A/N: This was written back in August 2004, that is before RotS, for the Jedi Purge Challenge over at Jedi Council forums. Re-reading it now I'm actually rather amazed that it doesn't fit that bad in with RotS. I guess I could tweak the ending a bit to make it fit in, but, meh. Can't be bothered. :-P Anyway, since I kinda rediscovered my account here I'm posting this thing.
Disclaimer: The usual. Don't own, please don't sue.
----
The library. My bootheels click against the shining floor as I walk among the rows of shelves, stacked with datacards from all the corners of the galaxy. There is so much knowledge here, it's almost impossible to imagine. The vastness of the library is dizzying, and the air feels full of wisdom and age. Even someone like Master Yoda, or Master Saa, could spend their entire lives here, and yet only scratch the surface of the collection.
It is a place of knowledge, and therefore it will be destroyed.
The Jedi library is dark now, the whole Temple is dark. It has been like this for about an hour now. Far away I can hear lightsabers humming, and the occasional blaster shot. I close my eyes as I sense another life extinguished forever. I never imagined fighting in the Temple, but still, here it is. But they are not in the library. Not yet. I still have some time here.
My steps take me to the central walkway. It is lined with busts, stone carvings of old Jedi. I look into their empty eyes, silently asking how it ever came to this. What did we do wrong? When did this start, and when, oh when, did we pass the point of no return? How could we have missed it all? How could we have been so blind?
I get no answer. The stone faces keep staring with their stone eyes, silently.
I turn into a row and pick a datacard at random. It is an encyclopaedia of the flowers of Chandrila. I stick the datacard into one of the terminals lined up near the shelves, and I flip through the pages of flowers, stopping at the entry for a small, red flower. The entry identifies it as a chinala, and tells me that it grows in the ashes of forest fires, springing up from death to blossom. I visited Chandrila once, for a mission there, long ago. I can still remember the smell of the chinala flowers, the beauty of their petals. I close my eyes, and can almost feel their fragrance again, soothing and lovely. But when I open my eyes all I see is a picture, an imitation of life.
I shut the terminal off and replace the datacard in the shelf.
Soon it will be lost, together with all the other cards in the library. All the knowledge, gone forever. But I smile. The flower will still be there, on Chandrila.
Walking slowly I enter a small antechamber to the library. It is ancient, and even the air in here feel laden with history of old. The shelves in here are full with datacards, as the shelves in the rest of the library; but these are not encyclopaedias of flowers, or maps over distant planets, or treatises from universities all across the galaxy. These are the records of the Jedi Order. There are files here on all the Jedi, many thousands of them, all the Jedi since a long time ago.
I walk along the shelf, dragging my finger over the names on the datacards. Most of the Jedi in these records are gone now. There are but a few left, shattered, leaderless, scattered all over the galaxy.
During the war many of the Jedi were sent away on different missions. Most never returned. A few of us stayed here, in the Temple, to take care of the younglings. I close my eyes tightly at the tears pressing against the lids, threatening to break out. The younglings. They are dead now. Every single one. I felt all their deaths, not long ago. What did they ever do? Their only crime was to be born with the Force strong in them. What kind of monster would do this? I have no answer.
It is silent now in the Temple. No blaster shots, no lightsabers hissing. I don't want to think of the reason for this, but sometimes not even a Jedi can stop his mind from thinking thoughts he'd rather not thought.
I am alone now. I am the last Jedi in the Temple. Soon there will be none left.
I return to the main hall of the library, once again pondering the immensity of the knowledge gathered here. Sometimes I've felt like all the knowledge, all the wisdom of the galaxy is contained here, within these very walls.
No. Not all. I find myself contemplating the Jedi Code. Something all Jedi do, once in a while, but I concentrate now on the last line. There is no death, there is the Force. As a young Padawan I once asked my Master what it meant. He knelt down beside me, took my hand, and told me. He told me that no one could ever explain it to me, that I would have to figure it out for myself. Trust the Force, he said. Trust it, and it will lead you to your answer. I ponder his words as I walk along the shelves.
The door open with a slight hiss, and I hear someone walking into the room. His steps are heavy, and echo between the shelves. I know it will not be long now.
I do not draw my lightsaber. I know it is useless, that it will only delay the inevitable for a short while, and I don't want to fight in this place of serenity and silence. Instead I draw a deep breath, meditating on the last line of the Jedi Code.
The steps stop behind me, and the familiar hiss of a lightsaber being ignited brings a small chill down my spine. Slowly I turn around, facing the black-clad being standing in the red light of his saber. The Dark Lord of the Sith raises his saber, and I think of the chinala flower and it's delicate beauty, and once again I can almost feel the smell of it, a ghost fragrance. But somehow, I think, sometimes death brings life, like the chinala flower, springing from the dead forests. From the ashes of death, life and beauty can still arise. The Jedi Order might be in ashes now, but I still have hope. They will take my life, but they can not take my hope.
A blinding pain shoot through my chest as the red saber pierces it, and finally I understand the last line of the Code, and I can't help but smile. From these ashes something new will rise and blossom in time. A new hope will come.