Coruscant – Jedi Temple, High Council Chamber
The High Council sat in a circle of light and silence, the stillness punctuated only by the distant hum of Coruscant's endless cityscape. Outside, airspeeders streamed like insects across the dusk horizon. Inside, unease clung to the air.
Grand Master Yoda's ears twitched.
"Mmm. A tremor. Deep and old… felt it, I have," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
The other Jedi Masters turned their eyes to him. Some furrowed their brows. Others closed their eyes, seeking to find the ripples themselves.
"You speak of the disturbance again, Master Yoda?" asked Mace Windu, his voice calm but concerned.
Yoda nodded slowly. "Since the cycle last passed, it grows… not dark, not light. Conflicted, uncertain. But powerful."
"It is not Sith?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
"No. The darkness… not its scent. The Force... pulls inwards," Yoda replied. "As if shaping something."
Master Plo Koon folded his hands beneath his robe. "A child, perhaps? A natural conduit."
"Or something worse," Windu said. "Something born outside of our understanding."
Yoda's eyes narrowed. "Far. Very far. Outer Rim. But clouded, the exact place is."
"Shall we send Jedi to investigate?" Master Shaak Ti asked.
Mace Windu shook his head. "The Republic is stretched. There are border skirmishes, unrest on Felucia, and Coruscant's politics have grown... sensitive. Unless we have a location, dispatching Knights into deep space could cause alarm."
Yoda sighed deeply. "Then meditate, we must. Watch. Listen."
"And wait," Windu finished grimly.
Outer Rim – Desert Planet
The winds howled across the canyon ridge as James stood atop his stone tower, eyes fixed on the horizon. Below him, the defenses were nearly complete. His commands had been followed to the last detail. Trenches dug. Spears forged. Walls layered with stone, sand, and hardened mud. Watchtowers had been raised by hand, and now stood as sentinels over the camp.
But tonight, something else stirred.
Dust clouds rose in the distance.
They were coming.
Minutes later, James descended the tower steps, cloak fluttering behind him. At the edge of the encampment, a horn blew. Warriors gathered with spears and slings, forming ranks behind the barriers. And beyond them, in the golden light of sunset, marched the Skarn.
This time, they came with full numbers—nearly one hundred raiders. Clad in scavenged armor, wielding bone-forged blades and war-painted faces, they moved with the confidence of predators.
But one of them walked ahead of the others.
Broad-chested, wrapped in crimson furs, his face covered in a bone mask and flanked by two axe-wielding guards, the war leader of the Skarn approached the outer wall. He raised a clenched fist, signaling his warriors to halt.
James stepped forward, standing atop the platform just behind the newly built gate.
The Skarn leader laughed when he saw him.
"Send me your elder," the man growled in Basic. "I've no interest in parleying with a child."
James didn't move. "That child is your reckoning. You're speaking to the Flame Survivor, leader of this tribe."
Murmurs passed among the Skarn ranks. The leader's eyes narrowed.
"You're the one who killed Tharak?" he said. "He was my kin."
"Then I hope your blood runs stronger," James said coldly. "You've raided these lands for years. Burned homes. Took lives. That ends tonight."
"Your walls will fall. Your people will burn. And you—boy—will hang from your own tower."
James's gaze sharpened. "No, you'll die in the dirt, just like the rest of your kind."
The two stared at one another.
Then the Skarn leader laughed again, more amused than angry. "Bold. I'll enjoy ripping your limbs off."
He turned, gesturing to his warriors.
James raised a single hand, signaling his own.
The sun dipped low behind the canyon. The air stilled.
The final calm before the storm.
And in that moment, deep within the Jedi Temple, Master Yoda's eyes opened sharply.
"Now," he whispered.
"Begun, the path has."