"Younglings, this way! Hurry!" Jedi Master Faron called, sweeping the children past him into a small classroom. His five – no, four - young charges scampered through the open door and darted into the shadows, feeling their minder's urgency. Master Faron glanced down the hallway before silently closing the door behind him. Children scrambled under tables and behind benches as the Jedi Temple quaked around them.
"M-m-master Faron?" a wavering voice called.
"Hush now, younglings. We must be silent," Faron shushed, reaching out in the Force to brush each young mind reassuringly. In return he felt fear, confusion, and anxiety, though it calmed minutely at his touch. Beyond their tiny study room, there was even worse: pain, anguish, and… death.
"Little ones. Listen to me," the minder whispered, "Search your memories. Find the very happiest one you know and meditate on it. Live in that memory." Faron closed his eyes, an instant of regret, an instant of concern. Then he detached his lightsaber from his belt.
Master Faron hadn't powered on the weapon in more than twenty years. He carried it as the symbol it was: to demonstrate that he was a member of the Jedi Order. He'd never had to kill, only rarely had to defend himself even at the worst of times. The empath had spent much of his time as a Jedi training initiates like himself, some of the most vulnerable of Force-sensitive children.
He continued to observe his young students, settling into peaceful meditations as he'd asked. He projected one last soothing aura and then left the room in silence, lightsaber gripped in his hand. They were coming.
Sith.
Master Faron ignited his lightsaber: green, traditional for a consular. He gazed into the blade's bright glow for a moment, and then the attackers swept around the corner. The sage found himself recoiling from the aura of dark side energy surrounding the three Sith who approached.
"Well, well, well, my friends. What is this now?" The closest – human, barely more than a girl - sneered, whipping the ruby blade of her lightsaber around in a lazy circle. Master Faron shifted to a defensive stance and remained silent.
A Zabrak female, her horns tipped in black, sniggered. "A minder? Like a nursemaid?" She edged up behind the leader, leering. "Obviously he's protecting some little innocent Jedi younglings around here."
Master Faron stiffened, a shock of panic racing up his spine. He felt one of his students falter in his blissful meditation, surprised and curious. The final Sith, a rangy human, lightsaber unlit, pushed past the other two and stood face to face with the consular.
"We aren't here to play games, you two nitwits," he hissed, circling to Faron's left side, away from the classroom door. The Jedi followed his movements closely, keeping his lightsaber as a ward between himself and the Sith, between his charges and the darkness.
"Fine, then, if you're going to be that way about it. He looks too soft for me, anyway," the first replied, shrugging and deactivating her lightsaber with a snap. The Zabrak giggled again, no mirth in the sound at all.
"You can't protect them, you know," the man said. The gaze of the Sith was tinged with red, just the slightest glow marring otherwise perfectly normal human eyes. Faron shook his head.
"It is not whether I can or cannot, Sith. It is what is determined by the Force. You cannot understand."
The Sith smiled maliciously, his eyes blazing brighter for a moment. "It's not that I cannot, poor Jedi. It's that I simply don't care."
And then he attacked. Master Faron blocked the first two blows, but a third seared deep into his shoulder, a jolt of fiery agony that left his weapon hand numb. His lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers, the blade sizzling out instantly. A vast roar sounded, the rumble of stone and mortar breaking apart. Dust fell between the two opponents as they glared into each other's eyes. One of the younglings in the classroom screamed.
"See, Master Jedi? There is nothing you can do. We will tear this temple down atop you; it will be your tomb. The Jedi are finished."
Jedi Master Faron straightened boldly, facing the Sith. "Our work is never finished, young man. The Jedi live on. The galaxy will see peace again." He paused, reaching out to his initiates, a final touch of calm and… love. "You cannot win."
The Sith smiled bleakly, shook his head, and raised his lightsaber. "On the contrary." His blade struck-
Aitahea shot upright, grasping the sheets to her throat. A cry was trapped in her chest, binding her heart into a knot, painful and tight. Where am I?
The room was unfamiliar and shadowed. The viewport across from her opened onto star shine. Ah, yes. She was on the Luminous, the ship entrusted to her by the Council upon her departure from Coruscant. They were en route to Taris, fearing that a Jedi studying the planet was suffering the same malady as Master Yuon. With a heavy sigh, Aitahea touched a hand to her brow, feeling the weight of Yuon's shielding in her mind. The burden was worth it.
She looked to her left in the faint light, eyes drawn to the metallic cylinder of her lightsaber hilt on the bedside stand. It lay there solid and real, and she reached out with a trembling hand to touch it, to feel the reassurance of cool metal and crystal. Her fingers curled around the weapon and she pulled it into her lap, the comfortable weight soothing.
More than ten years later and the Sacking of Coruscant still haunted her. She had been only a child, an initiate, when the tenuous peace began in the wake of the Sith Empire's attack – Aitahea now held the power and prestige that could have saved them all. Her fellow younglings and Master Faron, all gone, and only she remained.
Wakeful but now calm, Aitahea considered the vision, taking it to pieces and examining each part without emotion. Part dream, part memories that were not her own, shared through the Force. She hadn't been in the Jedi Temple when was attacked and couldn't know of this specific event. Saved by a twist of fate, a simple scheduling occurrence that had placed her safely elsewhere on Coruscant as the temple was razed. She was the fifth youngling, the unaccounted-for child.
An exceptional empath, young Aitahea hadn't needed to be near the temple to feel the suffering of her friends and teachers. Aitahea and her younger sister sat on either side of their father, gleefully watching as their mother was honored for her work as an educator. Aitahea had gone rigid and white as snow when the Sith attack on the Temple began. The young initiate had gasped like one drowning, and moments later the doors crashed in. Imperial soldiers had flooded into the academy, weapons aimed and ready.
Though they weren't Jedi, it was Aitahea's parents who saved everyone that day. After calming the audience, Aitahea's mother negotiated a detainment period for the faculty and attendees of the academy in attendance that evening. Rather than the devastation that could have occurred, the Daviin family kept their precious community calm, and two days later when the Treaty of Coruscant was passed, all the captives had been released unharmed… including Aitahea, her Force-sensitivity and Jedi training carefully hidden.
And she knew she owed everything to them. Her parents, who continued to teach. The remaining Jedi who whisked her off Courscant and continued her training. Her master, her friends, and those who had perished at the hands of the Sith.
When Aitahea dreamed of the Jedi Temple, all her trials, all her knowledge, all her triumphs against the Sith felt small next to the sacrifices of those who had come before her.
There was no point in lingering on the sadness of the past; that way lay the dark side. With a sigh, the consular set her lightsaber down again and rose from her bed, smoothing back the soft coverlet before tapping the control pad to brighten the room. Her quarters on the Luminous were austere but comfortable in typical Jedi aesthetic. It was even starting to feel a little like home.
She plaited her ashen hair into a neatly woven braid coiled around her head, then dressed in the earthtone robes of the Order. She wore almost no armor, relying instead on more peaceful methods of interaction. When diplomacy failed to diffuse a dangerous situation, the light tunic and robes allowed for the agility and speed she preferred. She'd just slipped into the subtly-patterned chestnut cloak when the comm in her room pinged.
"Master, are you awake?" A robotic voice called across the connection. It was the ship's droid, fretfulness pitching his vocalizations higher than expected. "I'm deeply sorry to disturb your rest, Master, but we're coming up on Taris."
"Thank you, See-Two, I'll be out in a moment."
"Of course, Master."
Aitahea smiled at the earnest voice, then ran a hand lightly over her hair one last time, smoothing a few strands back into the coronet. She left the hood of her cloak down and clipped her lightsaber to her belt before exiting her quarters. The Luminous hosted not only herself and the fretful protocol droid, but her friend and pilot, Prelsiava Tern. Sia, as the Mirialan liked to be called, had joined Aitahea during her visit to Coruscant as she quested for a cure for her Master, Yuon Par.
Fortunately, Yuon's cure had indeed been found. Aitahea had sought out the Noetikons scattered throughout the capital world and brought them together, making a dangerous journey to the demolished Jedi Temple to learn their secrets.
The visit to her childhood home would have been unsettling enough but having to set foot in the shattered Jedi Temple after so many years stirred emotions in her that she'd thought resolved. Perhaps that had been the source of her lurid vision… of course. It was only an ordinary dream, her unconscious mind simply sorting out her feelings as she slept.
In the main room, Aitahea shook her head before activating the holocomm, stepping back to see Syo Bakarn. "Master," she acknowledged and offered a respectful bow.
"Aitahea, it's good to hear from you. The Council has sensed your arrival on Taris. An intriguing world."
"It is, Master. I reviewed the history while we traveled. This is the site of Bastila Shan's escape from the Empire, if I'm recalling correctly."
"That, as well as being a world much like Coruscant, before Darth Malak caused the destruction that reduced them to poisoned swamplands." Master Syo continued, giving Aitahea the details of her mission on Taris while she made notes on her datapad.
"I'll do everything I can for Master Tykan, and I'll be watching for evidence regarding the creator of this plague."
"Thank you, Aitahea. It may be possible that your skills will be required for other tasks on Taris. Assist where you can, but do not tarry. We will be waiting on your word. Good luck."
"The Force will be with us, Master."