Not at Obi-Wan. Not at Qui-Gon. But at the wall beside them. His tone was flat.
"Blades. Return to my shadow. You annoy me with this stunt."
The wall rippled like liquid, and from the darkness stepped an imposing figure: Baruka, the Ice Elf, now reborn as one of Jin-Woo's Shadow . His voice was sharp, indignant.
"My liege—this wretch dares call you a witch?"
Jin-Woo's eyes burned, his pupils flashing purple. "Enough. Get inside my shadow. Now. Do not try my patience with unnecessary action."
Blades dropped to one knee, bowing his head. Without another word, his body melted into shadow, vanishing into Jin-Woo's darkness.
The mist thinned, the pressure eased. Jin-Woo turned back to the room, his smirk faint but cutting.
"Forgive that. My army is…. Sometimes too loyal. Underestimate me, and they may try to kill you before I even think of lifting a hand."
Qui-Gon exhaled, his shoulders easing slightly though his eyes stayed sharp. "Jin-Woo… how many lives have you taken to amass that army?"
Jin-Woo's grin flickered, sharp and unrepentant. "A lot. More than the Jedi and sith of this era combined.. My kill count dwarfs them both."
Qui-Gon's expression hardened. "And are they enslaved to your will, your army? Bound against their choice? And—lastly—your real objective. You said you lack something. From what I see, you clearly don't lack the power to conquer this galaxy, nor the chance to rule it yourself. It would ease our minds to know… what is it you truly lack?"
Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice smooth, but edged with finality.
"First question: no, they are not enslaved. They are reborn to be mine, to stand as my shadow army. They will last as long as I do. As long as darkness exists."
He shifted, shadows curling faintly at his fingertips.
"As for my real objective I said I lack something. And I do. But I can't answer that."
Obi-Wan leaned forward, his voice tinged with frustration, almost pleading. "This again, Jin-Woo? Just be honest with us."
Jin-Woo's smirk returned, cruel in its amusement.
"I can't answer., not because I don't want to—but because your brain, your soul, can't handle it. You're weak. Stagnant. Even if I told you, you wouldn't understand. And worse? You'd twist it into something it isn't. Misunderstandings… . "…are very annoying. "
Obi-Wan opened his mouth to press further, but Qui-Gon's hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him. The elder Jedi's own question burned on his lips, but he held it back for a heartbeat.
Jin-Woo's gaze swept across the room, then he broke the silence himself.
"How about something closer? What if I told you Sidious is near—fucking close. So close you could take a speeder, even walk, and find him right there. Tell me, how far is the Jedi Temple from the Senate Rotunda? They're not exactly neighbors, but close enough."
Qui-Gon's brows furrowed, his voice slow, heavy. "Are you saying… Sidious is one of the Senators?"
Jin-Woo's smirk curved into something crueler. He wasn't about to hand them Palpatine's name, not yet. Let them dig. Let only the few who believed ever see it.
"I'll give you a hint," he said, leaning back lazily. "The one who hates me most. The one whose plans I shattered decades ago. Add my little stunt in the Rotunda to that list, and now you'll find… that person is Sidious."
His gaze slid toward Qui-Gon. "As for you… you still haven't finished the homework I gave you."
Qui-Gon frowned, voice steady but sharp. "You mean—digging beneath the Jedi Temple's foundations? Shouldn't Sidious take priority?"
Jin-Woo's smirk thinned, his words chosen with surgical precision. "Nope. Sidious? Most Jedi won't believe you if you present him as your theory. He'll just be that figure who beefs with me. But dig—, DIG to the deepest part of your Temple's underground. Only then will you see how ignorant the Jedi Order has become. That's the real test. And when you face it, there's a decision waiting for you: will you vanquish the Sith, no matter the cost? Or will you let the roles reverse—let the Jedi stand where the Sith once stood, hunted and Outcast ?"
Morgan's voice chimed in, regal and mocking, her smirk sharp as a blade. "I'll add this much. Jin-Woo always makes it sound like it's just for you two—but No . This decision belongs to every Jedi sitting in that gilded Temple on Coruscant. Will they have the guts to face what's buried under their own feet… or not?"
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, his voice rising with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "Wait. You also know what's inside our Temple? What exactly is down there?"
Morgan's laughter carried a cruel edge, her tone dripping with scorn. "No. I won't answer. That's your homework. But here's a hint. A big one."
"Why the fuck is there something—the opposite of everything you claim to be—planted right beneath your feet? In the heart of your holy place? Tell me, … are you out of your minds?"
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan froze, caught in that uneasy place Jin-Woo loved to trap them in. Not exactly a stalemate, but one of his infamous rabbit holes—where he dangled a truth before them, daring them to chase it or ignore it. And in their hesitation, in their need to preserve order, it was easier to delay. To pretend the galaxy was at peace.
Obi-Wan especially clung to that hope. His faith in the Jedi Order was like stone, . Better to believe there was no great secret buried beneath their Temple, no blindness in the Council, than to face a truth that could shatter everything.
Padmé, watching the exchange, could see the cracks. This—whatever lay between Jin-Woo and the Jedi. A potential war of ideals that could make things even more complicated. And yet, she knew where she stood. Jin-Woo had saved her, saved Naboo, and against her better judgment, she felt something deeper: care, maybe even love, tangled with fear. He was chaotic, but he was hers.
Padmé raised her chin and shifted the subject. "Jin-Woo… where is Maul?"
Talon's laugh cut across the room. "You change the topic now, Queen Amidala? We were just about to hit the best part."
Jin-Woo smirked faintly, his voice edged but soft enough to shield her pride. "Don't test her too much, Talon. She's a very young queen, after all."
Padmé flushed, her composure slipping as embarrassment colored her tone. "I'll have you know I'm the best queen in this galaxy. I managed to employ you, Jin-Woo, freely. That alone deserves an award."
Morgan's smile curled wider, mischief and irony glinting in her eyes. Her thoughts brushed the room like a whisper of cold silk.
Queen Amidala… a young girl who managed to bind the Shadow Monarch, Jin-Woo, to her cause. I wonder how my fairy subjects would react when I tell that tale.They'd never believe it.
Jin-Woo clapped his hands once, his tone dry but playful.
"All right. Let's send in the escort, isn't that right, Rey?"
As if on cue, the palace doors creaked open.
Rey entered first—swagger in her step, chain in hand. At the other end of the chain, dragging pitifully behind her, was Darth Maul.
Maul was cuffed, bruised, and looked like he'd just come out of a cartoon beatdown. His face bore ridiculous swelling, one eye squinting, the other bulging. His tongue lolled out, red and scorched, as if he'd licked the inside of a volcano.
Rey gave the chain a casual tug, her voice flat but menacing in that way only she could manage.
"Come on. Don't make me add more chili sauce to you."
Maul gagged weakly, his throat rasping as if he'd just eaten thirty peppers and lost the will to live.
The room froze.
Obi-Wan's jaw slackened. His thoughts screamed louder than his words. What kind of escort is this?! This isn't an escort—it's an S-court. Jin-Woo's twisted habits infecting his students… and now Rey's the proof of it!
Obiwan palmed his forehead, half horrified,. We're doomed. This is how the galaxy ends.
Qui-Gon's voice broke the absurd silence, calm but firm. "Okay, Jin-Woo. That's enough of your twisted play. Can I take Maul off your hands now?"
Rey tugged on the chain with a wicked grin. "Nope. He still hasn't finished the dishes I made for him."
Maul gulped audibly, his eyes wide with the kind of horror Sith weren't supposed to show. Normally, he would sneer, rage, or threaten—but now? Now he would've gladly begged Sidious to fry him alive with Force lightning, over enduring another round with this duo of culinary sadists.
A dark stain spread across his trousers. Everyone froze.
Sabe blinked. Then blinked again. Then again—rapidly, like a droid glitching. "Did… did he just piss himself? From fear? All of this happened in just the few minutes we were talking?"
Maul collapsed to his knees, his forehead pressing to the floor, pride shattered into dust. His voice cracked as he turned to Qui-Gon, desperation spilling out.
"Please—take me. To prison. To the Jedi Temple. To the deepest pit you've got—anywhere far away from these two crazy bastards! Pleeeeeease!"
Padmé froze mid-step, her jaw dropping, "EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" ?