The Outer Rim

Negotiations hadn’t been going well. By some miracle, every faction in the planet’s global civil war had agreed to allow a member of the Order to mediate, but even then, representatives of each clan could barely stand to be near one another, let alone have a civil conversation. Every concession brought only further demands, each voice trying to raise itself above the rest. A day spent in a sweltering room, simmering with the threat of violence, boiling with the candescent emotions of a dozen people filled with fear, distrust, dislike, and hatred. Hours of that fierce emotion scraping her patience and senses raw, leaving her tired, worn, and drained. All for the opportunity to do all of this again tomorrow. Still, that meant another day the cease-fires would hold, another day where bombs didn’t fall and no blasters screamed. That would have to be enough.

Keran rubbed her temples while she made her way to her rooms, her robes stuck to her skin by steaming, jungle heat. She needed to get into a place with temperature regulation, somewhere she could stop sweating and let her pulse stop pounding in her ears. Decades of training - and a certain natural inclination - had gifted her with an iron will and a sense of deep, cool serenity, but even for a member of the Order, there were limits. She keyed in the unlock code for her room and when the dry, cool air kissed her skin, Keran let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. She couldn’t help herself. She peeled her sweat-soaked clothing off, her skin prickling in the cool air, and a feeling she had been ignoring all day slipped back into her mind.

Something, even more than the tempestuous negotiations, had left her uneasy all day, a feeling distant and unpleasant, like the smell of burning carried in the wind. Now, with time and energy to focus, that feeling became sharper, more insistent, but still far away, faint but piercing. Keran drew her will in, concentrated, sent questing fragments of her mind into the vast fabric of the Force. A galaxy of thought and will and life rang in her mind, surrounded her, filled her perceptions, and in a distant, uncomfortable way, that tone had soured. She thought she could feel pain, loss, rage, those things her Order were most sensitive to, and with those feelings came a foreboding like a lance to her heart.

She kept her awareness focused on those distant tremors, making her way to the small room’s comm console with quick steps. Her delicate fingers danced over the controls, and she swallowed when she saw a message from her sister, dated less than an hour ago. She heard the uncertainty in Seris’ voice, and her younger sister’s confusion, her fear, made Keran’s throat tighten. Her fingers tensed on the edge of her comm console, but Seris was right. If something were happening, if the Temple were in danger, she couldn’t come help. Even if her ship were considerably faster than it was, there would be no sense in putting both sisters in harm’s way.

Still, Keran had to take several long, slow, breaths, guided by a lifetime of training, meditation, and belief, before she could accept that decision, even for herself. She wondered how Seris could-

Keran gasped, her knees gone suddenly weak, a numbness flashing over her body. She grunted, fell to the floor, her arms barely able to keep her from collapsing entirely. Her throat felt dry, and she felt…almost a pressure, a rolling wave of emptiness, wrongness, of lives cut short. She pulled in a choked breath and she felt currents in the Force shift, buckle, bend, strain, like a structure suddenly cut loose from ancient anchors. She clenched her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, her hands gripped with bloodless tightness on the comm console, and felt the universe change.

But even in the storm of turmoil, Keran’s mind moved through patterns of centering and recall so ingrained they very nearly became instinct. Her breathing leveled out, her hands relaxed. She rode that tide of change and, by degrees, let the currents flow through her, past her, no longer threatening to carry her along with them. A few minutes later, she stood, her legs still shaking, sweat standing out on her skin. Her hands still gripped her console as she swallowed hard, and once again sent her will out into the Force, questing, probing, seeking.

Where there should have been stability, order, brilliant points of strength, she felt only chaos, nothing but vast, sucking emptiness.

———

Coruscant

Seris had already pulled in a breath to reply when the first blaster bolts exploded against the Temple’s walls, the first screams drifted on air dirty with smoke. She turned, her body tensing, her feet moving her through a sudden crowd of initiates and Younglings streaming into the Archives, flowing away from some danger. All at once, the dread Seris had been feeling coalesced into a furious splinter of writhing agony, a presence of terrible power, filled with dark, vicious, remorseless fury, almost as though the Force itself had been torn apart and woven into something perverse. She stumbled, her feet catching on one another, and Seris barely caught herself on the edge of a metal table, her hands holding the sides with white-knuckled strength.

The Force burned, as though the very fabric of reality rebelled against what was happening. Pain, almost like electrical shocks, crackled across her mind as Seris felt some of the wisest, most powerful members of the Order…end. All that made them, their thoughts and wills flew apart, carried on cords of fear, undone by that fierce, furious presence. As the Masters fell, Seris felt the psychic concussion of their deaths, felt the Force twist and bend, breaking free from the patterns it had flowed in for millennia. She felt the ancient roots of serenity tear free from the world, felt them spiral around this new presence, felt that power flow and become fuel for an ever-growing engine of terror and destruction.

She pulled in a breath, her throat tight, her eyes wide, overwhelmed. She felt herself no longer an observer of the Force, but carried along with those currents, her mind starting to break apart. There was too much, and all at once, an eruption of power and purpose and terrible will, and even as she pulled another breath in, Seris felt more deaths, more wills flickering, falling, flying apart. Not only Masters now, but Archivists, Knights, even the children. With an effort, Seris raised her head, tried to look around her, but all she felt, all she saw, was a terrible, violent, sucking void.

And even as she did, a small splinter of her mind worked, refusing to be overawed, refusing to be beaten. She was Miraluka, what one Jedi philosopher had said were avatars of the pure power of the Force. She had lived her entire life around the Jedi and despite not being a member of their Order, had learned some of their deepest and most guarded secrets. She was a sister and daughter, from a family with roots old as the hills they cultivated. She would not make a member of the Order deliver that kind of news to her parents.

Then Worror held a lightsaber out to her. A training saber, but still, the Order’s most visible symbol. She was no Jedi, and Worror knew that - but the trust in that small gesture flickered through Seris’ mind, a thousand paths of forking lightning. Like a growing crystal, that bright splinter of Seris’ mind spread, supporting the rest of her, holding her together, shielding her from the invisible storm all around. She felt her mind start to move in ways she had learned at the hands of Jedi, remembered the words of a teacher, felt that she fought for her life even now, two levels below.

“Be the centre of the storm,” the older woman had said, “And when you know those clouds are distant and do not touch you, you will also know there is no storm.”

Seris pulled a deep, slow breath in, tears drying on her cheeks and she felt her mind lower into a quieter place. Not a detached one, not a position of uncaring distance; more a bastion, a fortress where she could still function despite her growing sense of bone-deep terror. She was no Jedi; their arts of centering, mediation, and serenity were not hers, and there would be a price to pay later. Half a year’s instruction couldn’t take the place of a lifetime of discipline, but perhaps it could help her survive whatever was coming.

She straightened, her hands more steady, her breathing shaky but even. She reached over, wrapped her long, strong fighters around the training saber, the handle slightly awkward in her grip. The fact that Worror knew that Seris had any training at all worried her slightly, but there would, with luck, be time to discuss that later. Still, right now, Seris did not need to look like a target, and she slipped the hilt into a pocket, out of sight. Blaster fire came closer, the sounds of war making the Archives seem surreal and even more nightmarish than the afternoon had already become.

The world, the Force, and all its flows and power came back to her, and Seris felt other minds, other wills in the Force, a swarm of perfect, ordered, nearly-inscrutable minds. They pulled the Force in straight lines, each one burning with conviction. A shiver went up her spine - she knew these. Clones. The Republic’s first and last line of defence, the strong right hand of the Grand Army. Thousands and thousands of perfect soldiers, who followed orders with every fiber of their being. The clones moved in even ranks and Seris saw death ahead of them - members of the Explorer Corps, librarians, Knights, children, all falling before the tide of clone troopers. Clearly, they had been given orders, and were doing what they had been made to.

She saw another Youngling, a straggler from the rest, running toward the Archives. A girl, barely into her teens, the bright blade of a lightsaber in her hand. She turned a corner, ducked, rolled, a clone trooper hard on her heels. With no time to tell Worror what she saw, Seris darted forward, her hand reaching into her jacket for the training saber - for what good it might do her - heading for the entrance the girl would pass through. Blaster bolts split the air, and Seris saw the girl turn, bat one away, slide past another like a fish dodging grasping fingers, her run barely interrupted by the deflections. The Force swirled around her, dancing, darting, guiding her legs, supporting her frame, her very being extended into the flow of energy around her.

Seris planted one hand on a table, swung herself parallel to the surface, over, down, her legs coming down already pushing her forward. The Jedi girl rolled under another blaster bolt, came up, stumbled, pivoted out of the way of another bolt. Seris could see the girl and her pursuer would come through the Archives door a few moments before she could get there, but she ran for all she was worth. For Seris, the choice between standing idle and trying to help was no choice at all.

In the space of a few frantic heartbeats, the Jedi girl came around the corner. She looked past Seris, saw Worror, but managed only a few words of warning. As she turned to look behind her, the clone dove, ducked, rolled, came up into a firing position, pulled the trigger on his rifle, every movement perfect grace and purpose. A bright blue bolt lanced out, pulled the Force with it as it traveled, smashed into the girl’s chest, hammered her to the ground, her small form crumpling, her saber hilt bouncing away in a small shower of sparks.

And that’s when everything went wrong for the clone trooper.

Seris felt the girl die. She saw the threads of the Force the Jedi girl had woven around her unravel, spiral away into the tumultuous sea of energy that surrounded her. She saw the fire, the brilliant, blazing jewel of her soul, flicker and fade. She saw the way her small hand clenched, twitched, relaxed, stopped. She also saw how the clone adjusted his aim, drawing a bead on Seris, who was still a couple of dozen meters away. Her boots thumped against the Archives’ floor, her arms pumped, her gaze locked on the clone’s impassive helmet, marked with soot and splashed with blood.

All at once, everything seemed so simple. Still running, Seris flung her free hand out to one side, felt her will gather around her shoulder, her arm, her wrist, almost as if the Force itself had anticipated this. She flung that power out to one side, felt the threads of her will wrap around one of the Archives’ smaller tables, felt energy and power surge through those threads, making her desires real. Her skin tingled as she swept her arm toward the clone, her fingers bent like she held a large ball, the air ripping behind her hand. The table shot across the Archives’ floor and lifted a few centimeters into the air, hurtling across Seris’ path as though it had been swatted by a giant hand.

The clone trooper’s rifle screamed again and a blue bolt flew through space toward Seris, intercepted neatly by the flying table. Metal tore and spattered, but by then Seris had nearly covered the distance between her and the clone, and she leapt. The Force coiled beneath her, around her legs, up past her waist, propelled her with impossible grace, impossible speed. As she fell, the clone raised his rifle, but only got partway through his motion before an invisible cannonball of telekinetic force tore the weapon out of his hands, knocked him whirling off balance with a cry of pain, sent the rifle clattering down the hallway and bent as though struck by a speeder bike.

Seris landed a meter past the dead girl, caught up with the trooper as he tried to regain his balance. She caught his wrist, planted her feet, twisted her body, felt his shoulder joint wrench out of its socket beneath his armor. The clone let out a cry of pain, scrabbled at her hand, but she had already let go, spun past him, gotten her arm around his neck, her fingers under the rim of his helmet. She kicked the back of the clone’s knee, felt something crunch, gave him a shove forward and his head came out of the helmet, suit connections crackling as they broke away.

This clone looked a little different from normal. Scar on his head, cutting through the short, dark hair. One socket marked with a mass of scar tissue, but still with a bright, intelligent eye beneath. As before, the Force moved around him in straight lines, even as he looked up at Seris, pain pulling his features taught. She felt no conviction from the man, no real will. Only duty, only orders, never questions, no sense of right and wrong. The clones were vibrant, vital - but ultimately only the tools for someone else. They knew nothing else.

And this one had killed a Jedi. He had stolen that girl’s whole story in the blink of an eye, and without a second thought. Seris reached down, grabbed the clone by the collar of his armor, bent him forward onto his bad knee, raised the lightsaber hilt above her. She knew the training saber couldn’t cut flesh, but Seris was strong, and she knew exactly how use a long stick to break someone’s neck. She wanted to make this man pay for what he’d done, what he’d stolen, what his companions were destroying all around them, one life, one artifact, one square meter at a time. Seris looked over at the girl again, and she wanted that vengeance, that retribution more than anything in her life, and her hand tightened around the hilt.

“What do you mean, free from desire?” Seris had said. The sisters sat at a table, on a balcony overlooking the endless lights and the surging, roiling life of Coruscant, the day after Keran’s Knighting Ceremony.

“A Jedi relies only on themselves,” Keran had replied, her voice reasonable and gentle, “And we act for the good of all. Our personal desires are irrelevant, so we strive not to have them.”

“But you all aspire to be Masters, right?” Seris asked.

“Some do,” Keran replied, “Others are content to be Knights. Or teachers, or librarians. A Jedi should have a purpose in seeking to become a Master - simply desiring the title is not the way of our Order.”

“And those on the Council?” Seris pressed.

“Are offered the honor of serving the Order,” Keran said, “To act as teachers and guides for all Jedi, not from a drive to impose their will.”

Seris grinned, “But what if - what if you’re on a street in Eavesdown, and you smell something delicious? Is it okay if you want to know what that tastes like?”

“That depends,” Keran said, smiling back, “On if I have a credit chip in my pocket. Which I expect is the principle difference between you and I in this scenario.” Keran arched an eyebrow, and Seris laughed.

“You’ll understand, someday,” Keran said, her mouth pulling into a small grin, “When you’re ready.”

The memory exploded behind Seris’ eyes in the skin of a second, and she blinked. She looked down at the clone trooper, his head still rammed forward, his breath coming in sharp, hard puffs from the pain in his broken knee. The desires still surged inside her, pounded in her ears, tore at her arm to light the saber, bring it down, end the man’s life. Take from him what he had taken from so many others that day. But now, another voice whispered in her mind, and she knew that of all the things she could do, killing this man would be the one thing she couldn’t. He was a tool in someone else’s scheme, incapable of countermanding his orders. Seris’ breathing slowed slightly, and she lowered the arm holding the training saber.

Then the clone trooper reached for his ankle, pulled out a tiny, palm-sized blaster pistol, twisted to bring it around toward Seris. Her free hand moved in a small, hard arc, pressed the emitter of the saber against the back of the clone trooper’s neck, and her thumb jammed down on the activation stud. The hilt crackled and spat as the saber tried to ignite its blade, the heavy-duty electromagnetic containment field emitters rammed firmly into the clone trooper’s sweat-soaked, conductive skin. Seris felt a buzz like she’d brought her hand too close to a faulty power cell, and felt the saber handle vibrate in her grip. The clone trooper, still with Seris’ hand on the back of his armored collar, jerked and twitched, the tiny blaster falling out of his suddenly nerveless fingers. She held the saber hilt to the man’s skin for several moments, until his eyes rolled up into his head, and his muscles went limp. Only then did she lift her thumb off the activation stud, and let the man fall. His chest still rose and fell, somewhat unevenly, and he had a large burn mark where the saber hilt pressed into his skin, but Seris suspected he might live. He would certainly have more of a chance than he’d given anyone else that day.

Seris stood, turned, and looked back into the Archives. She walked back in, toward Worror, her steps even and calm. The training saber let out a soft series of chirps - the sound of an internal error - and Seris set the saber hilt on a table as she walked by. There were voices further in the Archives, other Jedi running for the relative safety of the vaults and tunnels, and she recognized a few of them. If there were others coming, then some of the Order might survive this catastrophe - and Seris would have to help them.

“Master Worror,” Seris said, as she came back within speaking distance, “We need to get out of here. I found some maps, ancient maps, in the Archives a few months ago that suggest there are some hangars beneath the Archives. They were forgotten about after the last Sith war, but there could be ships down there. We can’t risk going to the main hangars, but if we can find something down there, we might be able to get somewhere else on Coruscant - or even get off the planet entirely. We should get everyone we can to…” She cocked her head to one side, turned, the familiar voices getting closer.

“T’ish? Jasma? Is that you?” Can you hear me?” Seris called, cupping her voice to shout deeper into the Archives, “Master Worror is with me, can you get to us?”

"The clones are streaming through the main doors, guns ablazing," replied Jasma, already glad that T'ish was here now. "Some knights were leading youngling groups out in an attempt to get them out of the temple while others stayed to fight. The Archivists are still in here, seemed like they have now decided to back the drives and take the manuscripts out. Xai was with me, but I sent him to find his master. I saw Seris earlier but I'm not sure..."

Then the Miralukan call was heard, "T'ish? Jasma? Is that you? Can you hear me? Master Worror is with me, can you get to us?"

"That answers that question," said the Twi'lek. "The make it up as we go along plan, the you shield while I extract plan, or do you have something else in mind, master?"

"She's too unpredictable."

"I know what you mean. No restraint. She knows the code, she is strong in the Force, and yet..."

"Yes. Lyla is gifted, no doubt. But without discipline and inner balance, she will never pass the Trials."

Never pass.

-----

It had been hours since Lyla overheard these words. She was older than most initiates, she knew that, but she was also very good at some things, better than some Padawan. When the masters told her that she would face her trials soon, she was so happy, so relieved that they thought she was finally ready. And then, hearing her name and these few words shattered all the joy, all her confidence. Her feet had carried her back Thranta Clan's dormitory, back to her bed and not one step further.

She broke down and cried harder than she ever had in these walls. It was like somebody had stolen her dream from her. It seemed so close, just within reach... and now? Would they send her back into the abyss, the depths below Coruscant? No, of course not. They'll ask me to work for the Service Corps. She had no illusions about repeating the trials. Few initiates had ever been older than 14.
It was all one big mess again.

When the tears finally stopped, all she could do was lean against the wall and watch the sky turn light blue, then yellow, then red as blood. Younglings came and went, some pointed at her and whispered, but she didn't care. Her healthy hand carressed the sleek metal of her prosthetic as she so often did and it reminded her of her secret, her construction, hidden just under the mattress. And that thought filled her with a sense of stubborn determination.
How could I fail the trials? I built a lightsaber, without any help. Who could do this if they're not meant to be Jedi?!

An idea formed in her head. Impulsively, she stood up, lifted her mattress and took the sleek metal tube into her hand.
"I'll show this to the masters. They have to let me pass when they realize what I..."

That was when the door opened and she heard it: Explosions, blasters, screams, all distant and yet frighteningly close.
Lyla spun around to see her two best friends, the human girl Mara Lynn and the Zabrak boy Eeth Asadi, storming inside, followed by five or six younglings, before they shut the door again. She didn't need the Force to know that they were terrified, all of them.
"What's going on?!"

"Lyla!", Mara called, only now recognizing that she was in the room, rushed up to her and hugged her. "I'm so glad you're here. I thought you might be-"

"They're attacking the Temple!", said Eeth, nothing like his usual collected self.

"Who?" Lyla was getting scared herself and reluctantly broke away from Mara's embrace. "Who is attacking?"

"The clones, I think. We're not sure."

The clones... Why? Why would they do that?!

The room seemed to be spinning for a moment. She could feel it, very, very faintly - the fight that was going on. The lives that were extinguished.
Lyla looked around the room. She and her friends were the oldest by far. There were twelve others in the dorm. None were older than nine but all of them were scared out of their mind, just like her. She tightened her grip around the lightsaber.

"I have to find one of the masters."

"Yes, we sh-", began Eeth but cut him off.

"No, not we. I have to find one."

"You can't go alone", Mara said. "It's too dangerous!"

Lyla stepped forward, closing the small gap between the three of them so only they could hear her.
"Look, I know it is and I don't know if I can do this but if whoever is attacking the Temple comes through this door and none of us are here..."
She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. A few of the younglings were cowering in a corner, huddled together. We're only children, all of us.

Lyla shook her head. "I can find somebody and bring them here. The masters will know what to do. And if run into anybody, I have this, remember?"
She raised her hand, showed them the lightsaber. They were the only ones she had trusted with this.
It took all of her self-control to do it, but she managed to take a deep breath and put on a look of determination.
"I can do this. I'll go and find somebody. It's all going to be alright."
She didn't feel confident at all. And she knew that they looked right through her. But Eeth swallowed down whatever words he wanted to say and nodded. And Mara, cheerful, friendly Mara, paler than Lyla had ever seen her before, hugged her again, more fiercely than before.

"Be careful."

I wish I could just stay, just wait.
She hugged her friend back and reached out to include Eeth in the embrace.
"Don't worry. I'll be fine. We're all going to be fine."

-----

The shots and screams were getting louder. For the first time, her inability to feel everything that was going on truly felt like she was blind or deaf. The corridors were filled with an ethereal light, reflected by the purple sky, but she felt so helpless that they might as well have been pitch black. It's fine. I just need to get to the masters' quarters. It's not far. Just a little bit-

Then she heard them, just around the corner up ahead. Fast steps. Military boots. She didn't need to know what they sounded like to recognize them - they were different from the ones the Jedi or Temple guards wore. And they were getting closer.
Panic rising in her, she looked for an escape, somewhere to hide, but there was nothing. If she ran, they would hear her and she couldn't get away before they turned the corner. And even if she could - they were heading the way she came. If she let them pass, it was only a matter of time until they went to the dormitory.

Her heart beat faster and faster against her ribs and she could barely control her breathing. She was shaking all over, trying desperately to focus, form a plan. I can do this. I can beat them.
She never had to deflect real blasterfire, never had to hurt or kill somebody. A few hours ago, she had felt desperate because of her trials. How little that seemed to matter now... but if this was how it was meant to end, then she wouldn't face it curled up on the floor.

She wasn't a Jedi and might never become one but she would protect her friends as best as she could.

With one wobbly step, she stepped around the corner, directly in front of three clone troopers. For a moment, they all seemed frozen in place, surprised, just as confused as she was. But then they raised their blasters, determined to kill the girl that stood in their way.
They were one second too late.
Lyla had reached out with her free hand, looking for a tiny, physical resistance in the air and she found and grasped it, like a door to be slammed shut - and slam she did with all her might.

The clones were tossed against the wall with three pained, surprised groans. Two of them didn't move anymore but the third, the closest of them, scrambled to his feet, drawing his sidearm. Lyla activated her lightsaber, a bright blue lighting up her face, and lunged for him. He fired but to Lyla, everything seemed slowed down, just enough so to turn out of the way. She felt the heat, smelled burned cloth but she barely registered it. She turned back and with that momentum, struck him with her lightsaber, cutting through his side, chest, shoulder. Both parts of him collapsed, his faint sizzle and wheeze contrasted by the gentle hum of her blue blade.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring down at the corpse as the red-hot lines on the armor cooled down. Then, an unbearable nausea overwhelmed her and she barely managed to turn off the saber before vomiting on the pristine floor.
She was shaking again, harder than before and she felt tears streaming down her face but her mind was numb, completely empty. But she forced herself back on her feet. I have to find somebody.

She took a few steps down the corridor... then stopped. She could hear the other two. They were breathing. She was so close to them that she could even feel them. Lyla activated the lightsaber again and stepped towards one of them. She raised her hand, closed her eyes... but the shaking became uncontrollable and she lowered it again. I can't do this. I know they would have killed me, but...

It took her a minute but she gathered their blasters to a pile and with one swing, they were a useless, molten mess.
"Just go", she murmured, more to herself than to the unconscious soldiers, "please, just wake up and leave."

Then, she ran down the corridor, back on her way, looking for somebody who could help her.
She didn't have to look very long: After turning a few more corners, in the hall leading up to the masters' quarters, she saw a familiar face.

"... Enrik?"

By the time Enrik and his fellow initiates returned to their dormitories, night had fallen upon Coruscant. The light had retreated as it did every night, and the inky dark blue of the night sky had taken its place. From the window, the city looked as though it was ablaze. Thousands upon thousands of lights ensured that even in the night time, the city still looked alive. The six younglings had just finished their final meditation session for the day, and returned to their room exhausted, but at peace. They collapsed onto their beds; six short beds in two rows of three on either side of the room. Enrik was grateful to be back in the comfort of his room.

The five other initiates were no different to he. "Do you think if we ask really nicely, Master Yoda might give us the day off tomorrow?" Jake, a short and somewhat chubby Coruscanti boy, was complaining from the far corner of the room. "No, but they might give us extra work," replied Torin, another human but of Corellian descent, like Enrik. "Yeah, quite moaning Jake. Do you want to end up in the Corps?" Darnius joined Torin in reproaching Jake for his stupid comments. Enrik smiled to himself as the debate raged on, with Jake furiously trying to defend his nonsensical suggestion to the bitter end.

Enrik, however, didn't participate. He sat in silence, staring out of the window. Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. He had just finished meditating, he should be perfectly in sync with the Force around him. Yet, he could feel a disturbance. "You can feel it too, can't you?" Raene's voice shook Enrik from his trance. He turned to face her. Her pale blue eyes normally smiled even when her face didn't follow suit, but now there was something else. Terror. The rest of the room seemed totally oblivious. "Yes." His answer seemed blunt, but Enrik had no clue what to say. He had never felt anything like this. He couldn't claim to be strong with the Force, but this feeling was beating on his head like a drum. He felt sick.

"What do we do?" Enrik didn't know how to answer. Raene was a couple of years younger than Enrik, and she had always looked to him for advice. But now, he was in the same boat as her. It was impossible to tell what was coming, but Enrik could sense darkness. Whatever was coming, pain and suffering would follow. "We stay here. Whatever is coming, the clones will protect us. And should they fail, the Masters will keep us safe. We have nothing to fear. If we are needed someone will come for us." Even as he said it he was doubting himself. Enrik had never felt so scared.

There is no emotion. There is peace. Enrik did his best to try and calm himself. Now was not the time to panic and throw all that he had trained so hard for away. Raene, however, didn't seem as though she would be getting a grip on her emotions any time soon. A single, solitary tear rolled down her pale cheek. The room fell into silence all of a sudden, as a new sound reached the years of the initiates. The thunder of thousands of boots, marching in perfect unison. "What's that?" Torin asked. The six of them rushed to the window. Below, on the steps, the 501st Legion moved like water, flowing up the steps with clinical efficiency. At the head of the battalion, a single hooded figure. As they reached the door, Enrik watched a group of younglings and their master exchange a few words with the hooded figure.

It had come from nowhere, and in just a few seconds it was over. The hooded figure had drawn a lightsaber, shimmering blue against the dark of the night. Before the master could draw his own he was struck down, and the volley of blaster fire that followed after killed all of the younglings. All but one. This Jedi, this traitor of a Jedi, loomed over the boy as he lay on the floor clutching at the blast wound on his leg. A single sweeping blow and it was all over.

Enrik felt the deaths ripple through the force. The initiates exchanged worried glances, not sure what to make of it. This must've been the disturbance that Enrik and Raene could feel. Before any of them could speak, the door to their chambers slid open with a whoooosh. In the doorway stood two clone troopers, their white armor trimmed with the royal blue of the 501st. They raised their blasters. Everything turned into a blue blur, the sound of blaster fire filling the air. Enrik threw himself to the floor and closed his eyes, waiting for death to consume him. But after a few seconds, he heard the sound of boots on the hard floor, and the door slid shut again.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Enrik laid in silence, listening. Throughout the temple, the sounds of battle raged on around him. Blaster fire, the dull hum of lightsabers, and screams of agony. Eventually Enrik willed himself to open his eyes. Raene stared back at him. Her happy eyes were empty, and the girl that had always been so vibrant and energetic lay still in a state of eternal peace. Enrik fought to keep control of his emotions. He rolled her eyes shut before getting to his feet and dusting off his tan cloth tunic. His classmates, his fellow Jedi-to-be, lay at his feet. Not a single one stirred. And all the while, the pain that Enrik had felt since the attack at the steps had grown more and more intense. Never had he truly felt what it was like when a connection to the Force was severed, and now he could feel all of them. Thousands of brilliant lights, all being snuffed out at once.

Enrik shuffled to the door. He knew they would have already swept the other dormitories, and he doubted any would have been so lucky as to survive like he did. Instead, it seemed that his best bet was to head for the Master's chambers. The corridors were empty for the most part. No initiates had made it out of their rooms. Entire clans were wiped out in a heartbeat. Enrik's friends, his rivals, his classmates. Gone.

Enrik ran as fast as his legs would allow him, occasionally using Force Speed to hurry his journey. Every corner he turned on his journey seemed to bring new horrors. A young Kel Dor Padawan lay slumped against the wall, four holes in his chest from the clones' blasters. A female human, with most of her face melted into molten goo. Enrik felt physically ill, but forced himself to keep on running.

As Enrik neared the Master's quarters, he stopped. Around the next corner, he could hear blaster fire, and the the sound of a lightsaber cutting through plastoid armor. When he dared to look, he saw a group of maybe six clones, crumpled and most definitely dead. There was no sign of the Jedi who slew them, but he silently thanked them for clearing the way. Around the corner, Enrik stopped to catch his breathe. He had been running for what felt like forever, and he had finally reached the hall. He was so close to the master's quarters now. The young boy placed one hand against the wall and stood still, regulating his breathing to bring him back to his usual self. Collected, he looked up to the sound of footsteps as a familiar face turned the corner.

"... Enrik?" Opposite him stood Lyla, one of his classmates. They had never been particularly close friends, but words couldn't describe how happy he was to see her at that moment. She looked scared, not that Enrik was surprised. Oddly, however, she was tightly clutching a lightsaber in her hand. Enrik eyed it curiously, before running over. "Lyla!" He stopped a few feet short of her, panting again, all of his attempts to regain his calm forgotten. "Everyone... they killed... everyone..." he stopped to prevent himself from losing control. "Torin... Jake... Darnius.. Nayva..." he paused. "Raene..." He looked up, staring her directly in the eye. The not-so-distant sounds of the slaughter filled the silence. "What... what are we going to do?"

"Torin... Jake... Darnius.. Nayva... Raene..."

Raene.

She knew all of these names but that last one... The girl was like a beacon of happiness. The kind of person you just liked, who asked the most innocent questions.

"What happened to your fingers?"

"Does it feel weird when you move them?"

Lyla had been hearing the sounds of fighting all along the way and she had seen a few bodies but hearing this, knowing that this little girl who would just sit down next to her and talk to her was gone... She could feel her throat closing up and more tears rising to her eyes.

But here Enrik was, staring at her, asking exactly what she had been trying to figure out since she left the dormitory:
"What... what are we going to do?"

He looked as shaken as she felt. He was like Raene, really - always trying to make people happy, even if he didn't have the girl's intuition. A week ago, he was just another face to her, friendly but distant. Now, he gave her a reason to at least pretend to be confident. She brushed the tears away and swallowed two, three times to keep her voice from breaking.

"We... need to find one of the masters. I left Mara, Eeth and a few younglings in one of the dorms."
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of what might have happened in the meantime, but she tightened her grip once again and shook the thought out of her head.

"Let's check the quarters. We'll be fine. The clones aren't... invincible."
She lifted the lightsaber.
"It's mine. It's real. And they don't stand a chance against us."
She tried to sound convincing, brave, but... she couldn't help but notice a hint of anger on her voice.

"Come on."

-----

"There's nobody here", she murmured.

It had only been a few minutes but she could already feel the confidence she pretended to have drain from her body. The quarters were deserted, most had been for weeks, their inhabitants off to fight in the war, side-by-side with the humanoids that were butchering them today. Others showed signs of combat; thankfully, almost all bodies were those of clones and, through miracle or the will of the Force, Enrik and Lyla hadn't run into any stragglers.

But it led them back to where they started, back to that silent question she could read in Enrik's eyes: "Now what?"

"Think...", she whispered to herself, closing her eyes, trying to focus. "Think, think, think... Where would they go? Where would the masters go, meet, regroup, fight back? Think, damn it!"
She ran her hands through her hair like the answer might fall out of them if she just-

"The Archives", she heard Enrik say. Lyla opened her eyes and looked at him. Did he feel their presence? Did he just guess? But... he was right.

"Yes. The Archives." Heavy doors. A labyrinth. The safest halls in the Temple. "Let's- wait."
She stopped dead in her tracks.
"No... No, I have... I have to go back. I left the others in that room and we don't have time to run back and forth."

She looked back down the hall they had come from.
"We'll go back, we get them and then go to the Archives."
Lyla didn't wait for a reply. Was this stupid and dangerous? Yes, both. But she couldn't leave them.
"We're all going to be fine."

-----

How they avoided running into clones was beyond her. Once or twice, they heard footsteps in the distance, thanks to the relative quiet in this part of the Temple, and took a longer way around. Another time, an LAAT passed one of the large windows and, through pure chance, they were just out of sight. Whether it was the will of the Force or the clones' inattentiveness, it helped them make their way back in only a few minutes.

Lyla recognized the hallway: Vomit on the floor, a pile of half-molten guns... and one body. Only one.

"They're gone", she whispered and felt her heart pounding in her chest. She had been so sure that they would be unconscious for much longer. Had another patrol come by? But if it did, then-

She broke into a sprint, not paying any attention to Enrik who was no doubt confused by her but doing his best to keep up. She turned a corner, then another, then saw the door - it was wide open.
No.

Lyla ran to it, slid and crashed into the metal frame and saw it, smelled it, felt something break inside her. Her lightsaber slid right out of her suddenly powerless fingers and fell to the floor with an audible clank. She managed one, two, three steps into the room before her knees gave away and she crumbled to the floor, right next to the lifeless, blaster-riddled bodies of her friends.

Her lips formed "no, no, no" over and over but no sound escaped her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't process what she was seeing. Her hands were moving in incoherent gestures between her hair and her mouth. And then, finally, she heard it - Her own strained sob. It broke out of her with a violence that shook her. The tears blinded her and she slumped over, hugging the corpses in desperation, willing them back to the life but only covering herself in blood in the process.

Somewhere behind her, she could hear a voice, felt a hand on her shoulder, thought that she could her a sniffle but it was all drowned by the thunderstorm of emotion that was rocking her. I need to go, a tiny voice said, somewhere in the depths of her, clear even against the overwhelming noise of sorrow. If we stay, we will die. They wouldn't have wanted us to die.

She heard Enrik's voice again, more urgent than before. There was no time, they could be found at any moment. It was hard, oh so hard to force herself away from them. Couldn't she just lie here and weep?
Something caught her eye, even through the haze of tears. A glint on Mara's finger.

"Jealous? It's just a silver ring, a gift from home. How about this: The first of us to make Padawan gets one for both of you!" Mara had beamed at them, excited over her own idea.

Eeth seemed so aloof, so detached. He was so much friendlier below the surface:
"A stupid, cliche symbol of friendship? Sure, why not."

With shaky fingers, Lyla took the ring and put it on her thumb.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She clawed her hands into her friends' robes one last time before she forced herself on her feet. Without a word, she took her lightsaber from Enrik and turned her back on the death in this room.

"The Archives", was all she managed to say before stepping through the door. She left something behind in that room, something broken beyond repair.

It happened fast, the Padawan came in and was shot. Falling to the ground, Worrors hand went to his lightsaber pulling it from the clip on his belt and igniting it however before he could move Seris was off. He shook his head, she wrenched a table from its place and cast it at the door before attacking a clone (rather skillfully for someone who supposedly hadn't had an training...) and then using a training lightsaber to incapacitate him. At least she was resourceful however he never doubted such a fact. He ran up to her as fast as he could go on his old legs without using the Force and put a hand on her shoulder, the mounted translation device echoing his words. "You kept us safe, for now, young one. Though do not forsake your beliefs during this trying time, leave it to me to protect you. I do not want you harming yourself."

As if on que a group of six clones came running around a corner, hands going to their blasters to bring them to a raised position. Worror just pushed past Seris and raised his right hand focusing on the presence of the Clones in the Force. He felt their muscles contract and expand, the nerves transmitting signals to and from the brain. Their hearts bet almost as one, as if they were all connected - merely another sign of how truly identical they were. The clones stopped, unmoving. He could hear them all grunt in surprise and displeasure. They couldn't move, however this wasn't as if Worror had grabbed the Clones in the Force their bodies would not respond.

He nodded towards the direction of T'ish and Jasma. "Go, I shall not be far behind." Expanding his sense of awareness he could also feel the presence of Wynn nearby. Locating it he gave a slight mental tug in his direction. The entire temple shook again and his concentration wavered for a second, the Clones managed to raise their weapons slightly more. He raised his left hand and focused on the door control panel, like most in the temple while there was a simple button combination there was also one that was designed to be used with the Force. Turning the panel the door slammed, and then in a criss cross motion blast doors also closed. He ran upto the door, knowing the clones would likely be heading straight to bypass the lock and open it.

Once against it he planted his lightsaber in the centre of the door melting the metal and fusing the door closed. He didn't doubt that the Clones would resort to explosives but that would take time. The question was whether or not it would be enough time for them to get out. He moved in the direction of T'ish and Jasma willing himself on still trying not to draw on the Force too heavily, he had no doubt that when he needed the Force to help him move he wouldn't be able to stop drawing on it until they left the Temple so he wanted to delay that as long as possible in order to ensure his own survival. He extinguished his blade, casting out another little mental tug at Wynn. The Archivists were doing their job and most the younger Jedi had already moved deeper within the temple though it pained him to think, that wouldn't be enough. They could not hold off the Clones, no way. They would have to escape the Temple and there was no way every single Jedi would manage that.

They would need to run from their home, their way of life. He cast out the pain of the truth, now was not such time for thoughts. They may need to leave this place but for as long as one Jedi remained so would their way of life.

---

CT-2979, also known as Hotshot ran out of the LAAT, gun lowered but ready heading towards the temple. Already there was the occasional camera hovering in the area but he just ignored it. He was here for one thing, to kill Jedi. They had betrayed the Republic! The very thought of it, that he had fought side by side with the Jedi since the war began and they were traitors? The very thought filled him with rage and he knew his brothers felt the exact same way as he did. How could they not? He looked up in the sky as a LAAT strafed to the left facing the temple it's main gun firing through the walls of the temple at what was probably a extra troublesome group of Jedi.

Many Clones would die here today, but at least they would die for the Republic, peace and freedom. The Jedi? What did they even stand for if they were planning to betray the Republic. He ran through into the temple, the sounds of the outside world dimming as if he stuck his head underwater. His breath heavy in his helmet, he could feel the hot air bouncing back onto his face. He was well and truly angry at the Jedi. Clone bodies lay around the doorway, killed by lightsabers. A couple still struggled with missing limbs or broken blasters. The Jedi would pay for what was done here today, and the rest throughout the Galaxy...

Well. They'd be dealt with.

---

Trayla towered over the other beings in the High Council tower. Her four arms crossed as she stood among this... mottley crew of other Jedi who had managed to get to the council tower when the attack began. There were groups of resistance everywhere, clones bearing down on their positions. Some she had no doubt were trying to escape, the cowards. Simply abandoning the temple rather than repelling the invaders. They were just Clones, no matter how many there were they should not need to run. Leaving everyone and everything behind like that was simply, cowardice. So she stood there in the ring of Jedi Knights and Masters who were working together to try and defend this portion of the temple.

None of them dared sit in the seats of the Late Jedi Council, so they all stood. She herself looking out the window at the temple being attacked. More LAATs kept bringing more troops, some of them strafing the outer edges of the temple. She could even see a Venator hovering in the distance. Obviously preparing to drop more troops if necessary. A Jedi Cruiser attacking the Jedi Temple... she would have laughed at the irony had there not been the chance that the Jedi way could end right here on this day.

Her fist banged against the thick glass, that still cracked slightly, as one of the other Jedi proposed escape. "No, no escape. This is our home, this temple is a beacon of hope in the Galaxy!" She walked toward the centre of the room where everyone else could see her. "If this is where we are to fall, so be it. Though we are Jedi we can survive this! Then when all is said and done we can march over there-" Her top right hand pointed towards the senate building "-and try the Senate and the Chancellor for their crimes against us! Then we can take over the senate and make sure those that take it's place are just, fair and true." There was murmuring, some of them nodding their heads others shaking theirs. Though then some of them drew their lightsabers, a flash of anger crossed her face as she pulled her two dual blade lightsabers from her belt. Then she felt the danger, mentally chastising herself for letting her anger cloud her judgement as she turned.

A LAAT hovered there in the window, and without thinking she ducked. The bolts crashing through the windows burning Jedi up where they stood. Her ears started ringing and her back burned from the heat of the shots that came too close for comfort. She heard several light thuds, and looked up as clones swung on cables into the room and she screamed. Pushing herself up with two hands she pushed her lower two out as well putting all her power in the Force. The clones that were detached from the cables, boots on the ground, went out the window and fell to their deaths. The ones attached were merely pushed back. They raised their blasters but her lightsabers were up twirling, batting back bolts. Trying to direct them to the LAAT the armour just scarred and blackened.

She swore, trying to get a critical hit. Trying to make them pay. Then there was the sound of a blast, louder than the others and she stopped. Lightsabers no longer twirling, she looked down as she saw the blood on her torso. Falling to her knees she looked behind her to see another LAAT hovering with it's doors open, in the middle of the compartment sat a sniper. It was then, in her dying moments that she tried to push a thought throughout the temple. To any Jedi open to the Force. A simple and easy to distinguish thought.

Run

Lyla seemed even more shaken than Enrik. She was fighting back tears, and it took quite some time for the girl to ready herself to speak. Enrik eagerly awaited her response. "We... need to find one of the masters. I left Mara, Eeth and a few younglings in one of the dorms." Enrik's gut tightened, like someone was clenching their fists around his intestines. As much as it pained him, he had seen how the clones had gone door to door and gunned down anyone inside. He wasn't ready to put his hopes on Eeth or Mara still being alive. "Let's check the quarters. We'll be fine. The clones aren't... invincible." She lifted the lightsaber. "It's mine. It's real. And they don't stand a chance against us." Enrik eyed it cautiously. He appreciated that she was attempting to be hopeful, but Enrik's journey had shown him the merciless brutality of these troopers - Initiate, Padawan, Master, it mattered not, all died the same when on the other end of a blaster barrel. Enrik nodded and did his best to plaster on a smile. "Come on."

The two prowled the Master's quarters for several minutes, going room to room in the hope that they would find someone, anyone, that wasn't in white and blue armor and holding a blaster. Several of them had walls littered with blast points, but the vast majority of the corpses were clone troopers. "There's nobody here," Enrik heard Lyla murmur from just ahead of him. And she was right. They had searched almost every room, and there wasn't a single sign that anyone had been here since the attack began. She began whispering, and then she began getting louder, and louder still. "Think, think, think... Where would they go? Where would the masters go, meet, regroup, fight back? Think, damn it!" Enrik watched as she practically tore her hair out, fear and frustration taking hold of her in equal measure. The answer seemed obvious to Enrik. The first place any of the Masters would go would be to the archives. Everything that it meant to be Jedi, their entire history, was recorded there. "The Archives." She looked up at him, staring into his eyes, realization washing over her. "Yes. The Archives. "Let's- wait." Enrik had turned to make off towards the Archives when Lyla halted. "No... No, I have... I have to go back. I left the others in that room and we don't have time to run back and forth. We'll go back, we get them and then go to the Archives." Enrik could feel the fist in his stomach tighten its hold, except now it seemed to have grown talons. It was folly, when they both knew what they would find. "We're all going to be fine." And with that she was off, leaving Enrik to follow as best he could.

The short run was surprisingly easy. The only real problem they encountered was a roving LAAT that flew by a large window, but the pair were easily out of sight. Enrik watched in disgust as their 'protectors' stood along the sides of the transport, checking their weapons and chatting among themselves. They turned a corner, and Lyla stopped dead in her tracks. The head and shoulder of a clone set next to his torso, and a pile of blasters lay half melted in the corridor. There was a puddle of vomit, which Enrik was extra careful to avoid. "They're gone," she whispered. Enrik had no idea who 'they' were. Her friends? Maybe more clones. Either way, it was bad. Enrik followed along as Lyla led him to her dorm, and when they finally rounded the corner, all hope flooded from Enrik in a heartbeat. The door was wide open.

Lyla stepped inside the room. Her lightsaber fell from her limp hand, and the poor girl collapsed to her knees. The room was almost an identical picture to his own; a pile of children's corpses, blasted to pieces by those who claimed to be guarding them. Enrik felt rage swell inside him, before quickly suppressing it. Her lightsaber rolled to Enrik's feet, and he collected it from the floor, before walking up just behind Lyla. He recognised the students. He had trained with them before, taken his meals with them, squabbled with them and laughed with them. And now here they were, lifeless on the ground, while Enrik stood above them alive. He couldn't help but feel guilty. Lyla was sobbing now. She hugged and shook her dead friends, clinging desperately to the hope that they would draw breath and hug her back, but she was to get no such reaction. Enrik rested his hand on her shoulder. "Lyla. We have to go. You can mourn them when we get out of here, but you won't get the chance if you stay and die with them." For some reason he didn't think she'd heard him. "Lyla. Come on." She leant over to Mara's corpse and slid a small silver ring from her pale, dead finger, and slit it onto her own thumb. She proceeded to rummage through the other initiates' pockets, before finally hauling herself to her feet. She turned to face him. The blood of her friends stained her tan robes, and the trails of tears stained her face. Silently she took the lightsaber from Enrik's outstretched hand. "The Archives," she said with a feeling of grim finality to her voice. Enrik felt like she had given up on living.

The pair left, this time going a different way towards the archives. Enrik was desperate to avoid the main hall; that was where most of the killing would have been conducted. The surrounding corridors seemed quiet, but in the distance the sounds of the massacre were as petrifying as ever. The two made good time, and as time went on, the screams and shooting got louder and louder. The closer to the archives they got, the more frequent the corpses became. Most were Padawans, some were Knights. But Enrik was yet to see the corpse of a master. Before too long, however, the sound of boots on the corridor floor became audible. They were around the next corner, Enrik knew. Layla, however, seemed totally oblivious, stuck in a trance-like state since seeing her dorm. He looked at Lyla. Before he had a chance to warn her, she was already around the corner. "Lyla!" He whispered as loudly as he dared. Lyla turned to look at him as she rounded the corner, and as she did, a rifle butt hit with a sickening crack against her temple. "Did Lord Vader ask for prisoners?" The clone was asking another, one that Enrik had not known was there. "No. He wants all of them dead." A second clone. He had to act, or Lyla would end up the same as her friends. He couldn't let it happen. He wouldn't.

Enrik stretched out a hand, searching for a hold. He found it, and with all his might, he brought the lightsaber to his hand. The clone noticed it fly, but by the time he turned to see where it had gone, the blue blade had ignited in Enrik's hand. He had only ever wielded a training saber before today. Now not only would he wield a lightsaber, he would kill his first man. His swing was elegant, the tip of the blade eating about half way back into the clone's torso and opening his ribs wide. With a grunt, he fell to his knees, and then on to his face. Enrik turned the corner, where two more clones were stood. One had his blaster raised, and the other was running in his direction, bearing down quickly. Enrik calmed himself. A combination of adrenaline and the Force made time seem slow. Enrik brought up the lightsaber and angled it towards the advancing clone's stomach, before lunging forward and driving it hard. It easily penetrated the armor, and the flesh, and then the armor again. Enrik hid behind the corpse as the final clone loosed a few blasts. One missed entirely and the other two struck the back of Enrik's human shield. He withdrew his saber, letting the body slump to the floor, and ran towards the clone. He deflected a bolt, before stretching out a hand. He grasped the clone's ankle, and yanked, sending the clone down onto his back with a thud. Enrik loomed over him as he tried to regain his senses, and with one swift swing, sent his head rolling along the corridor. It was over.

The blue disappeared as the blade rescinded back into the handle. He hadn't noticed the icy bite of the cold steel until now. He stood over the decapitated clone, breathing heavily as the adrenaline subsided, before remembering. Lyla. The boy pivoted and ran, back to his fallen friend. She was unconscious. The rifle had struck her on her left temple, and the swelling was immense. Blood was steadily trickling from the site of the impact. Enrik was surprised that her skull hadn't caved in. The blood had begun to form an oozing red pol around her head. "Lyla?" Enrik shook her gently by the shoulder. "Lyla? Can you hear me?" Still nothing. "Lyla, wake up... please. Wake up." Her eyes fluttered open at last. "Lyla?" She looked at him. Enrik smiled. "Can you get up?" She nodded. All of the colour had drained from her face. She attempted to stand, but stumbled. Enrik caught her, and threw her arm around his shoulder. "Come on, lean on me. Let's get to the Archives." He held out her lightsaber, and she clipped it back to her belt. Enrik wasn't sure she knew where she was or what day it was. If she noticed the corpses, she made no mention of it. Together, the two hobbled down the corridor, towards the Archives.

Once she had stepped through the door again, it all seemed hazy. Lyla could feel her face dry up but her mind was bent out of shape, all purpose and clarity gone. She barely registered what was going on around her: The corpses, the blood, the shouts, shots, explosions... it was all toned down, reduced to a sickening normality you could just blank out of your perception. Enrik behind her obviously didn't feel the same way: She could sense him, just barely, and felt that he was on edge, attentive, trying his best to be brave.

And... what was that? Did she sense something, somebody else?
"Lyla!", she heard Enrik whisper. She turned, trying to focus but before she could even begin to bring her senses and mind under control again, she felt something hard hit the left side of her head, pain exploding in front of her eyes. She fell with a soft sigh, her body completely unresponsive. She heard voices over her, tried to move, tried to come out of it but it was just... too... difficult...

"Come on, Lyla. You can't keep sulking like that."

"Leave me alone, Mara."

"And what if I won't? I wanna be friends."

"You don't even know me."

"I don't have to. We're Jedi. We can care without knowing."

Somewhere, far, far away, she heard a lightsaber. Something else, a noise she had been hearing over and over, but it stopped. And then, very quietly: "Lyla?"

It was getting closer, louder: "Lyla, wake up..."

She opened her eyes. Where am I? Everything seemed to hurt and, once again, she felt the overwhelming urge to throw up. For a second, all she could see was flickering lights before her view focused on Enrik, leaning over her, a relieved smile on his face. She was lying on the ground. Slowly, ever so slowly, she remembered what had happened and her nausea didn't take kindly to that memory.

"Can you get up?"

Of course I can. She nodded and tried, she really did, but her arms felt weak when she sat up and her legs refused to carry her weight, but he was there to catch her, pulling her to her feet. She only just noticed something warm running down the side of her face and making her hair stick to her head. Am I bleeding?
"Come on, lean on me," he said, more commenting than offering. She couldn't have gotten up without his help.

Then she saw it: He held out her lightsaber, offering it to her. Where did I leave that? Then she saw them: The clones, lying dead in the hall. Did he protect me?
Lyla didn't think, she just took the offered item and put it on her belt, in place of her training saber. It all seemed so confusing, so difficult to focus on, but at least the haze from before was gone. Her eyes readjusted, she could hear again, think again.

Fighting down the nausea, Lyla managed to whisper "thank you" as they hobbled down the hall.

-----

They had already been close to the Archives, so it only took a few more minutes to reach one of the entrances. Luckily, they were not approaching from the main hall, where the entrances had been welded shut, but from another side. The clones they had run into probably had been waiting for reinforcements before attempting to force their way in. Or maybe they had been trying to block possible escape routes?

It was all the same. The doors they were coming through were wide open and the dark, dry air of the Archives had never been more inviting. As they walked, Lyla had felt some of her strength returning but when she tried to walk on her own, she almost lost her balance again, so even now, she leaned on Enrik. And there, not far from where they stood, she saw somebody - She couldn't quite make out who it was but they were wearing robes instead of armor, brown and tan instead of white and blue.

She wanted to call out but her stomach advised against it. And she didn't have to do that to get their attention: A bolt of blue flew past them, bright as a firework in the twilight of the room. Lyla barely managed to stay upright as they turned and got into cover - A few soldiers had apparently found their comrades and drawn one of two logical conclusions: That somebody was headed away from or toward the Archives. And this time, it was at least twelve of them, too many to fight.

Lyla frantically looked around for the door controls, only to notice that she was leaning against them, so she pushed a few buttons and it closed, blast doors and all. That was the easy part. But how could she keep them from just opening the doors again? She was somewhat focused again but trying to remember what she needed to do...

Enrik reached for her belt and grabbed the lightsaber.
"What...?", she began but he had already sunken it into the metal, fusing all layers of the door into one. Right. Of course. Lightsaber. The solution is always a lightsaber.
He seemed pleased with himself when he deactivated the weapon and handed it back to her. She couldn't help but give him a small, acknowledging nod.
"Quick thinking."

She leaned on him once more and together, they made their way over to the group of people who had already noticed their arrival. Most of the faces seemed vaguely familiar and especially the Catuman stood out, as there seemed to be few of them in the Order, compared to Twi'lek and Kel Dor, but Lyla recognized two: Master Worror, who, unlike her other teachers, never seemed to reprimand or lose his patience with her, and Seris, the Miraluka who practically seemed to live in the Archives.

Lyla wanted to say something, to break the eery silence. But all that came to her mind was the bitter realization:
"Master, I... I think Enrik and I are all that's left of Thantra Clan."

Wynn felt the tug, he could feel Worror tug on his mind like a gentle child. The Catuman decapitated another clone who had attested to sneak up on him. He then fell to his knees as a fresh wave of Jedi were slaughtered. His initial rage was powerful enough to keep him from sensing all the destruction and death that was happening. Thousands were dying, gunned down by a fearless, limitless army. He could feel the realization of this genocide crashing down around him, twisting him and taunting him, it knowing that no matter how hard he fought, he would lose. He roared with rage and got to his feet, the pain of his wound fading to the back of his mind. He pushed forward, bending the force in violent ways, smashing the ribs of clones and rattling their bodies with power. How dare they? How dare they march upon this temple and cause all this destruction and death. In a scared place. Then his mind cleared a little and he remembered the angry force that washed over the temple before the attack. It wasn't the clones. They were just pawns. No, it was him, whoever he was. Wynn rounded the corner and saw Worror, and several others. His mind was immediately soothed. Worror simply had that affect on him. However, with peace, comes the knowledge of the physical body, and Wynn immediately growled in pain as he clutched his side and stumbled over to the group. His side was dressed with his blood from his blaster wound and he greeted the group quite frankly "I've been shot, anything you lot can do to help?". He sensed smaller, less developed forces approaching their position. Younglings.

Jenner felt it. The force... it had completely changed. So much so that he feared not a single sentient being in the galaxy hadn't noticed. The temple was under attack. More importantly, the entire republic was under attack. Jenner paused and staggered over to a wall. Even though he was but a padawan, this sudden wave of darkness had managed to have a physical effect on him as he quite nearly felt ill. Though he couldn't see or hear any indications of it, he knew things were changing drastically, to such a degree that it would likely shape society as they knew it for years to come. Somehow, the separatists had managed to land right on the Jedi Order's doorstep.

And yet, Jenner felt that wasn't right. He felt the temple being swarmed, yes, but not by droids as it would seem. They were very much alive. What sentient force was strong enough and numerous enough to possibly attack the temple and stand any chance of actually succeeding? He could only think of two such forces, and as his mind ran through the possibilities, he wasn't sure which was worse. The fact that he had already ruled one out, or that the other was supposed to be on their side. "It can't be," he uttered.

A blast echoed throughout the temple, shaking Jenner out of his stupor and prompting him to take his lightsaber into his hands. He knew he would need it very soon, along with a plan of action. There would be time to take stock later.

Jenner began making his best speed towards the tower of the High Council, just as blaster fire began to erupt in other parts of the temple. It was likely the first place any of the jedi would go in this situation, but he wasn't exactly close to it. He knew he would have to be cautious in order to avoid detection. He felt his way through the force, trying to determine whether it was safe to proceed. Oddly enough, he had felt a presence somewhere behind him. He turned just in time to see a small squad of clone troopers training their blasters on Jenner.

Without thinking, he bolted forward as quickly as possible, rounding the first corner he found and activating his lightsaber. He knew he was lucky in that it was likely an advance scout as opposed to a full unit. He turned and peeked back down the corridor, seeing the soldiers advance on his position. He brought himself back into cover. Four of them, and they couldn't be farther than 25 meters away. He knew he had a choice between trying to slow them down and trying to keep retreating. As much as he wanted to do the latter, his options as far as cover from blaster bolts in the direction he was going were very limited, not to mention he could be leading them right to the rest of the jedi.

"Okay, think about this. Other options; there's always another option," he thought. He could hear the clones getting closer. He looked around, trying to find another means of escape. There were a few beams spanning along the roof, but it would strain his abilities to jump that high. He debated scaling it, but as he was working out how to get there, he felt another presence down the hallway. He looked to his right and spotted a much younger Twi'lek initiate. He couldn't be much older than about twelve. They made eye contact, at which point, Jenner tried to gesture for the youngling to get away.

"What's happening?" the young one asked. Without missing a beat, two of the clones rounded each respective corner. Jenner didn't waste time in reacting, launching himself towards the nearest one, practically sliding past him as he cut the lightsaber across the soldier's white armor and propelling himself at the next one as quickly as possible. A couple of blaster shots were fired from both remaining troops, but Jenner was already on top of the one aiming at the child and cut him down as quickly as he did the first. He turned to the last one, making a force assisted leap towards him and flipping himself forwards. The clone fired a couple of shots from his blaster before Jenner landed and brought his lightsaber down, making the trooper release a brief scream before falling to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said before deactivating his lightsaber and going back to make sure the younger one was okay. He found him hiding behind one of the pillars, gripping his own lightsaber. "Hey, are you okay?" Jenner asked, reaching out to the youngling. Only then did he notice the smoke coming from his back and felt what was left of his life force dissipate. His heart sank, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of others who had been slain. Several jedi; knights, padawans, younglings, all killed indiscriminately, though one stood out to him. Aayla Secura. He knew she was off fighting on some other world. How he had felt her was beyond his understanding, but he knew that this was much more than just an attack on the jedi temple.

Before he left, he went to the boy's body and laid him down, making sure his eyes were closed. "I tried," he said, regretfully. He stood there for another moment before picking himself up and making a mad dash for the nearest collective of other jedi he could sense.

Jenner was practically flying through the temple's hallways with his assistance from the force, but the temple was still massive, and it took him a minute or two to close the distance to the base of the High Council tower, where there was a large number of jedi digging in, among them were Charuri and Feemor. "Charuri, Master Feemor-" he began, approaching the two. He was cut off by a series of blasts that came from the tower above, along with the feeling of more jedi becoming one with the force. Suddenly, a foreign thought pervaded his mind. "Run." It must have come from one of the other masters in the temple. The thought faded abnormally, in such a way as to indicate that it was likely the sender's dying thought.

He looked around, noticing the looks on the others' faces. No doubt most, if not all of them, had felt the same thing. As much as the idea of defending the temple sounded like the honorable thing to do, it was senseless. The jedi were vastly outnumbered by the clones, even en-masse, and with the war going on, many of them were dispersed and isolated throughout the galaxy.

This got Jenner thinking about it. This was the ideal time for such an attack to be launched, even if the element of surprise wasn't taken into account, nor the completely unexpected betrayal. There was no way this happened by chance. Someone, somewhere, had managed to pull all the strings and play the long game. They had managed to orchestrate this whole thing across years of careful planning and subterfuge. They had known this would happen because they made it happen, and now there was no chance of fighting such an overwhelming force. The more jedi who fought, the more would die. The best course of action was to try to escape the onslaught.

"We really should go," he said to Feemor. "I don't mean to speak out of turn, but we can't hold the temple forever; even if we all were to work together. They'll just keep sending clones at us until we tire ourselves out," he said, a tone of urgency in his voice.

"Well, that seems to answer that question," Jasma said as she observed the Master's impressive handiwork in closing the main doors. Then she rushed over to where Seris and the master were. "Seris, Master Worror, are you alright?" The Twi'lek called out, nodding in the Master's direction as she addressed him."T'ish says there's secret tunnels he knows about. We can probably all get out through there as well as any others we can quickly reach."

Then the padawan noticed another jedi, a Catuman, coming towards the group. A stumble had developed and she could feel from there his blood pouring out. He said, "I've been shot, anything you lot can do to help?".

"I know some healing," Jasma replied. The Twi'lek then started the healing process, removing the cloth around the affected area, making sure it was clean, then placing a sort of bandage on the wound. But then she felt two little ones coming, one of them seriously injured.

A brown-haired human boy was supporting the injured human girl on his side, the blood oozing down from her temple. She seemed even more shocked about this than the boy. She only came out of her reverie, it seems, to report to Master Worror, "Master, I... I think Enrik and I are all that's left of Thantra Clan."

Jasma reached to the girl, "Sorry, sir. This girl has a more serious wound. The bandage should last until we have time to replace it." The Twi'lek then focused her mind on the patient and her non-blaster flesh wound, making sure that she didn't let blood pool by the brain and too much blood didn't get out.

Wynn grunted in agreement with the Twi'Lek, placing his hand back on his wound. He gripped his lightsaber tighter, which had since retreaded back into the hilt. He nodded to the other Jedi and inched towards Worror. He surveyed the scene and sighed, turning to Worror and quietly saying "The main hall has been completely overrun, I seem to be the only survivor out of the several hundred Jedi in that room alone. It's looking pretty dire, old friend." His eyes were hard but his voice soft and cautious. He had his doubts that any of them would make it out of the temple alive. And his spirits dropped when the younglings said their entire clan had been wiped out. "It is pure madness, Worror, such violence and murder I have not seen in my life, not even by droids." he said, his voice even lower. His head throbbed with the pain of his side, what small healing the padawan gave him wearing off. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to find some solace in the force. But there was so much darkness, like a massive cloud had taken over the temple. And he could see the flames of souls, they shined bright through the cloud, a beacon of hope. Then, each one was extinguished, some burned brighter, but eventually went out. The darkness grew as the light went out. Wynn opened his eyes, his anger growing, despite Worror being next to him. He would make them pay. He would make them all pay.

Charuri barely had time to react instinctively dropping her body to the ground as next to her a charged blaster bolt from a DC-15A slammed into one of the riflemen working with temple security. Crawling moving close to the ground and out of the firing lines above her she moved over to the man to check his vitals positioned behind the portable cover hastily deployed by the security forces. He was a youth barely older than herself maybe nineteen or twenty with signs of a light dusting of hair across his jaw. The blaster bolt had easily penetrated his armor meant to deal with hold out blasters and rioters not clones and their military tech, his right lung was punctured and he was fading quickly. His shaking hands found one of Charuri’s and grasped it tightly as he tried to voice something but couldn’t quite force it out with the blood pouring into his lungs.

The sound of footsteps as somebody rounded the barrier in front of them. Charuri turned her head to see the emotionless facade of white with blue highlights. The 501^st had once been the heroes of the Republic, hand selected for their skill and ability at combat the top tier of the entirety of the clone army and had fought with the Jedi on many an occasion. It seemed fitting in some way that they would be the ones to bring down the executioner’s axe. Looking down the barrel of the blaster rifle before she even had a chance to move there was a flash of yellow and the clone let out a strangled grunt as he fell to the ground. She looked backed as Master Feemor approached her catching his lightsaber flung with the force back into his hand.

“Stay aware of your surroundings Charuri, let the force be your guide!” Even in the cause that engulfed and threatened to consume them all Feemor voice was calm in its projection and it give his young padawan an odd sense of comfort. Nodding she looked back to the soldier that she was tending to but already the boy had passed on his head lulled to one side matched by cold unmoving eyes. Charuri turned away... another one they failed to save. How many more would die before the night was over? How many would die for what she could only perceive as insanity as the wrath of the Grand Army of the Republic came bearing down upon them.

As she rose to her feet natural Cathar battle instincts began to kick in matched by her own Jedi training. Her lightsaber was reignited in a flash of brilliant green as she dropped into the opening stance of Soresu. Some called Soresu the resilience form, well if that was the case than it would be needed more than ever to survive the night. She moved as Feemor had taught her over hours of drilling keeping her circle of defense tight around her body, to succeed each move had to made with precision, one wrong twitch and the defense falls and a blaster shoot will inevitably find the hole eventually.

The clones kept on coming in wave after wave, as one fell two more seemed to be appear through the smoke to take vengeance for their fallen brethren. The defense of the outer temple had broken down and the clones pushed after them blasting their way through all that opposed them. They seemed to be coming in from all sides as the LAATs dropped off more squads while provided deceived heavy fire support with their laser turrets shredding through flesh and other matter like it was loose paper. Charuri had seen temple security and Jedi alike be indiscriminately taken down by the clones who moved with an eerie silence about them as only the sparest of orders being called could be heard as they came down like a symphony of vengeful wraiths conducted by the maestro of death.

In the chaos and fury, Charuri picked up on a familiar form approaching them. It was Jenner she remembered the face, the boy was a few years older than her but they had run into one another more than enough throughout the course of the war that they were at least familiar with one another. As he approached the sound of his voice was muffled by the large concussive blasts coming from within the Council Tower. A dreadful moment of silence followed by a single voice echoing through Charuri’s head before fading into the beyond. Run. After this the trio of Jedi looked at one another with probably the same expression across their face. Soon Jenner in words that seemed very wise in Charuri’s ears at the moment suggested that they too should retreat.

“No young one, your suggestions seems most apt considering our current circumstances. All those that have been evacuated successfully would have done so by this point. Remaining would only be foolish as a sacrifice to uphold a falsehood of victory is a most senseless sacrifice indeed.” Feemor responded with understanding in his voice towards Jenner treating him the same as he would his own padawan having work with Master Fora in the past. Gravely he turned toward his own padawan and give her a small smile. “Charuri now I must ask you to take heed of our conversation from before take Jenner with you and run now.”

“Of course master... but what about you aren't you coming with us?” She asked her master and friend over all the years. The tone in his voice had told her something, something that she didn't want to accept. It was filled with a finality in it and a strong willed sense of determination that she had only sensed a few times before one of the more recent times in the last speech of one of the separatists holdouts on Ithor before they rooted them out. The cutthroat tone of somebody that knew the end had come upon them.

“Sadly not my young friend... It would appear it is time for this old man to make one more senseless sacrifice to protect the things he stands for and those he cares about. My master did not run when death faced him at the plasma generators on Theed, and I will not run here. I feel it in the force, it is my time to depart but you two still burn brightly in dark and you must hold that torch alight. Now please for my sake Charuri run.” Charuri wanted to yell in protest, she wanted to hit her master for being so daft, she wanted to do so many things but she couldn't and she would’nt. It was not the Jedi way. There is no emotion, there is peace. She grit her teeth and nodded holding back tears as she grabbed Jenner with one hand holding his arm, still holding her lightsaber in the other and turned bracking in run towards the path behind them intending to break through the slowly forming clone line erecting a human wall behind them in the hallway as they pushed their way through the High Council Tower and out through the main entrance. She didn't say goodbye, she didn't say anything out of fear of what would slip out of her mouth and instead followed orders.

There is no passion, there is serenity

As the duo broke off from him Feemor took a deep breath and closed his eyes feeling his breathing slow down as he entered the serenity trance feeling the force flow through his entire body invigorating it. Opening his eyes he took in the situation around him. The clones were now pushing in from both sides on his position, their numbers seemingly ceaseless. He had to hold them back for as long as possible, the more he took down, the more that would not chase after Charuri and Jenner. If they all ran together they would've just been cut down somebody had to die and at least he could do this one thing right after doing oh so many things wrong.

In truth he felt like Initiate again preparing for his trials as they same sort of looming uncertainty surrounded him. Usually in moments like these he had always entrusted in the force, that somehow their would be a path, a way forward for him to fight his way through. All that was left was dark and flickering embers as dozens died around him. The clones had quickly surrounded them and were cutting them down with heavy swaths of fire, unrelenting as barrage followed barrage. He felt old friends die next to him and young lives silenced in seconds but he kept on fighting and never withdraw. If the adrenaline was not pumping through his body he could of sworn if only for a moment his Master was there next to him guiding each and every saber stroke, having never died all those years ago. But he had died and now it seemed it was Feemor’s turn to join him.

As the clones slowly surrounded him and the remaining Jedi backing them against a wall he felt that he truly understood what Qui-Gon had told him all those years prior when Femmor was about to become a Jedi Master. He said that a Jedi’s true learning did not begin until they became a Master because it was with the training of those new members that you truly learned the importance of all the codes and morals you had so well learned. The padawans taught him as well three in total they had all taught him something about himself and about the world that he had always thought he knew everything about. Charuri was the last of these, a bright girl it pained for him to have to place such a great burden upon her shoulders, but to preserve the order it had to be done if only a few survived those few could rebuild.

His master had once told him all those years ago "I'm sure Yoda will soon assign you a student of your own. And that will be a lucky child indeed." He truly hoped that he was right. The circle of clones pushed in closer now and the last of his companions had fallen, he dropped into Center of Being and held out and reached into the force deflecting as many bolts as he could coming his way almost making a shimmering yellow curtain covering his body as he saber moved at an alarming right. Still it was not enough, a millisecond off and a hole was made and a blaster bolt slammed into Feemor’s leg. He staggered and dropped to one knee opening him up to another blaster bolt that slammed into his shoulder making him drop his saber to the ground. He never felt the third bolt as it met home with his head. His body dropped to floor another amongst the carnage.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Charuri didn't look back but she felt it happen and with it her entire heart sank but she did not stop running. Her body at this point was running on pure instinct at this point letting the force guide her back to one of the many supply hatches that she knew lead deep into the temple. One of the clone scouts sent ahead of the main group ran into them but barely had a chance to react as a flash of green flashed out severing his hand and incapacitating him. Pushing forward away from the sounds of violence, death and more importantly the pain she just wanted to keep on running forever but eventually they came to their destination. It was a small indent in the wall near the kitchens, two hatches nothing more and nothing less empty crates went out one end and full ones came out the other and both lead down to the supply channels underneath the temple. The pair would be able to barely get down but any clones would have to find other means to get deeper beneath the temple complex

She moved towards the one that lead down and pushed her way inside the long tube feeling the darkness surround her. It was a less than comfortable fit for herself and so the resulting ride down for Jenner most of been if anything a tight squeeze. Coming out the other end they found themselves in a dark corridor stretching endless in both directions with seemingly no lighting in any sense. They were on a deactivated conveyer belt of sorts the power having been knocked out on the attack. Back when she was an initiate she would spend hours down her working with the workers making sure the proper boxes with up through the proper tubes in the almost labyrinthine like passageways. She knew if she followed them far enough they would empty out somewhere but at the moment she couldn't think straight to tell where.

Instead finally somewhere safe, her proper resolve that she had shown aboveground had finally broken down. Here in the dark with only Jenner somewhere in the darkness beside her she felt the tears in her eyes finally let go as the soft sounds of her scattered breathing filled the void as above them the temple shook as another explosion sounded off far above. It felt like a horrible empty dream and yet the full devastation was not over yet.

---

Order 66: In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established.

Worror tilted his head and bowed it slightly at the initiates. He was glad to see them, though what they had been through pained him significantly. That ones so young were nto spared the attack and that they had to see this. The fall of the Jedi Order. "I am afraid young ones, you must continue to be brave for us. Now is not the time to mourn-" He clutched his chest as a single instinct ran through his head run. Trayla. It was indistinguishable, he would never mistake her for someone else. The bond between Master and Padawan one of the strongest ones that would ever form between two Jedi. He bowed his head slightly, as if in a silent moment of contemplation as he felt the darkness grow. Though this was a more localized effect.

He put his hand on the shoulder of the troubled and injured Jedi. "We are loosing so much today old friend, do not let our enemies win. Do not lose yourself in the darkness." He squeezed his shoulder with his long shoulders before bringing his hand back down to his side as he began walking to the back of the archives. "We should continue to move, there are more entrances to the Archives than the two we have sealed. It will not be long until the archives are swarmed with Clone Troopers-" As if on cue there was the echoing of blaster fire. He pointed towards the end of the archives. "I believe access to one of T'ishs tunnels is down there. I have often observed Temple Guards venturing in this direction and disappearing. I presume it is one of their access points." His resolve, while it had been shaken with the death of Trayla had now rebuilt itself to the strength it had previously been at. "Master T'ish, could you please lead the way. Wynn old friend, take the middle to ensure our young friends are safe. I shall ensure that nobody sneaks up on his."

He leaned down before everyone took their positions placing one of his hands on each of the initiates shoulders. "You have been strong today, and I know how you feel. Know that we will get past this and we will survive. Once we have escaped we will mourn the lost, I am honoured to be in such an order with beings as brave as yourselves. Please keep being brave and do not lose hope." With that he gave them both a squeeze on the shoulder before standing up. The day wasn't over yet.

---

"... In other news a military operation still appears to be underway at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The 501st Clone Legion has been seen entering the temple en-masse and el-ay-ay-tees have been confirmed to be firing on the temple. We are still waiting an official report from the Chancellors office however one things for certain..."

Wynn's heart dropped as he received Trayla's message, Worror's padawan. Run. Wynn could see the pain on the Ithorian's face, followed by a squeeze of Wynn's shoulder. How he could remain so calm and wise was beyond Wynn, but it also showed Wynn had much to learn in the ways of the Jedi. He recited the first line of the Jedi code in his head, There is no Passion, Only Peace. The young Catuman took in a deep, painful breath, his blaster wound searing. At least the bleeding has stopped. "Master T'ish, could you please lead the way. Wynn old friend, take the middle to ensure our young friends are safe." Wynn nodded wordlessly, motioning to the Padawans and Initiates to join him. As they approached, Wynn dropped to one knee and spoke quietly to them. "If the clones approach, You" he points the the Twi'lek "And I will take the front, you younglings stay behind us, Master Worror will protect you from behind. Understood?" They all nod solemnly. He turned to Seris, momentarily glancing at her training saber. "That saber will deflect a limited number of blaster bolts before it breaks down, we'll try to take the brunt of the fire. But if it comes down to it, don't let any pass you." Wynn grunts as he gets to his feet, his wound spiking with pain. He unclips his lightsaber, his thumb on the ignition, ready for the trials ahead.

It appeared that quite an eclectic group had gathered in the Archives, each correctly assuming that it was one place that would draw many of their ilk to it; of course, it was within the interior of the Temple, reasonably defensible, and contained all the extant knowledge of millennia of Jedi and information of their existence, although inwardly the Kel Dor gave a long sigh as he realised that the next few hours would see the destruction of the majority of this information and, if they did not get the Force out of here soon, their own deaths as well.

With his hilt held leisurely but readily in one hand, his concealed eyes moving from one presence in the Force to another beneath his goggles, he listened in silence to the multiple voices. Some were worried, as they well should be, while others put forward their own plans of action...and one of them even seemed to be projecting a rather more violent attitude than was really suitable for a Jedi of any standing.

"Master T'ish, could you please lead the way. Wynn old friend, take the middle to ensure our young friends are safe. I shall ensure that nobody sneaks up on his."

He gave a curt nod, letting a shallow breath escape his body as he watched the Ithorian Master – now the highest standing member of their small group of survivors – lend some comfort to the recently revealed Initiates. Taking a short glance at his own Padawan, he realised that he had never really been that sort of mentor to her - one who was both father and teacher, an idol who was easily capable of shifting between soothing words and strict instruction – perhaps, if they survived this, he should try to thaw away some of his frigid manner. If they survived.

In the same posture of silent observation he watched at the Catuman, Wynn, who he realised with some concern had been projecting the more angry emotions all along, gave out instructions to the lower Jedi – Jasma being one of them. Somehow he could not help but feel a small twang of annoyance, possibly even possessiveness, rise to the surface as he watched the group; she was his Padawan, and his responsibility, he did not need some feline giving his apprentice orders!

Then again, it could just as easily have been an innate vexation with the cocksure attitude, the way that this former General took command of those below him in knowledge, essentially being the complete opposite of the Jedi Knight that had by now turned back toward the tunnels.

“If you will all follow me,” came his baritone voice, a hint of vibration added by the mask he wore, “I intend to get to the tunnels with all speed, so keep focused and keep up. May the Force be with us all.”

The next second he was off, his saber deactivated but his senses open and stretched to the fullest, his long strides carrying him swiftly through the aisles of the Archives and back toward the secreted entrance to the equally concealed tunnels – but for just how long would they remain so, and what would happen if and when they were discovered?

Everything happened so quickly he did not realize that it was over until he found himself staring down at a Cold Assault Trooper drag its sore body through the thick layer of snow hiding the frozen ground below. He could barely hear the grunts and groans muffled by trooper's helmet, largely due to the whistling wind carrying the white, natural cloth that would eventually cover the bodies those who would not survive the harsh weather. There was also the low, gravelly hum coming coming from the device he held in his right palm, a device that emitted a nearly-blinding beam of green light containing a slim, white core; the entire blade emanated trails of steam as snowflakes vaporized just as they would touch the core of the blade, while the tip was menacingly pointed at the back of the clone's helmet. To make sure that the defeated foe would not make it too far into the blizzard, he took a few shaky steps forwards so he could place himself beside the struggling man. His heavy boots buried into the layers of snow, ice crackling under the weight of the rather tall human. The sound of his boots made the downed man whimper and try to crawl faster, using the only arm that would still respond to his commands, but the effort would be in vain; he was suddenly lifted and rolled on his back by a lazy shove of the Jedi's foot, the ice-covered visor now visible while the clone underneath it made direct eye contact with the tip of the blade.

He tried to use his elbow to push himself away from the menace, but again, it was all in vain as he found himself crushed by the Jedi's weight as he pinned the trooper down with the heel of his boot. He couldn't call for assistance, the transmitter was cut and burned by the lightsaber the Jedi wielded; judging by the stern, yet calm expression he had, there was no point in pleading for mercy or understanding. Aleko could feel the despair and pain tearing the living being contained inside the layers of armor and textile material, the same with the other four lying on the snow motionless; he could feel they were still alive, but the only one conscious enough to move was the one he inadvertently tormented for the last minute. He didn't know why he wanted to insist on keeping the last trooper conscious and squirming, he didn't feel any form of pleasure from following him around; he didn't even want to question him, since he felt that there was no way he could pull out the information he needed anymore, not since he had been injured. He did know why he was constantly pointing the lightsaber at him, though; he wanted to drive it through the clone, to hear the armor and the flesh beneath sear from the high temperature of the energy blade and see the treacherous worm contort and clench with pain. He had all the perfect reasons to cross the boundary he swore to himself he would keep away.

He knew that he was the only one left alive. He could feel it, all because he felt alone. Tasha's signature within the vast ocean of the force was gone. He knew it, he was sure about it, but he couldn't accept it. He had to get to her quickly, he had to touch her, to see if she was really gone. But he wanted someone to pay for the way he was feeling, he wanted to let go of the pent-up frustrations and sadness accumulated over the years; he knew somewhere deep inside that all the pain would go away, it would all be released and transferred into the downed opponent as the blade would slide through him. At the same time, he knew it was not worth it. He would kick out every drop of emotion and kill an expendable unit, a copy from a sea of identical faces; he would be left with an empty cavity that would be filled once more with sadness and frustration. Anger would be a new sensation that could fill the emptiness, an emotion he didn't feel ever since he was but a young Padawan. Then two decades of hard work and self control would be shoved out the airlock; in consequence, he would be marked a traitor, just like the low-lives that raised their blasters against him.

At first, Aleko couldn't quite put his finger why the entire Cold Assault Trooper squad started acting fidgety moments before landing on Hoth, he initially thought that they were indeed capable of feeling some sort of emotions, anxiety even. It became more and more evident that something wasn't quite right as he would explore the frozen landscape of Hoth with half of the ten men squad lagging a few feet behind him; it was peculiar that they silently refused to fan out in order to broaden the searching area, but instead kept together at a distance of around an arm's length. Then they stopped, since he could only hear his own last two crunching footsteps as they dug small holes into the snow. Aleko half-expected for them to do something unimaginable and kept wondering when would they conjure the courage to fulfill what ever they intended to do, but to his disappointment, that moment arrived. He turned his head first, then his entire body, only to see five clones taking precise aim through the iron sights of their DC-15S blaster carbines; this was a fusillade, an execution by firing squad. None of them had any words to utter before they would contract their index fingers and eliminate the Jedi knight. It wasn't the first time Aleko faced blasters, after all he was a galactic security enforcer acting under a revered order of guardians. Five blasters, all pointed at the same time at him and ready to fire at the slightest twitch of his muscles, there was no chance of him getting out unscathed.

A sudden impulse started a chain reaction, augmented by the presence of the force flowing through his body, which sent him dashing over to the side, aiming to jump down a snow dune and gain some time so that he could think of a good plan to survive the mutiny. As the entire musculature of his right lower limb contracted, along with groups of muscles from his abdominal and back area, he raised his left hand up and jerked it over his own torso and concentrated on the entirety of the arm so that he could diffuse the incoming blaster bolt. As soon as he felt the physical impact of the bolt trying to burn a hole through the heavy glove covering his palm, he absorbed the thermal energy and the particles that generated the blue beam into his extended arm and immediately exhausted it. The next few shots narrowly missed him, although he felt the brown, linen robe tug back, indicated that one of the bolts passed through it. The iced flakes of waters vaporized instantly wherever the bolts landed, lagging a few feet behind the Jedi Force dashing sideways; the clones immediately readjusted their aim and attempted to predict where Aleko would be before they released another salvo of blaster bolts. Aleko redirected his left arm again towards another bolt that would have burned a new cavity in his head and leaped over the peak of the steep, snowy dune, soon finding himself rolling down for maybe twenty meters before crashing completely into the snow.

Knowing that the clones would see the rather large gap in the snow and immediately start firing at it, he concentrated on the snow above him, pulling a curtain a fresh snow over the gap he left, leaving only a short trail behind, slightly skewed to the West. He sat there, still as a grave and waited for them to pass by so that he could take them by surprise. He only hoped that they would separate and look over a larger area, as he could easily take down three of them by himself with no issue. As he remained dead still, he started to feel the typical burning sensation of a blaster wound send waves of pain from his left shoulder through the rest of his body. He winced as the noticed the first few painful pulses as he calmed down and focused on every muscle to remain still; he tried so hard to relax them, he could feel an undesired tension in his whole body that urged him to shift his toes, his ankle, his fingers, anything at all. The pain certainly did not help him to focus, a part of his focus was tugged away at every accelerated beating of his heart. The rhythm intensified as he heard some military slang shouted over the growing wind, his heart wanted to burst through the sternum and through the layers of armor and extreme weather clothing. He could hear the ice crumple under their rushed march, realizing that they were both closing in on him; at every third step, he could hear a stomp as they tried to discover whether or not he was hiding.

Smart, he thought to himself quite calmly, in spite of his panicked body they can think just as creatively as a Force user. All I need now is a bit of luck.

Fortune was indeed on his side, as he felt the stomp of a foot millimeters away from where his head was, another two more beside him and not one hitting him directly. As soon as he was confident enough that one of the clones was at his feet, Aleko concentrated around himself to draw as much energy as he could to suddenly release it as he Force jumped out of his foxhole with a thick cloud of snow. He didn't intend to cover a lot of vertical distance, instead, he concentrated on horizontal velocity, so that he could gain a tremendous amount of momentum which he transferred into a crushing spin hook kick; the trooper couldn't stand a chance as its head got snapped forwards, then, backwards as it crashed into the snow, achieving at least a concussion, if not quadriplegia. There were two more, one further away from him than the other, confused by the sudden white spectacle; at first, it looked as if their colleague tripped a land mine, which added another layer of trouble over their situation, suspecting that they haphazardly found evidence of droid presence. It soon become obvious that it was the Jedi, as the second trooper fell flat on the snow floor after a projectile of sorts impacted his helmet, cracking it even; it was another blaster, launched at a staggering speed by Aleko, which now dashed straight at the last trooper. As a last ditch effort, he kept blasting away beams at him, but to no avail, as it seemed they would be caught by his palm without doing any damage; he then felt his own weapon ripped from his grip, then, woke up with a face full of his own blaster.

Stunned, the clone fell on his back, but did not have the chance to recover as Aleko performed an elbow drop. He stood back on his feet, completely covered in snow and ice, his left arm starting to hurt and his right elbow aching a little from the crazy stunt he performed. If he weren't so fast and rather chaotic, though, there is no telling if he would have survived three blasters firing straight at him.

One of these days, my plans will be my undoing, he thought, taking quick glances at the defeated clones on the ground.

He took a moment to ruffle his own hair to get some of the snow out, along with pulling some face-stretching grimaces to force open the blood flow through the veins and arteries; he barely felt his face anymore, save for the nose that stung hard enough to feel as if it split in two. He squinted his eyes as he looked above him and over the ridge of the dune, trying to determine where the other two clones would be. It seemed that they did not hear the commotion, but he was sure the three troopers he put down managed to alert the rest. As a matter of fact, Aleko thought he heard "delimit" and "Rancor rolling". In a sense, he felt flattered, knowing that his strength was compared to that of a Rancor, but he had to press on. Then, it struck him.

"Tasha." He muttered, his cracked lips barely moving as steam poured out of his mouth. "No- where are you?"

He couldn't feel her. He grew accustomed to her presence, after all, he saw her grow up under his tutelage for the past seven years; he knew exactly how her Force signature felt and he knew he could sense it from a considerable distance. But now, it feels as though, her voice within the Force was silenced. His eyebrows arched on their own, distraught taking over him as he rushed up the dune.

"Tasha." He tried to yell, but his frozen face didn't allow it.

Aleko forcefully shoved the robe aside as he reached for the hilt securely snatched onto his belt through the help of a holder clip and yanked it upwards. It was a hilt long enough to comfortably fit two hands, black horizontal grip lines crossed most of the slender shaft made out of a durable alloy. He slammed a knob on the side of the hilt, which allowed for the Diatium power cell to unleash the focused beam of condensed energy to erupt from the shrouded emitter. His right hand gripped the hilt close to the emitter shroud, the left hand quickly palmed the lowed end of the hilt, wrapping his gloved fingers over the hilt and the end cap.

"Tasha!" He whispered as he finally concentrated on his leg muscles before he sprung high in the air and over the ridge of the snow dune.

He immediately spotted two clone troopers, a Sergeant and an infantryman, rushing towards his general direction; as soon as Aleko emerged, the pointed their blasters at him and unleashed a number of bolts. The Jedi was on a landing trajectory, his knees cocked high and against his chest, but his arms jerking the lightsaber with a calculated precision, deflecting the first few shots into the snow with no effort. He was left rather vulnerable when he landed, the two troopers immediately took advantage and unleashed another salvo; he was forced to unlatch his left hand from his weapon and absorb to bolts, which shocked his arm to the point that it started trembling. Aleko started to grunt and pant from the pain, struggling to keep his left hand extended all the while he struggled to deflect two more shots with the lightsaber; he caught the weapon with both hands again, making it much easier for him to redirect one of the bolts dead straight back and against the Sergeant's blaster, essentially disarming him. The other trooper kept firing, but it was too late, as the Jedi was at an arm's length between the two; he redirected one last bolt into his left thigh and before another one bolt could be fired, he gracefully twisted the blade in a half-orbit, slicing off the barrel of the blaster. Using the momentum to his advantage, Aleko then rammed into the trooper with his shoulder, sending his foe off-balance; with two more calculated, snappy motions, the blade of his lightsaber cut across the trooper's right arm and the left side of his helmet, leaving red-hot traces of molten armor and flesh behind. He made sure he did not sever his limbs, though. The shock would be enough to put the trooper into syncope.

He immediately twisted his torso around and caught a bolt fired from a backup hand blaster the Sergeant carried, the last bolt Aleko could suffer for the day as his arm was instantly slammed against his torso with a massive, numbing throb of pain forcing a wince that drew blood from his desiccated lips. He clenched his palm into a fist, planting it against the right side of his chest; with a swift snap of his right wrist enforced by his whole body pivoting around his left heel, the green beam left a melting trail where it sliced half of the blaster off; using what was left of the momentum, he lifted his right leg to a height enough to slam the Sergeant's right wrist and finally, slam his right elbow square against the jawline of the helmet. It was over. None of them died from the wounds he inflicted, but if no one would tend to them soon enough, hypothermia would become a valid threat to their lives. Then, he noticed something shifting behind him. When he turned his gaze, he saw the trooper crawl away desperately. It made him sick. Only then, he realized how quick the whole situation unfolded. He had the advantage of the terrain from the beginning of the scuffle and he knew it; if he were to be trapped in an enclosed room or corridor, his chances would have been slim, no doubt. It didn't matter, he had the final assailant at the mercy of his blade. At his own mercy.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

But when peace and serenity are shattered by betrayal and pain, what will remain?

There is no death, there is the Force.

"Tasha." He lifted the heel that pinned the trooper and slammed it against his jaw, this time knocking him out.

Aleko sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a few moments, synchronizing with the deactivation of the lightsaber. He slowly opened them again when he felt his spirit calm down, taking a pitiful look at the defeated clone. He couldn't possibly rejoice over this victory as he felt he had lost. He turned then to the Sergeant and knelt beside him and broke into the hologram transmitter hidden in his right armor bracer and replayed the last transmission, but there were none to be replayed. He couldn't waste any more time, though, he had to find Tasha, reach their Cutlass-9 fighters and escape the frozen rock before reinforcements would arrive from orbit.

I cannot fight like this anymore. Blast it, I had to let that last bolt hit me, at least I could still use my left hand. The shoulder wound burns really badly, though... I need to get creative again.

Aleko, fortunately, never ran out of creativity.

It seemed that the trials were never over for a Jedi.

Naat Reath closed her eyes as she pushed her back against the nearest wall, her body falling as the presence of darkness had overwhelmed Coruscant and she had felt it even though she had not been present in the first room that had been assaulted or knew why that the Republic had damned them.

“By the force.” She muttered under her breath.

Her thoughts went back to the Jedi Council and Master Windu— they would have the answers of why and how. The blonde haired girl nearly cursed under her breath as she felt more troubled than she had on the planet of Krant as Sev'rance Tann laughed with wickedness as she met Naat’s master in a duel of fate. She thought that was the darkest moment of her experience as a Padawan… up until this had to happen. The darkness of the force had overwhelmed the light in what felt like one instant and whilst Naat wasn’t a Jedi Master or as connected to the force as her peers were she had felt it since it had begun. A frown curled on her lips as she let her emotions shackle her to the corridor.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

She reopened her eyes as she took a heavy breath— a breath to release her fear and anger as she took a resolve to move forward. This had not been the first time Coruscant had been betrayed by darkness and it surely would not be the last. She had not perished with the others for a reason and she could not let her emotions disarm her to only be executed by a shot from a blaster rifle when they would eventually find her. She had to move forward and treat this like the battles she had commanded before and she had to think of how to survive rather than accept defeat. The Jedi had been betrayed by the Republic but that was the reality and there was no changing what had happened— there was only changing what is to happen. Her brows narrowed as she stood up, straightening her robe as she looked down the dimly lit corridors.

She wondered if she had been pursued by the troopers down into the corridors as it was likely that this intervention by the dark side of the force in the Galactic Republic’s politics was one of vigor and relentless fury. But if that was so she would’ve heard more chatter and more clattering of Republic boots through the corridors. If this was to be a genocide of the Jedi Order as it stood then they would do so in droves and not idle silent patrols— especially with the Jedi scattered and disorganized from the sudden breach of trust. It was more likely that one or two members of the Jedi Order had made way downwards and were seeking refuge from the murderous excess going above. Naat still felt pricks of uneasiness as the force’s light began to fade more and more as it went on. Caution was still important despite the logic Naat presented to herself as she began approaching the corridor with her hand on the hilt of her lightsaber before she turned it.

Her expressed lightened as anxiety left her for a moment.

“Bless the force, I’m not alone.”

Every beat of her her heart pulsed in her temples - not like an incipient headache, only an invigorating awareness of her blood moving through her body. Her skin tingled, and Seris could feel every drop of sweat trickling through her hair, down the sides of her face. The Force, still a roiling tumble of tangled currents, slid through her mind, her body, her soul. Now, though, Seris had more than simple perception, she could feel how to wrap that power around her, within her. Through her blind eyes she saw not only how the Force moved through the world, how it carried the thoughts and wills and emotions of those it passed through, but how those same minds moved the Force in turn. In the sparkling, crystalline hyper-awareness brought on by their deadly situation, Seris knew the Force for more than simply the will of nature. She saw, with sudden, fierce clarity how to harness that power, how to move her mind so the Force flowed through her like a river filling its bed. There was no effort, no coercion, only a deep, flowing serenity. In that calmness, Seris thought that she understood, for the first time, the meaning of the Jedi's training, the endless months and years learning how to make the mind as supple and strong as the body. She wondered if this was how members of the Order felt all the time, and part of her marvelled at the idea.

She pulled in a long, deep breath. This feeling wouldn't last, it couldn't. She could already feel her mind flexing, bending under the strain of this awareness like a wheel moving too quickly on an axle. Seris hadn't trained herself in the right ways to channel that power and awareness indefinitely - but what time she did have, she intended to make the most of. With an effort of will, Seris gathered the Force around her, a well of power she could draw from to defend herself or the other Jedi with her as they moved through the Archives, toward the hidden tunnel network. Quite a crowd had drawn together, from children to Knights and Masters, though Seris wasn't sure how safe she felt. Even now, the Force shook as more of those fires faded, flickered, spun apart into sparks that joined the surging chaos filling the Temple.

Near one of the Archives' hidden corridors, Seris slowed, paused. She felt a beckoning, not distant but not strong, either. Few others had come to this part of the Temple - a fact Seris noticed with a certain grim foreboding - but when she turned and focused her attention, she felt an intensely familiar presence only a few walls away. He had wrapped the Force around himself like a cloak, masking himself against the turbid power all around him, but that disguise was fraying. She stopped, felt a lance of pain through her mind, a touch of the other man's desperation.

"I'll catch up," Seris said, and broke away from the group. She felt the others' eyes on her back as she ran, but she felt that beckoning pulse again. Not a compulsion, not a cry for help - a message meant only for her.

Her boots thumped against the stone Archives floor as she turned down one long hallway, then another. The bodies of more Clones, their limbs broken or hacked off, lay in groups as she moved. A last white-armored form lay in at the entrance of a large room, a hole charred in his chest, a broken rifle laying nearby. The Force moved around the dead clone in slow eddies, tendrils of the marks he'd made taking their time to dissipate. A few of those led further into the room, lines of causality, will, intent, action, and execution. Seris slowed as she approached the corpse, stopping as she came to the entrance to the room beyond.

Sparkling points of glimmering focus lined the walls of this room, every one brighter than a candle flame, nearer than a star. Each smoldered in the Force, the distant echoes of lives long gone flowing around them, filling the air with joy and exultation, despair and longing, desperation and triumph. Seris stepped through into the chamber, tilted her head up, enraptured at the tapestry of experience and memory. With each step, she realised the greater tumult of the Temple outside seemed quieter here, a sense of cool and calmness filling the room like water in pool. Seris took several steps into the room, and realised what the objects on the wall were - she was standing a room lined with lightsaber crystals, thousands of them. Relics from the Jedi's past, perhaps even the final testament that any of them may have left. The last resting place for endless stories.

She took another step, coming to the centre of the room. With another pulse, this one closer, she felt that presence again, and turned. A figure lay on the ground, propped against a table, or altar, in the center of the room, and with a gasp the Force-cloak flew apart into ragged tatters, leaving the man's spirit bare. Like other Masters, this one bent the Force around him like a planet bends gravity, an almost-painful flare of power and will against the gentle shelter the crystal chamber offered. But even as Seris watched, that fire grew dimmer, parts of the Master's vitality unwinding from him, flowing away into the Force.

And Seris knew him. Older now, but not so old anyone would mistake him for a grandfather, his short hair plastered to his skin with sweat and blood. On one side of his chest, near an arm that draped uselessly, a blaster wound the size of a fist, the fabric of his robe still smouldering. Skin that had felt the touch of a thousand suns, a soul that carried the stories of innumerable students. A man who believed in the Order to his bones - but though he had been unwavering, he had never been unquestioning. Seris remembered an afternoon years past, in a cave far from here, where this man had shown her secrets and placed a trust in her that she held more valuable than any weight of gems.

"Oh, thank the stars," the Master said, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper, "Isn't that what your people say?" He smiled, coughed, "Though it sounds better in your language."

Seris rushed over, knelt, one hand moving to hold the Master's head up. "Of course that was you," she said, "I should have guessed." She felt the man's chest shake - not a cough, she realized, but a laugh so quiet that she couldn't hear.

"I knew you'd hear," the Master said, and his head was very heavy against Seris' hand, "No, no. I trusted that you would." He looked up at her, his dark eyes fixing on Seris' blind, white orbs, "Listen to me. Listen to me, Seris. This isn't the end. Not for you, not for the Order, not for the Light."

Seris swallowed, "I...I'm having a hard time believing that," she said, her voice tight.

"I know," the Master said, and he coughed, a sound like cracking wood, "There are trials ahead of you, more than you can know. But you're ready, Seris." His hand rose, his palm pressing against hers, his fingers curling to hold their hands tight against one another, "You have to be. The Order needs you. The future needs you." He coughed again, and the strength in his hand faded.

Seris watched as the Master pulled his hand back. His face flickered with a grimace of pain as he moved, strong, sturdy fingers reaching into his robe. Seris felt a streak of dampness on her cheek, her eyelids fluttered.

"I promised you something," the Master said, his voice now nothing but a breathy wheeze, "I wish there were a better time, but..." He pulled a lightsaber hilt out of his robe, his fingers almost fumbling with the smooth metal. At the base, a short length of braided leather cord hung, and Seris saw another familiar splinter against the Force there, wraped in fine wire and bound into the cord like a charm.

"This is yours," the Master said, and he tapped the crystal hanging off the end of the saber hilt, "And...now...this is yours too." He pressed the weapon into Seris' hands, wrapped her fingers around it. The shape felt wrong, the contours wrong for her hands, and she shook her head.

"Make it..." He coughed, "Make it yours. Learn. And when you're ready..." He pulled in another breath, his eyes closed, and his last words came out as a sigh, "When...you're ready...teach."

Seris watched as the Master's life ended. His essence, his soul, like the Jedi girl's, unraveled and flowed away from him, becoming part of the endless, shifting patterns within the Force. She thought she could hear echoes, not of his voice, but of his experiences, his life, resonate around her for a moment. She closed her eyes, doing nothing to block out the Force, the sensations of the chamber, the feel of the Master's weight against her hand. Gently, she lowered him to the ground, laying him out with as much dignity as she could. Then she stood.

The saber in her hand felt heavy, awkward, strange. It didn't belong to her any more than a Master's title did, not yet. She knew enough of the Jedi's saber forms to know that she would only hurt herself if she tried to use it, even with the best of intent, but she also knew that if she survived, she could change that. Swallowing back tears, Seris tucked the hilt into an inside pocket of her jacket, pulled in another deep breath. She felt the Force flow through her mind, and in the relative quiet of this chamber, she felt herself center. Not free from emotion, not above her own thoughts and feelings, not enlightened - but calm enough to carry on for now.

And there was suddenly no time. The rest of the Jedi would be further along the tunnels, and their numbers were their only advantage now. She leaned forward, kicked off from the floor, and left the Master behind, hurrying to catch up with the others.

Jenner listened as Feemor instructed Charuri and himself to make their retreat. "Master-" he began to protest at the mention of staying behind, but he stopped himself. As much as he hated to admit it, Feemor knew exactly what he was doing, and there would be no convincing him otherwise. Jenner let out a sigh as Charuri and Feemor shared a few more words before Feemor turned to make his stand.

"I know what you're trying to do, but get out, if you can. I wish you the best of luck, Master." Jenner barely had time to say his piece before Charuri grabbed him and began leading him to what he figured was their escape point. He tried to break free of her grip, but after giving it a try realized she wouldn't let go, and that fighting would only slow them down. He kept up his pace as the two surged through the hallways of the Temple with alarming speed.

As they were running, Jenner felt a brief moment of hesitation through Charuri, and he knew what had happened. Still, they kept running, passing some clone troopers in the process, but always being too fast and too far for either side to do anything, with the exception of one unfortunate scout. They eventually found their way to the supply shaft, which they each entered with haste. It was small; smal enough that even Charuri found it difficul to fit through. Jenner nearly struggled to make it through the port, but he managed.

The passage ended out in the supply tunnels beneath the Temple. Jenner took a quick moment to look back up the chute they had come through. He could tell the troops above were likely searching for them, but for the time being, they were relatively safe. Jenner sat himself down against the wall and took several deep breaths, bringing a hand to his face. He tried to clear his mind, when he heard Charuri's quiet weeping.

He took a breath to say something, but figured she deserved a bit of time to deal with things. Instead, Jenner stood up and took a moment to survey the area as best he could, given the lack of any lighting. The only thing he could tell for sure was that they were the only ones in the tunnel for the time being.

He turned back to where he felt Charuri was and sat down next to her.

She had felt this before of course. The same empty pit in her stomach, the same feeling like she was drowning as the cold slowly filled her lungs. She was a little girl back then but the feeling was the same, she wished she didn’t have to know that. She was the one to find her mother’s body after the aftermath of the raid on Zulo’s place. She thought that she was sleeping... but no matter how hard her little hands tried to shake her nothing would ruse her. She still remembered how cold her body had felt, it was different kind of chill than that of a winter’s breeze it was sharper more fierce in its entirety. Still she didn't understand, she started yelling at the Jedi Raonk when he slowly tried to pry her away from her mother’s corpse. She called him every bad name she had ever heard Zulo’s guard use, she bit his hand hard enough to draw blood and yet the Klatooinian persisted though and held on with a defiant grip. They needed to move fast blaster shots on Nar'shaddaa brought unwanted attention and they didn't need to kill more people that day. She just angry filled with rage, she just wanted to be left alone, who was going to be there to tell her mother what happened when she woke up? She couldn't leave her, she just could’nt.

This time she wasn’t angry though she just felt terribly empty. Feemor had been more than a master, he had been her friend, her ally and the father that she never knew she needed or wanted for that matter. He was the first real friend she had after the events at Zulo and now he was gone. Why, why was he gone? For some damn political game? For a war that meant nothing? For a damnable galaxy filled only with hate and violence. Was that fair that somebody like him had to die for a galaxy like that? Was it fair that anybody she had ever cared about abandoned her? She felt the anger boiling in her blood, her own Cathar instincts taking over and trying to turn sorrow to rage, but Feemor’s own training began to kick in. She closed her eyes and took a deep shaky breath as she began to center herself. She remembered the teachings of Yoda as a youngling.

”Allow such attachments to pass out of one’s life, a Jedi must.”

He was right of course, Charuri wasn't just some angry street rat anymore... she was a Jedi. Jedi do not allow their emotions to get the better of them, Jedi accept death as a part of the force, Jedi are better than this. To let emotions cloud one’s judgment to become a slave to your baser instincts is the way of the darkside. Still shaking she took another breath and the anger slowly subsided as it leaked away back into the shadows that it once came from. Soon in her meditative state the anger now longer clouded her vision and even in the consuming darkness of the events above she could see the small flickers of life being produced by the faint members of the force. All was not lost.

She raised a hand to her face wiping the tears from her eyes as he breathing returned back to a normal state. Of course the pain was still there, she doubted that the pain would ever leave but she couldn't let the pain get control of her. She looked towards Jenner slightly embarrassed about the whole thing, her she was supposed to be taking him to safety after dragging him into mysterious tunnels beneath the ground leaving him lost and she decided to have an emotional break down. She turned to face him in the dark barely able to make out his face. “..... Sorry about that. I should’ve...I should've kept my emotions in check.”

"There's no need to apologize. We've all lost someone today-" He himself nearly lost his composure at that, but managed to hold on to it for a moment, knowing it would likely come down sooner or later. "It's only fair that you have a moment to grieve," he finished. One of the many teachings of the Jedi, so fundamental it's even part of the code, says "there is no emotion, there is peace." He found it to be true in many cases, but this was one such case in which he felt an exception was more than fair. Some Jedi may take exception to that, but ultimately, trying to control one's emotions can sometimes do more harm than good.

Jenner glanced over at Charuri, his eyes barely capable of making out her face. Even still, he could just make out the vestigial traces of the tears in her eyes. He lowered his head and sighed, taking another moment to try to process the situation. Even though he already had a working explanation as to what was happening and why, he still couldn't wrap his head around it. It was just too much to handle, so instead he cleared his mind and stood back up. "I would say take as much time as you need, but we can't sit here forever," Jenner tried to say as reassuringly as possible.

“I know... if we sit around they are going to find us eventually.” She spoke out loud directed towards Jenner but more likely than not she was speaking to herself about the manner. She could deal with the pain of loss later. Feemor died so that Jenner and her could escape with their lives, if she gave up now such a sacrifice would have been pointless. He had always believed in her no matter the situation, no matter whose word was against her he would defend her. Now it was her time to believe in his words for one last time, to follow his wish. That was the way to honor his existence, that was the way of the Jedi.

Slowly she got to her feet one hand against the wall to her back to guide her. One fully risen she reached to her side and pulled out her lightsaber. The metallic grip felt cold in her hand, void of life hands still slightly trembling she activate the saber. The characteristic snaphiss rang out in the empty tunnels as a brilliant flash of green filled the darkness. Illuminating the path at least a few feet in front of them, it allowed the pair to at least see one another without having to feel through the darkness. She looked back towards Jenner trying to give him her most reassuring smile as she motioned him forward into the darkness.

“Back when I was a youngling I had to work down here for awhile. It was more of a punishment than anything else. I got angry at another kid in my clan after he made fun of me and still pretty new to the whole idea of being a Jedi, I let my emotions get the better of me and pounced on him. Broke his nose and called him a Echuta Chuba doompa, dopa-maskey kung! Don’t think he was expecting that but when you grow up on Nar'shaddaa hitting first and asking questions later gets ingrained into your Koochoo head. Needless to say Master Yoda wasn't too pleased and so while the others got free time, I was down here helping the Temple Workers. Never thought I’d come back down here though.” She explained to Jenner as they progressed through the darkness. It was odd talking of the past especially in a moment like this where those more peaceful times seemed like a million miles away. Her memory wasn't the sharpest in the galaxy and the disorientation of the events wasn't helping either but having to run through the tunnels ferrying messages and helping things along, the pathways were at least ingrained somewhere inside of her head as she naturally found her feet leading in the direction that lead deeper into the darkness and towards the loading docks that would lead them out into the Undercity.

She felt it in the force first but her own predatory hearing picked it up moments later. It was somewhere in the distance, the muffled sounds of footsteps slowly getting closer. They were not alone in the dark. She turned back towards Jenner putting a finger to her own mouth as she disengaged her lightsaber dropping them back into darkness. Crouching she moved forward in the dark continuing to listen and reach out with the force. Whatever it was it felt like a dim light in the darkness surrounded by the consuming shadow looming somewhere above them. It didn't sound like a squad of clones, but it could always have been a forward scout sent into the tunnels to look for stragglers. She closed her eyes feeling the force around her and letting it embrace her as she slowed down her breathing to a barely noticeable tsss tsss. Hoping Jenner was still following her she pressed lightly with each step of her feet with a hunter’s grace, the benefits of her heritage. The footsteps grew closer and closer, she reached for her own lightsaber in the dark and as they were almost upon one another she drew the saber and ignited it.

The familiar sound of two lightsabers ignited filled the dark once again as a brilliant flash of blue matched her flash of green. Charuri Rol was starring at an illuminated and familiar face. The face of Naat Reath. The human girl upon realizing who it was face seemed to relax and slowly Charuri rose from her hunter’s crouch. She could barely keep the utter sound of surprise from her voice.“Naat! What are you doing down here?”