One by one the Jedi boarded the station, the Masters leaving their students behind and heading for the primary conference room, a titanic amphitheater that rivaled the Senate of old in sheer scale, leaving dozens of milling Jedi. This was typical, the Masters would sequester for a time to debate the issue at hand, without the influence of the lower-ranking members of their Orders. There would be time for a more general discussion later.

Even to those without sensitivity to the Force the air around Graveyard felt tight and strained, like a band stretched to the point of snapping. There was a tension in the air that had nothing to do with overtaxed atmospheric maintenance or any of a thousand other shipboard issues. To the eyes of a Force-Wielder the air seemed to flow and crackle with the energy of so many Jedi, mingled with the raw and tragic power of the Wound of Alderaan. There was such power here, and in a brief lull in their conversation that power touched the mind of Ozrick Telgan, his natural talents for intuition awakening and for a moment everything was crystal clear, a horrible twisting in his gut. A blinding flash, flame rushing through the corridors, a terrible wasting away for those pitiful few who survived, the heart of the station gutted in fire.

And a moment later the vision was over, leaving only nausea and the faint after effects of an insidious burn in his skin. Two words echoed through his mind, the last imprint of the warning of the Force: Red Sector, corresponding with one of the many regions on the titanic station, only a short turbolift ride away, and directly adjacent to the sector the Masters were holding their meeting in.