The low, steady hum of the Dawnstar's sublight drives vibrated through the deckplates as the ship completed its final pre-flight diagnostic cycle. Beyond the sweeping transparisteel viewport of the private hangar, Coronet City's sprawling skyline gleamed under the afternoon sun, its soaring white towers and gleaming waterways crisscrossed by endless streams of civilian airspeeders.
I stood near the foot of the boarding ramp, watching the distant orbital shipyards suspend their massive silhouettes against the blue horizon.
Our visit to Corellia had yielded vital groundwork, even if the political realities of the Core remained stubbornly entrenched. House Velor had extended an open arms to me, mainly cause they know I am dating Seirs, but still good all the same. And the Green Jedi had proven far more receptive to our perspectives on free the slaves of the galaxies and different ways of viewing the Force, more than the Coruscant Council ever had. We had forged opened dialogues regarding mutual military coordination, and hopefully secured tentative agreements with private engineering guilds interested in the Eternal Dawns development.
Yet an open, formal pact with Corellia's government remained an elusive prize.
The planet's wealth, sovereign pride, and deep economic entanglements with the Republic Senate made open endorsement of an unsanctioned, sovereign Jedi enclave an impossible risk for Diktat Merricope and the ruling guilds. To back us publicly before a single official shot was fired in the galactic conflict was a gamble they were not yet willing to take.
Still, nobody had tried to arrest us, and we were leaving with our ship and our alliance intact. In the grand scheme of galactic diplomacy, I considered that a distinct victory.
"Cain?"
I turned toward the boarding ramp as Sheera and Seris walked up from the staging area. The Zeltron wore an unusually pensive expression, her customary vibrant mischief tempered by genuine concern.
"Are we really comfortable leaving things on such indefinite terms?" Sheera asked, glancing back toward the gleaming city. "After everything we laid out before the Diktat and the council, shouldn't we have pressed for an ironclad defense treaty?"
Seris sighed softly, shifting the strap of her leather travel bag over her shoulder. "We gave them the truth, Sheera. Anything more aggressive would have come across as desperation, or worse, an attempt to leverage fear to force their hand."
"Isn't diplomacy about getting people to agree with you?"
"Persuasion is diplomacy," Seris countered smoothly. "Coercion is something else entirely. Corellians do not respond well to being pushed into a corner."
Sheera frowned, resting her head lightly against Seris's shoulder. "I always thought strong rhetoric was supposed to win the day."
Seris rolled her silver-gray eyes, though her fingers gently brushed a strand of her hair from Sheera's face rather than pushing her away. "Which explains why family dinners at your estate invariably turn into shouting matches."
"That is called passionate discourse."
"That is what your mother calls it when your cousins start flipping tables over wine imports."
I stepped past them with a quiet chuckle. "Corellia is only one piece of the wider foundation. An invaluable piece, certainly, but we aren't entirely reliant on their orbital yards. If diplomacy stalls, there are other methods to secure capital assets. I know of several lost vessels, perhaps entire formations, that we can locate and salvage ourselves."
Anakin, who had been leaning casually against the Dawnstar's landing gear while reviewing flight schematics on his datapad, looked up sharply. "Entire fleets? Where? Why haven't we jumped on that already?"
"Because knowing something exists historically and having the precise navigational telemetry to extract it are two very different problems."
Anakin narrowed his eyes with a knowing smirk. "That sounds remarkably like the excuse you give whenever you're still working out the details."
"The plan is solid. The hyperspace coordinates simply require careful triangulation."
Derren emerged from the lower cargo hold carrying two heavy magnetic storage crates. He set them down beside the ramp, fixing me with an utterly deadpan stare.
"Would those coordinates happen to be buried somewhere in those mysterious personal journals you guard like a dragon?" Derren asked.
"They are in my personal research collection, yes."
"The same collection that supposedly contains forgotten hyperlanes, extinct starship blueprints, and answers to questions nobody thought to ask?"
"The very same."
Derren nodded with theatrical gravity. "The ones written across three incompatible calendar systems, with zero uniform index, and half the tactical entries documented in shorthand abbreviations that only your brain can decipher?"
I crossed my arms. "You're exaggerating."
"He isn't," Seris interjected without missing a beat.
I glanced toward her. She offered a sweet, ruthless smile. "Five hundred and seventy-four handwritten pages, Cain."
Anakin blinked. "Five hundred and seventy-four?"
"Five hundred and seventy-four in the primary ledger alone," Seris confirmed. "And another eighty-six pages of supplementary text crammed into the margins."
Sheera lifted her head in disbelief. "You actually counted them?"
"Someone had to audit that mess," Seris said primly. "I told him three years ago that if he insisted on recording his 'prophetic' foresight, he should at least implement a standard cross-referencing system."
Derren wiped his brow and shook his head. "The last time I borrowed his datapad for a nav-chart, the first file that opened was a three-page dissertation on ancient Sith alchemy, directly followed by an authentic recipe for sweet Corellian pastries."
"It's an exceptional pastry recipe," I pointed out defensively.
"And underneath the recipe was a detailed operational warning that read. Never trust a politician with perfectly symmetrical teeth."
Anakin let out a sharp smirk. "Honestly? That's solid life advice."
"Thank you, Anakin," I said, gesturing toward him. "At least someone appreciates foresight."
Seris folded her arms across her chest, entirely unimpressed. "The point remains, Cain: your tactical brilliance would be twice as effective if it were organized into readable files."
I exhaled a defeated breath. "Yes, dear."
The phrase slipped out before my conscious mind could stop it.
Seris's pointed ears twitched violently, a brilliant flush of crimson immediately racing up her neck to the tips of her ears. Her cool, aristocratic composure shattered as Sheera's eyes widened with unadulterated delight.
"Oh," Sheera purred, a massive grin spreading across her face. "I felt that through the Force. Say it again."
"Do not," Seris warned, her voice dropping an octave.
"I didn't say anything!"
"Your aura is practically singing."
"Because you two are sickeningly adorable!"
"Sheera!"
Anakin chuckled, leaning back against the strut, while Derren picked up his crates and headed up the ramp. "Wake me when we reach hyperspace. Preferably after you two finish negotiating the seating chart for your eventual state ceremony."
I briefly contemplated using a minor telekinetic flick to tip his crate, but the cargo was far too expensive to risk out of sheer pettiness. As the women made their way inside, Anakin matched my pace near the ramp.
"Seriously, though," he murmured, his voice dropping into serious curiosity. "What ships were you talking about back there?"
I paused, calculating the variables. There were ancient installations throughout the Outer Rim, derelict shipyards from the Mandalorian Wars, and forgotten caches scattered across the Unknown Regions. But one prize stood far above the rest in sheer immediate utility.
"The Katana Fleet."
Anakin's brow furrowed. "The Katana? Is that Republic military?"
"Originally," I said. "Two hundred Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers. Disappeared decades ago. They were equipped with a prototype slave-circuit system that linked the entire armada to a single command ship, drastically reducing the required crew size per vessel."
"Slave circuits?" Anakin's expression darkened slightly.
"Automated cybernetic control matrices, Anakin. Machine slave-rigging, not sentient beings."
He relaxed, exhaling softly. "Right, crappy name terminology."
"Very. The crew succumbed to an engineered Hive virus, and in their delirium, the primary jump coordinates were randomized. The entire armada jumped into the void simultaneously. Two hundred heavy cruisers, untouched, drifting in deep space."
Anakin's blue eyes flared with awe. "Two hundred heavy capital ships... just floating out there waiting for someone to claim them? If we recover even half of that armada, Tython wouldn't just have a defense fleet, we'd have the naval presence to secure entire trade sectors."
"Exactly. But recovering them won't be as simple as punching in coordinates. Those hulls will need massive reactor retrofits, structural reinforcement, modern targeting arrays, and completely overhauled command interfaces. Still, retrofitting existing heavy cruisers is a fraction of the cost of building a fleet from scratch in Corellian yards."
Anakin grinned, crossing his arms. "Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"When we pull them out of the black, I get first crack at test-piloting the lead cruiser."
"You already try to overhaul the engines on every ship we have at the temple."
"Because stock Republic engines are painfully inefficient."
"I'll keep that in mind, Chief Engineer Skywalker."
Anakin laughed and headed toward the cockpit. A few moments later, the heavy ramp sealed with a pneumatic hiss. The sublight engines surged to life, the hangar's magnetic containment field shimmered around our hull, and the Dawnstar smoothly lifted into the Corellian sky.
As the continent-spanning spires of Coronet City dwindled into blue ocean and then into the starry black of low orbit, I sank back into my acceleration couch. We had secured vital seeds on Corellia. Now, we had to return to Tython and see what had grown in our absence.
The blue swirl of hyperspace collapsed into realspace, revealing the deep blue and emerald expanse of Tython hanging against the black void.
"Approaching the Temple's northern approach vector," Anakin called from the pilot's console. "Flight control has cleared us for pad Alpha-One. Atmospheric ionization is within normal limits, though sensor arrays are picking up minor thermal spikes along the southern mountain ridge."
"Understood. Take us down gently."
The Dawnstar pierced the cloud deck, descending through the mountain peaks until the ancient, restored valley of the Tython Temple came into view.
The sheer scale of progress achieved during our brief absence was breathtaking.
The ancient stone ruins were no longer isolated relics. Modern modular architecture had been seamlessly integrated into the natural contours of the landscape. Expanded repulsor-landing pads jutted out from the canyon rims, linked to the main sanctum by covered stone bridges and heavy durasteel archways. To the east, vast geodesic greenhouse domes glinted under the sun, while automated construction droids and organic engineering crews worked diligently along the perimeter, reinforcing heavy shield pylons and subterranean transit tunnels.
Anakin whistled softly. "They haven't been sleeping."
"Evidently not," I agreed.
Derren stepped up between our seats, gazing out through the transparisteel. "Was that entire southern residential wing even there when we launched for Corellia?"
"The foundations were laid," Seris said, stepping into the cockpit behind us, her silver hair catching the amber cockpit lighting. "The prefabricated modular units must have arrived from the Kuat civilian contractors while we were off-world."
The Dawnstar settled onto the primary stone landing pad with a heavy metallic sigh as the landing struts absorbed our weight. I unbuckled my harness, rose, and clipped my lightsaber to my belt.
"Let's go greet our welcoming committee."
When the boarding ramp hissed downward, the crisp mountain air surged into the cabin, carrying the scent of cedar, damp moss, and ozone. Anakin, Seris, Derren, and Sheera fell in behind me as we descended onto the stone landing plaza.
Waiting near the archway leading into the central courtyard was a gathering that immediately shifted my senses into sharp focus.
Master Plo Koon stood at the front, his hands resting serenely inside his billowing brown sleeves, his breathing apparatus releasing its measured, rhythmic hiss. Beside him stood Master Shaak Ti, her serene features framed by her striped lekku.
Standing alongside them were four figures whose presence signaled that our small sovereign experiment was under intense scrutiny from the highest levels of the Coruscant Order.
Grand Master Yoda leaned upon his gimer stick, his ancient ears tilted forward in quiet observation. Master Yaddle stood beside him, her warm eyes sparkling with deep, ancient intelligence. Master Depa Billaba stood with her arms relaxed, offering a subtle, approving smile. And beside her stood Master Luminara Unduli, her posture rigid, her hands folded inside her dark robes, radiating an uncompromising, disciplined skepticism.
I stepped forward across the stone flagstones, coming to a halt five paces before the assembly, and bowed deeply from the waist. "Masters. Grand Master Yoda, Master Yaddle. Welcome to Tython. It is an honor to receive you in the ancient seat of our ancestors."
Yoda studied me with piercing green eyes before his wrinkled lips curled into a faint smile. "Hmm. Taller, you have grown, young Cain, Skywalker, Velor, Talos. Stronger, too, your presences flows."
"Time and heavy lifting tend to do that, Grand Master," I replied smoothly.
"And still quick with your wit, you remain," Yaddle remarked with a soft chuckle.
"Some habits prove remarkably resilient to discipline, Master Yaddle," Shaak Ti murmured, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed her teasing tone.
"I am deeply wounded by the accusation, Master Shaak Ti," I said, placing a hand over my chest.
"Then perhaps you should schedule an appointment with our medical pavilion," she countered.
Anakin snickered behind me, quickly straightening when Yoda's gaze drifted toward him. "Grand Master," Anakin greeted, bowing with genuine respect. "It's good to see you again."
"And you, young Skywalker. Growing into your own power, you are. Guided well, your steps have been."
"My Master Obi-wan and Cain make sure we don't have time to be idle," Anakin added with a slight bow.
Plo Koon's mask hissed softly. "Idle hands invite chaos, Padawan Skywalker. Cain, I trust your diplomatic overtures on Corellia were fruitful?"
"Productive in laying groundwork, Master," I answered. "House Velor was welcoming but hasn't has formally offered resources, and some Green Jedi are open to cultural and martial exchanges. A few will want to join the chain breaking efforts. But the political leadership of the Diktat and politicians remains cautious, but the channels are open."
"A reasonable outcome," Plo agreed. "Patience is a virtue often tested by politics."
Depa stepped forward, her warm demeanor cutting through the lingering tension on the pad. "It is good to see you whole, Cain. The last time we spoke was the last time we came from here and you weren't in the best shape from....Almost being lost to us."
"Yes, but at least here, the air is clean and the arguments are honest, plus I'm not fighting like we did that one time." I said with a smile.
While the warmth of the reunion was undeniable, the subtle ripple of disapproval in the Force drew my attention directly toward Luminara Unduli. Her dark eyes swept over the expanded facilities, the construction droids, and the armed perimeter sentries with clinical detachment.
"An impressive structural undertaking," Luminara noted, her voice smooth and devoid of compromise. "Though I cannot help but wonder how many of these vast resources might have served the galaxy better had they been utilized to heal the fractures within the Order you chose to abandon."
I felt Anakin's aura spike with defensive heat, and Seris's posture went still beside me. I raised a calm hand, keeping my tone measured.
"The resources we have gathered here were never going to be utilized by the Republic, Master Unduli," I said. "The Senate does not fund archaeological restorations, independent academies, or sovereign defense programs for worlds outside their taxation zones."
Yaddle gestured toward the distant arches. "Much of the valley, Master Plo has shown us. Astonishing, the harmony between the ancient stonework and your modern facilities appears and the several budding settlements."
Yoda tapped his cane. "Ancient halls restored. New paths carved into old rock. Great responsibility, such construction demands."
"We do not take that responsibility lightly, Grand Master," I said.
Luminara turned her gaze back to Plo Koon. "There is a matter of governance that remains unclear to the Council, Master Koon. In several diplomatic dispatches, you were referred to as the Grandmaster of this sovereign enclave. Is that an official mantle you have claimed?"
Plo shook his head calmly. "It is not. I serve on our Jedi and governing council as an elder and a mentor, but I hold no singular executive title. Our spiritual and philosophical direction is balanced among three councilors."
Luminara's dark eyebrows drew together. "One of whom, if reports are accurate, is a Dathomirian clan mother."
"Mother Talzin," Shaak Ti confirmed.
"A practitioner of an esoteric dark side tradition whose philosophical alignment is diametrically opposed to the Jedi Code," Luminara stated bluntly.
"A tradition that has survived intact since before the Ruusan Reformation," Plo countered without hesitation. "We do not adopt every aspect of Nightsister mysticism, Master Unduli. But closing our eyes to alternative understandings of the Living Force out of dogmatic fear is not wisdom; it is stagnation."
Luminara looked back at me. "And you believe elevating such an individual to a position of leadership over so many young minds is sound judgment?"
"I believe true balance requires understanding the full spectrum of the Force, Master," I replied evenly. "Talzin is not infallible, and neither are we. That is precisely why governance is shared among a council rather than concentrated into the hands of a single Master."
"And where is Mother Talzin now?" Luminara pressed. "Conveniently absent from our visit?"
"She is currently off-world on Kamino, assisting with a delicate rehabilitation concerning her own kin," I explained.
Luminara's eyes hardened slightly. "And Barriss? I was informed my former Padawan was relocated as well."
The stern veneer of the Mirialan Master flickered for a fraction of a second, exposing a brief, genuine ache of personal concern.
"Barriss is on Kamino as well," I answered softly. "She is currently completing advanced clinical training in care trauma, physical and mental therapy, and emergency surgery under Kaminoan and other specialists."
"Without requesting the guidance or blessing of her Master?"
"With all due respect Barriss is her own individual, Master Unduli," I said gently. "She chose this path because she realized our Order's traditional healing techniques, while powerful, were insufficient for the scale of the approaching conflicts. But she has not discarded your lessons. She speaks of your discipline and lessons with immense respect."
Luminara looked toward the distant peaks, her jaw set firmly. " A conflict that you are starting padawan with this Lord Noctis. When does she return?"
"Within two months. She will accompany the first scheduled rotation of clone troopers arriving on Tython for command integration and specialist leadership training."
"Clone troopers?" Depa asked, her eyes widening.
"Yes, the rumors are true we have taken ovdr the current clone army that was made and commissioned from the original DNA template of a Mandalorian Mercenary. And now with hybrid clone forces, with multiple different DNA templates from different donors. They will be the force we use to free the slaves of the galaxy," I replied.
Yoda's ears drooped slightly. "An army. Preparing for war, you truly are."
"Yes Grand Master, we are preparing stop slavery once and for all." I said. "There is a vital distinction."
Luminara took a step forward, her tone ringing with sharp authority. "Is there, Cain? You walk away from the Temple on Coruscant, with several jedi and younglings, recruit Mandalorian, and Corellian Jedi, go to Tython without the permission of the council,and work with a unknown figure to form a opposing government, and now intend to train an army of vat-grown soldiers beneath a Jedi banner. Have you truly considered the catastrophic damage this schism has inflicted upon the Order's standing in the Republic?"
The courtyard went deathly quiet.
Of course she is only worried of the optics of all this. I took a slow breath, centering myself in the calm flow of the Force. "Yes, Master Unduli. I have considered it every single day since I made the choice."
"Then consider that it is not too late to abandon this dangerous path," Luminara urged, her voice tight with unyielding conviction. "Return to Coruscant. Bring these children and Knights back to the Temple. Submit your concerns to the High Council and allow the established mechanisms of the Order to address them properly."
"We tried that," Derren's voice rang out, stepping up beside me.
Luminara turned her sharp gaze onto him. "You believe your youthful impatience justifies dismantling thousands of years of tradition, Padawan Talvos?"
"No, Master," Derren answered, his voice remarkably steady. He normallydoesnt get in the middle of these types of situations, so this must be somethinghe finds important. "I believe that centuries of accumulated wisdom mean nothing if we stop using our minds to evaluate the present. You see when I was a youngling, I thought being a good Jedi meant obeying every order without question, passing every test, and letting the Council do all the thinking. But blind obedience isn't discipline. It's abdication of responsibility."
Derren held her gaze without flinching. "Master Kuro, Plo, and Fay didn't leave because they were misled. Master Shaak Ti didn't come here on a whim. We all came here because the Order on Coruscant has spent a thousand years prioritizing its relationship with corrupt politicians over the suffering of the ordinary people we swore to protect. Calling our departure foolish doesn't make our reasons any less real."
Luminara's lips pressed into a tight line.
Yoda broke the heavy silence, tapping his gimer stick softly against the stone. "Strong conviction, you hold, young Derren. But a double-edged blade, conviction can be. A beacon to guide your feet, or a blindfold that keeps you from seeing the path of another."
"I understand, Grand Master," Derren bowed respectfully.
Yoda turned his gaze back to me and Luminara. "Come to observe and understand, we have. To learn what grows here. Close our minds before the journey begins, we must not."
Luminara bowed her head slightly. "Of course, Grand Master."
Before the tension could resurface, a loud, exasperated voice echoed from the adjoining corridor leading down to the lower facilities.
"Hey! Little Sephi boy!"
I turned, a genuine grin breaking across my face. "Saved by the engineer."
Josa came marching out onto the landing pad, clutching a battered datapad in one hand and a steaming mug of black caf in the other. Her lekku were wrapped haphazardly beneath a pair of industrial welding goggles, her canvas work coat was coated in grease and carbon scorches, and the dark rings under her blue eyes suggested she hadn't seen a bunk in days.
She stopped two feet from me, thrusting the datapad into my chest. "You!"
"Me?"
"Do you have any concept of what kind of unholy mechanical torture I have endured in that underground vault for the past seventyfew months when yiu dont help?"
"I imagine it involved quite a bit of swearing and excessive caffeine," I offered mildly.
"Caffeine? I am ninety percent caf by volume right now! I haven't slept since the last Kuat transport docked, my repulsor-coils were humming in frequencies that don't even exist in standard physics, and I am fairly certain I invented three new types of electrical fire!"
Seris tilted her head. "That sounds remarkably hazardous to your health, Josa."
"Building miracles for this lunatic usually is, princess! But that isn't the point!" Josa's exhausted face suddenly split into a wide, triumphant grin. "The point is... it's done."
My heart gave a sudden, excited thud. "The VRTF is operational?"
"Fully installed, calibrated to within zero-point-two percent field variance, and only slightly more volatile than my original projections!"
Anakin leaned in, his mechanical curiosity instantly piqued. "What's a VRTF?"
"Virtual Reality Training Facility," I explained, turning back toward the visiting Masters. "A project designed to completely revolutionize how we instruct, test, and prepare our students for high-intensity combat and tactical command."
Luminara raised an eyebrow. "Another technological contraption to replace traditional meditation and saber katas?"
"Something far more comprehensive than that, Master Unduli," I said, gesturing toward the main archway. "Come inside. Let us show you how we prepare the next generation."
Yoda's ears twitched with genuine curiosity. "Curious, I am."
"As am I," Depa admitted with a smile.
As we fell into step, Anakin whispered to Derren, "Do you have any idea what they built down there?"
"None," Derren whispered back. "Which means we should probably brace for impact."
We entered through the eastern colonnade, walking beneath restored high-vaulted ceilings where ancient Force-imbued stonework met newly installed illumination strips. The vast, echoing corridors of the Temple were alive with purposeful activity.
Unlike the silent, solemn corridors of Coruscant, Tython bustled with a vibrant, multifaceted energy. In one alcove, younglings were analyzing stellar navigation charts alongside an elderly Mon Calamari scholar. In another courtyard, trainees in utilitarian tunics were studying agricultural soil chemistry alongside automated hydroponic pods.
As we passed the central outdoor arena, a group of young initiates ceased their saber drills, their eyes widening as they recognized the visiting members of the High Council.
A young Rodian trainee gasped, hurriedly dropping into a bow. But nearby, near the physical obstacle course, a teenage Mirialan girl stiffened, her hand tightening around the grip of her unignited training saber with visible unease.
I recognized the conflict in her aura instantly. Many of our students had arrived not from the privileged ranks of Padawans chosen by prominent Masters, but from the forgotten corridors of the Jedi Service Corps, specifically the Agricultural Corps. They were youths who had aged out of selection on Coruscant, told their connection to the Force was better suited to tilling soil than wielding a blade, and sent away to remote farm worlds.
Depa caught the girl's guarded expression. "Your students seem unsettled by our presence, Cain."
"Some are starstruck," I answered candidly. "Others are worried you've come to drag them back to the fields."
Luminara frowned deeply. "The Service Corps is an honorable calling of vital importance to the Republic. Why would anyone view it with shame?"
"Because when a child spends ten years dreaming of becoming a guardian of peace, being told they failed to make the cut doesn't feel like an honorable reassignment, Master Unduli," I said quietly. "It feels like rejection."
The young Mirialan girl, hearing our voices, stepped forward from the obstacle platform. Her skin was a pale olive, her cheekbones marked with small geometric tattoos, her jaw set with cautious defiance.
Luminara stopped, regarding the girl with a measured gaze. "No one has come to force you anywhere, young one."
The girl lowered her eyes slightly, though her voice remained steady. "That is what they told us on Coruscant before assigning our transport to the Mid Rim agro-colonies."
Yoda stepped forward, leaning on his gimer stick, his gaze gentle and searching. "Your name, what is it?"
"Vesha, Grand Master," she answered, bowing her head respectfully.
"Troubled, you are, Vesha. Speak your heart, you may."
Vesha swallowed, gathering her courage. "When I was sent to the Agricultural Corps, my instructors told me that nurturing life through cultivation was just as sacred as being a Knight. And I know the work is necessary. But the truth was... nobody asked if I wanted to keep trying. I was twelve years old, my telekinesis was sluggish, and my saber form lacked speed. So the door was closed."
She looked toward the sprawling greenhouse domes visible across the valley. "When Padawan Cain brought us to Tython, he told us that studying soil biology and food distribution didn't mean we were forbidden from learning lightsaber or Force techniques, or healing arts. Here, we aren't sorted into a box and forgotten. We're allowed to discover what we're capable of becoming."
Luminara's expression softened, the rigid edge of her demeanor giving way to quiet contemplation. "A Jedi's worth is not measured by their prowess with a lightsaber, or how powerful they are in the Force Vesha."
"Then why," Vesha asked softly, "were those the test's that determined whether we were allowed to stay at all?"
The courtyard fell into absolute silence, and Luminara had no immediate answer.
Yoda closed his eyes for a moment, nodding slowly. "Failed you in our words, perhaps we did. A wound of the spirit it is, when service feels like dismissal. But wisdom in the soil, you have found. And new strength, you now cultivate."
Vesha bowed deeply. "Thank you, Grand Master."
As the trainees returned to their exercises, Depa walked beside me, her expression thoughtful. "A difficult truth to hear."
"It's the reality of an institution that became too large and too rigid to see the individuals within it," I said. "We don't promise every student they will become a frontline Knight. But we promise them that their education does not end simply because they didn't fit a standard mold."
We transitioned into the newly finished educational wing, where tactical planning amphitheaters and operational briefing rooms replaced the traditional lecture halls.
Holographic projectors displayed dynamic galactic star charts, troop movements, orbital defense grids, and supply-chain logistics.
"Master Plo indicated you are establishing an officer academy for non-Jedi personnel as well," Shaak Ti noted, studying the rotating tactical projections.
"We are," I replied. "Independent sector authorities, Mid Rim defense militias, Mandalorian auxiliary units, and sympathetic planetary governments have already requested officer training slots. We are structuring a rigorous six-month command curriculum covering strategy, combined-arms logistics, civilian evacuation protocols, and battlefield ethics."
Depa raised an eyebrow. "And what does this curriculum teach regarding the laws of engagement?"
"That a surrendered enemy is a prisoner entitled to medical care, security, and humane processing, not summary execution," Anakin stated firmly, stepping up to the tactical table. "We will teach that a commander who sacrifices civilian infrastructure to achieve a rapid victory has failed the mission, regardless of the objective taken."
"And if an enemy combatant has committed unconscionable atrocities?" Luminara asked, her eyes searching mine.
"Then they are held for formal military tribunal and lawful judgment," I answered without hesitation. "The moment a commander allows vengeance to dictate their tactical decisions, they cease being a protector and become just another warlord."
Shaak Ti nodded approvingly. "A vital foundation."
"And the clone soldiers you intend to incorporate?" Depa asked.
"They will be educated as sentient individuals with distinct legal rights, personal identities, and operational autonomy," I said. "They are not disposable assets. A general who treats his soldiers like expendable droids is an incompetent leader I dont want leading my troops."
Anakin's face set with fierce resolve. "They will have names. Not designation numbers."
Yoda's gaze lingered on Anakin, his ancient eyes softening. "Heavy burdens, military command brings. But noble, your intent remains."
I smiled faintly. "Which brings us to the true purpose of this tour. The facility that will test whether our officers and Knights can actually apply these principles under extreme pressure."
Josa, who had finished her mug of caf, grinned wickedly. "Down to the deep vaults, everyone. Try not to touch any exposed plasma conduits on the way down."
The heavy industrial lift descended deep into the subterranean bedrock beneath the Temple's foundation, plunging past ancient catacombs until the doors hissed open into a cavernous, circular amphitheater.
The chamber took everyone's breath away.
Dominating the center of the vast stone hall was an enormous translucent geodesic dome spanning forty meters across. Twelve massive projector pylons ringed the perimeter, their obsidian surfaces etched with luminous energy conduits pulsing with pale blue light. Overhead, heavy magnetic containment rings and repulsor-field generators hung suspended from the reinforced vaulted ceiling.
The ambient air vibrated with a deep, low-frequency hum that resonated directly in the bone.
Depa stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide. "By the Force..."
Anakin stared, a massive grin breaking across his face. "Now this is incredible."
Derren rubbed the back of his neck. "Now I'm officially terrified."
Plo Koon stepped toward the perimeter railing. "Cain, Josa... what manner of engineering have you manifested beneath our sanctuary?"
"Welcome," I announced, "to the Virtual Reality Training Facility, the VRT."
Josa bounded toward the main control dais, her fingers dancing across the illuminated interfaces. "A fully immersive, adaptive kinetic-holographic environment! Combining hyper-dense hard-light projection, variable-density repulsor fields, atmospheric manipulation arrays, and a kinetic-feedback interface that bridges physical combat with neural response!"
Depa approached the glowing schematic. "A combat simulator?"
"Calling this a combat simulator is like calling a star dreadnaught a very large cargo skiff, Master Billaba!" Josa exclaimed proudly. "Standard Temple holocubes project flat illusions you swing through. The VRT utilizes variable containment fields embedded in the deckplates and pylons. When the simulation projects a stone wall, it has physical mass. When it projects a raging river, the water is wet and exerts hydraulic force. If the program generates a freezing blizzard on an ice world, the temperature drops, the footing slips, and the wind drags at your robes!"
Josa reached into an equipment rack and held up a sleek, flexible black interface suit woven with ultra-fine metallic threading and micro-sensor nodes.
"The kinetic interface suit," she continued. "Equipped with localized neural-stimulator pads and micro-hydraulic actuators. It translates simulated physical strikes, telekinetic blasts, and energy discharges into precise, non-lethal kinetic pressure. If a simulated opponent lands a strike on your shoulder, your muscles absorb the impact. If you get caught in a Force push, the floor repulsors and the suit literally throw you across the room!"
Anakin leaned over the console, fascinated. "How hard can it hit?"
"Level One is a gentle tap for younglings," Josa explained, pointing to the calibration dial. "Levels Three to Five are standard sparring levels, bruises, fatigue, realistic resistance. Levels Six to Eight simulate lethal combat conditions, strains, deep contusions, intense physical exhaustion."
Luminara's brow furrowed sharply. "And the highest thresholds?"
"Level Ten is our experimental combat ceiling," Josa said. "The containment safety systems prevent actual dismemberment or fatal penetration, but the kinetic transfer is completely unbuffered. Broken bones, cracked ribs, concussions, and severe internal trauma are entirely possible if you make a critical error."
Derren folded his arms. "And you built this for our students?"
"Not for regular training," I intervened. "High-tier settings are strictly reserved for advanced Knight and Master trials and command evaluations. Because experiencing failure in a controlled, recoverable environment is infinitely better than discovering your tactical blind spots when an actual possible Sith Lord is severing your limbs."
Yoda and Yaddle had moved past the consoles, their gazes fixed entirely upon the central core of the machinery beneath the main dome.
Suspended within a magnetic isolation cradle at the base of the pylon array were three crystalline matrix assemblies. They were not modern silicon chips. They were geometric lattices of ancient crystalline structure, humming with a faint, unmistakable resonance in the Living Force.
Yoda's ears tilted upward. "Holocron architecture... ancient, these fragments are."
"The Noetikons," Yaddle whispered, her ancient eyes widening with recognition. "The lost repositories of the Old Republic."
I stepped beside them. "During our excavation of the lower Temple archives, we recovered severely fractured holocron matrices that could no longer be accessed through standard methods. They contained damaged gatekeeper matrices, specifically designed after the ancient Noetikons of Science, Light, and Secrets."
Depa looked intrigued. "Adaptive gatekeeper personalities?"
"Precisely," I said. "Ancient holocrons didn't just store data; their gatekeepers possessed dynamic personality frameworks capable of conversing, assessing a student's temperament, and tailoring their instruction. Josa and I integrated those reconstructed neural architectures into the VRT's combat processing core."
Josa nodded vigorously. "Combined with historical archives, lightsaber combat registries, and predictive AI modeling, the VRT doesn't just spawn droids that swing in patterns. It projects historical personalities. They analyze your footwork, adapt to your fighting style, converse with you, exploit your psychological hesitations, and utilize Force techniques through the crystal-repulsor interface!"
Luminara looked skeptical. "You have attempted to artificially synthesize the Living Force through machinery?"
"We are not synthesizing the Force itself, Master Unduli," I clarified. "The crystalline lattice acts as a Force-resonant transducer. When a Force-sensitive user enters the dome, the system reads their intent, physical projection, and telekinetic output through the crystal, allowing the simulation to react naturally. It creates an echo, a mirror of historical mastery."
Seris, who had been quietly examining the energy conduits and cooling lines around the base of the dome, turned toward Josa.
"How much?" Seris asked quietly.
Josa froze, mid-sentence.
I suddenly found the structural archways of the ceiling exceptionally fascinating.
"How much what, sweetheart?" Josa asked with exaggerated innocence.
"How much did this facility cost from our operational treasury?"
Josa began inspecting her fingernails. "Well, accounting for research development, custom hyper-matter conduits, specialized Kyber-transducer fabrication..."
"Josa."
"Five hundred thousand credits," I offered quickly, hoping to blunt the impact.
Silence descended upon the console platform. Anakin's jaw dropped. "Half a million credits?"
Derren narrowed his eyes at Josa. "That was the initial budget allocation, wasn't it?"
Josa offered a tiny, strained smile. "There were... a few minor engineering complications during the phase-three power tests."
"How many complications?" Seris asked, her voice dangerously calm.
"Three containment emitters experienced catastrophic thermal expansion."
"So they exploded," Derren translated.
"Four if you count the one that melted into slag!" Josa admitted defensively. "So... roughly seven hundred thousand credits total."
Seris closed her eyes, releasing a slow, measured exhale through her nose.
I rubbed the back of my neck. Seven hundred thousand credits was nearly a third of our liquid operating reserves. The cost of running an independent order was becoming terrifyingly real. We still possessed roughly two million credits in readily available operational reserves, but those funds were supposed to maintain the Temple, pay workers, purchase supplies, fund medical programs, and prepare for the arrival of our first clone contingents.
At our current rate of spending, they weren't going to last nearly as long as I'd hoped.
I need another source of income, a very large source of income.
We will find the Katana fleet, I thought silently. Or I will have to look for the Starforge sooner then I wanted too, before I could find out how to purify it from its corruption. No that is the last option.
Through our mental bond, I felt Seris's wry amusement brush against my mind. Do not make promises your back cannot keep, Cain.
Plo Koon's mask hissed softly with quiet humor. "An extraordinary financial investment. I suspect the council's logistics committee will have quite a few inquiries for you, my Padawan."
Yoda chuckled, his green shoulders shaking. "Costly, the pursuit of knowledge has always been."
"Wisdom is priceless, Grand Master," I sighed. "Unfortunately, cooling coils require hard currency."
Josa clapped her hands, eager to divert attention from the budget. "Enough financial accounting! Who wants to step into the ring and test the greatest training breakthrough since the invention of the training saber?"
Anakin immediately shot his hand into the air. "Me! Pick me!"
"Not you, Skyboy, you'll try to reprogram the safeties mid-fight," Josa dismissed him with a grin.
Depa stepped forward, unfastening her outer cloak and draping it over the railing. "I will volunteer."
The room quieted. Luminara turned to her. "Master Billaba, you do not need to indulge this exhibition."
"I am genuinely curious, Luminara," Depa replied, her warm smile radiant. "And it has been far too long since I tested myself against a new challenge."
I smiled, stepping up to the primary terminal. "Josa, prep the interface suit for Master Billaba. Safety parameters: environmental realism at level five, kinetic combat feedback at level four."
"Only four? You're no fun," Josa grumbled, handing Depa the flexible interface suit.
As Depa stepped behind the privacy partition to don the gear, I scrolled through the deep archives of the VRT's combat directory. Hundreds of legendary names from galactic history populated the glowing index: ancient Jedi Masters, Sith Lords of the Old Empire, legendary duelists of the Mandalorian Wars.
Then, my finger stopped over a file near the bottom of the classified list.
A warm, bittersweet smile tugged at my lips.
Josa glanced over my shoulder, and her eyes looked confused. But I raised a finger to my lips, winking at her.
Depa emerged from the dressing alcove wearing the sleek black interface suit beneath her light tunic. She stepped through the pressure seal into the center of the massive dome, unhooking her lightsaber from her belt.
The heavy blast doors hissed shut behind her.
"Calibrations locked," Josa called over the comms. "System online. Initiating simulation."
Within the dome, the metallic walls and observation platform dissolved into light.
Depa felt the chilled mountain air vanish, replaced by the warm, fragrant breath of a sunlit meadow. Rolling green hills stretched toward an azure horizon beneath a soft, golden sun. A gentle breeze whispered through the tall grass, carrying the rich scent of wildflowers and damp loam.
Depa crouched, brushing her fingertips against the ground. The blades of grass bent beneath her touch, dewdrops wetting her skin with astonishing tactile realism.
"Remarkable," she whispered.
From the observation deck, Anakin pressed against the transparisteel. "The atmospheric projection is seamless. You can't even see tell its fake."
Across the meadow, the ambient air began to shimmer.
Blue-white energy particles condensed twenty paces away from Depa, solidifying into the figure of a man.
He wore dark, utilitarian trousers, sturdy combat boots, a layered gray tunic, and a single piece of weathered green armor strapped over his right shoulder. A dark blast-goggles visor concealed his eyes, and a full, rugged beard framed his jaw. His dark hair was tied back into a short ponytail. His posture was balanced, grounded, and devoid of the rigid formality of Coruscant's high halls.
He looked like a survivor. A wanderer who had walked through fire and carried the scars of a broken galaxy.
Yet the moment his form stabilized, Depa felt an inexplicable, overwhelming surge of warmth resonate through the Light. A deep, familiar comfort blossomed in her chest, like hearing a song she had known before she was born.
The bearded man stood quietly, his head tilting toward her. A slow, gentle smile touched his lips. "Master Billaba."
Depa blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. "You know me?"
"More than you could ever imagine," the man replied softly, his voice rich and steady.
"Have we met?"
The man hesitated, his smile turning faintly wistful. "Not yet. But perhaps in another time... another life."
Depa unclipped her lightsaber, her fingers resting lightly on the activator. "Who are you?"
The man reached down to his hip, resting his hand on an unignited lightsaber hilt of rugged, customized design. "A name is a strange thing. Sometimes it's the identity given to you as a child. Sometimes it's a mask you wear to survive the dark. But you can call me Kanan."
High above on the observation platform, I leaned against the railing, my chest tightening with raw emotion.
Kanan Jarrus or Caleb Dume.
The boy who would have been her Padawan. The boy she would die to save on the blood-soaked fields of Kaller when the clones turned their weapons upon the Jedi. The survivor who would carry her memory across the dark reign of the Empire, blind yet seeing through the pure light of the Force.
Depa ignited her lightsaber. A brilliant emerald blade flared to life with a crisp hiss.
Kanan drew his weapon. With a snap-hiss, a brilliant sapphire plasma blade ignited, illuminating the green grass in cool blue light.
He raised his weapon, setting his feet into the compact, patient opening stance of Form III, Soresu.
"Kanan, then. My name is Depa Billaba."
He smiled. "I know, now shall we begin?" he asked.
Depa's eyes narrowed with professional admiration. The posture was unmistakable, yet it lacked the rigid, textbook perfection taught in the Temple dojos. It was raw, practical, and stripped of all ceremonial excess, a style forged in real, desperate survival.
Depa advanced, sweeping her green blade in a probing diagonal strike toward his upper guard.
Kanan's blue blade rose smoothly, intercepting the strike with a crisp crack of plasma. Depa instantly rolled her wrist, redirecting the momentum into a low sweeping strike toward his flank, but Kanan anticipated the line, shifting his weight effortlessly to parry the second attack.
Green and blue clashed in a rapid, rhythmic cadence.
Depa accelerated her tempo, shifting fluidly between high-line thrusts and descending arcs. Kanan gave ground with measured discipline, keeping his blade tight to his centerline, deflecting her strikes with absolute economy of motion.
His Soresu is immaculate, Depa thought, her focus sharpening. He does not fight to overpower; he fights to endure.
Yet the longer they exchanged strikes, the deeper the strange resonance grew. There were micro-habits in his form, the subtle drop of his elbow before a bind, the specific pivot of his rear heel when yielding ground, that mirrored the exact foundational katas she taught to initiates on Coruscant.
Kanan suddenly shifted his angle, deflecting her blade wide and stepping inside her guard. Depa twisted her torso, her green blade sweeping horizontally to force him back.
Kanan dropped low beneath the strike, rolling across the grass, and thrust his left palm forward.
A concentrated repulsor pulse erupted from the VRT floor, striking Depa squarely in the chest.
The kinetic feedback hit her with real physical force, driving her back three paces as her boots dug into the turf. She centered herself instantly, absorbing the momentum through the Force, her eyes shining with fierce delight.
"A telekinetic burst integrated into close-quarters recovery," Depa murmured, stepping forward with renewed energy. "Impressive."
She accelerated her assault, opening into the aggressive, flowing geometries of Form VII.
Her green blade became a shimmering vortex of strikes. Kanan's blue blade moved in tight, frantic arcs, meeting her onslaught blow for blow. The sheer intensity pushed him backward across the meadow, his boots kicking up clods of earth.
One strike forced his guard wide. A second grazed his armored shoulder, the kinetic suit delivering a sharp, heavy thud that staggered him.
Their blades locked in a violent shower of sparks, inches from their faces.
Depa looked into his covered eyes. "Your defense is exceptional, Kanan. Who taught you to stand like that?"
Kanan smiled, a expression of pure, unvarnished devotion. "The greatest Master in the galaxy."
"Did they give you that strength?"
"She taught me how to find it when everything else was taken away," Kanan whispered.
"She?" Depa felt an ache pierce her heart, so profound and tender that her breath hitched.
Kanan disengaged the bind with a sharp flick, pivoting into the powerful, sweeping counters of Form V, Djem So. His strikes carried heavy kinetic weight, driving her green blade back with decisive force. He didn't fight with arrogance; he fought with the fierce, protective determination of a guardian shielding someone behind him.
Depa parried a heavy overhead strike, spun inside his arc, and swept her blade in a clean disarming horizontal toward his wrist.
Kanan leaped backward, but his rear heel caught a rise in the uneven ground. His balance wavered for a split second, leaving his centerline open.
Depa could have pressed the advantage and ended the duel.
Instead, she checked her strike, holding her emerald blade in a low guard, allowing him the space to recover.
Kanan caught himself. He looked at her, his posture going completely still.
The wind rustled through the tall grass between them. Slowly, Kanan deactivated his lightsaber. The blue blade vanished with a soft hum.
He lowered his weapon to his side and bowed deeply from the waist.
"I yield, Master."
Depa lowered her weapon, stepping forward. "You still had ground to give. You could have continued the engagement."
"I could have," Kanan said, straightening. His voice was thick with emotion, his rugged features softening into a look of profound, eternal gratitude. "But I have learned what I needed to."
"And what is that?"
"That a true Master never stops teaching, even across time."
A single tear slipped from beneath his blast visor, tracing a slow path down his bearded cheek.
He placed his right fist over his heart and offered a traditional Jedi bow. "Thank you, Master Billaba. It was... truly wonderful to see you again."
Depa took an urgent step forward. "Again!? Kanan, wait! Who are you to me?"
Kanan looked up, his smile radiating pure light. "Someone who owes you his life, and loves you greatly." Kanan then bowed. "May the Force be with you Master. Always."
The meadow dissolved.
The emerald grass shattered into swirling azure light particles. The sky, the hills, the warm sun vanished into nothingness, replaced by the dark, metallic walls of the training dome.
And Kanan Jarrus was gone. Silence gripped the entire amphitheater.
Depa stood alone in the center of the vast dome, her unignited hilt clutched tightly in her trembling fingers. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling as she stared at the empty space where the man had stood.
High on the observation platform, Anakin let out a slow, stunned breath. "That was... unreal."
Plo Koon's mask hissed softly. "The martial execution was remarkable, but the spiritual resonance within that simulation was unlike anything I have ever witnessed."
The blast doors hissed open. Depa walked out onto the staging platform, her gaze drifting up toward the control dais.
"Josa," Depa's voice was unusually quiet. "Was that entire exchange generated by algorithmic programming?"
Josa scratched her lekku, looking unusually subdued. "The dialogue framework and combat patterns are part of the historical profile. But the crystalline core responds dynamically to your Force signature. It weaves your own subconscious resonance into the gatekeeper matrix."
Depa looked down at her hands. "He felt... real. I felt him through the Force as though he were standing right in front of me."
Luminara stepped forward, her sharp eyes studying the console. "An echo of your own mind, Master Billaba. A projection of your own subconscious desires reflected back at you through sophisticated technology."
"Perhaps," Depa whispered. "Or perhaps the Force was showing me an echo of something that has not yet come to pass."
She looked directly at me. "Cain. Who was that man?"
I held her gaze, feeling the weight of the future heavy upon my shoulders. I could not tell her about Order 66. I could not tell her that the boy Caleb Dume was currently an initiate in the Coruscant Temple, destined to watch her die if we failed to stop the Sith.
"A Jedi Knight," I answered softly. "One who carried the Light through the darkest night the galaxy has ever known. One who never forgot the Master who gave him the courage to stand."
Depa stared at me for a long moment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Then, a peaceful, understanding smile touched her lips.
"He was a good man," she said softly.
"One of the best," I agreed.
Josa cleared her throat, clapping her hands to break the heavy emotional atmosphere. "Well! That was an absolute triumph of neural-kinetic synchronization! But we need a high-speed, multi-vector combat test to stress the secondary repulsor grids!"
She looked around the platform with an energetic grin. "Who's next?"
Before Anakin could jump forward, Seris stepped out from our cohort, her silver robes swaying gracefully.
"I will take the next trial."
Josa beamed. "The Corellian princess! Excellent!"
Seris shot her a cool, arched look. "I'm not a princess Josa. And I assure you, my combat style is considerably less forgiving than Master Billaba's."
"Oh, I'm counting on it!" Josa chuckled, pulling up the master directory.
I stepped to the primary console, resting my hand against the interface. "Actually, this provides the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the command qualification protocols."
Luminara crossed her arms. "Explain."
"For any Jedi or officer seeking frontline combat certification on Tython, they must clear a battery of Ten Simulation Trials," I explained, gesturing toward the master directory. "Seven victories are required for standard qualification. But for a commander leading troops into contested operational theaters, all ten trials must be cleared."
Derren looked at the vast index. "Ten specific combat profiles?"
"Ten unique scenarios," I said. "Historical legends, theoretical master-duelists, and asymmetric tactical encounters designed to expose every flaw in a commander's technique, psychology, and moral conviction."
Anakin's eyes flashed with competitive fire. "All ten? Sounds like a challenge."
"It's designed to be brutal, Anakin," I warned. "Because overconfidence on the battlefield gets soldiers killed."
I scrolled down the classified directory until my gaze locked onto a profile from a future war, a woman forged in the fires of an extragalactic invasion and the tragic fall of her own twin brother.
I looked toward Seris. "Are you ready for this?"
Seris clipped her lightsaber to her interface suit, stepping into the airlock with absolute, unyielding focus.
"Initiate the program, Cain."
The blast doors sealed shut. The dome vanished in a blinding flare of light.
Seris found herself standing in the center of an apocalyptic wasteland.
The air reeked of ozone, burning durasteel, and scorched earth. The sky overhead was choked with thick, churning black storm clouds torn apart by distant atmospheric turbolaser discharges. Around her lay the shattered remnants of a massive orbital warship, its burning hull plating jutting from the smoking craters like broken ribs of an ancient leviathan. Ash drifted across the devastated landscape like gray snow, caught in the bitter, howling wind.
Seris drew a slow breath, her boots crunching against charred debris. "Cain... what battle is this?"
"The aftermath of a war that broke the galaxy," my voice echoed through the simulation's comm-link. "Stay sharp."
Through the drifting smoke and ash, slow, deliberate footsteps approached.
A woman emerged from the gloom.
She was slender, athletic, and slightly taller than Seris, wearing dark, weathered combat fatigues beneath scuffed blast-armor plates. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight combat braid, her fair face smeared with carbon dust and dried blood. Across her cheek ran a faint, jagged scar.
Her deep brown eyes were ancient with grief, hardened by endless battle, yet burning with an unshakeable, terrifying resolve.
She looked at Seris, her gaze sweeping over her stance with clinical precision.
"You're not from my era," the woman said, her voice gravelly and direct.
Seris straightened, centering her presence in the Light. "I am Seris Velor. A Jedi of the Eternal Dawn."
The woman paused, a faint, melancholy smirk touching her lips. "Eternal Dawn... sounds optimistic. Where I come from, the galaxy doesn't give you dawns. It just gives you another war to survive."
"Who are you?" Seris asked, reaching for her hilt.
The woman reached to her belt, unhooking a rugged, utilitarian lightsaber hilt scarred from countless clashes.
"My name belongs to a future you haven't written yet," she said, her thumb resting on the ignition switch. "In my time, my family broke. My brother fell to the dark side. And when I stopped him and help save the galaxy over and over the Force gave me a title and a duty that I wish I didn't have to carry alone."
With a sharp, resounding snap-hiss, a brilliant violet plasma blade flared to life, cutting through the swirling ash.
The woman raised the lightsaber into a razor-sharp, aggressive high-guard.
"I am the Sword of the Jedi."
Seris's silver-gray eyes flared with fierce, unwavering determination. She drew her weapon, and with a brilliant hum, a golden-yellow plasma blade ignited, bathing the ruins in warm, defiant light.
She brought her blade upright in an immaculate, formal salute.
"Then show me your strength, Sword of the Jedi."
Jaina Solo's lips curved into a dangerous, battle-tested grin.
"With pleasure."