Frosty winds blew over the towers with enough force to wobble her lekku. The metal handles of the balcony were too cold to rest her hand on, and the mist was so heavy that she couldn't see anything further than a hundred meters or so into the distance. Mygeeto was not a Twi'lek friendly planet, that much was certain.

"Freya!" A voice shouted from behind her over the howling winds and she turned.

It was Alan Moonrider, a human, clad in dark brown Jedi robes and one of the most well reputed of the Order for his prowess in combat.

"Master?" she replied.

"What are you doing out here?" Alan rubbed his arms vigorously, his eyes squinted.

Freya was halfway frozen herself, but the cold was good for at least one thing; masking her nervous chills. She scrambled for a halfway proper explanation. "I- well, you see. I was just making sure that the compound was secure."

Her master remained silent, studying her intently.

What a poor excuse. Nice one, Freya. She could not bring herself to look at her master in the eyes. You're fifteen now. You're not a scared little youngling anymore.

"Fear is a natural part of life. Necessary, even." Alan walked toward her, seeking his Padawan's eyes, placing a hand on her shoulder so gently that it almost made Freya ashamed of herself. But it brought her comfort, and it brought her strength. "But do not be controlled by it. Remember what you have learned at the Order. Fear is the path to darkness."

Freya mustered her courage, raising her head to face Alan. The warmth of his hand, his presence through the Force and his compassion, they solidified her resolve. "'All is as the Force wills it. There is nothing to fear.'" she recited.

This earned her a proud smile from her new master. "Exactly, exactly. Now, come down to the hangar bay with me. Our guests are about to arrive." Alan relinquished his touch and headed back inside with his Padawan.

"I'm still not sure if this is a good idea, master. Sith ambassadors? I mean, what if they betray us? If they attack us?"

"Sith defectors," Alan corrected, "Besides, they're politicians, not warriors. They aren't even Force sensitive, you know that." They were in the elevator now, descending to the docking bay. "And even if things go bad, we'll be there to stop them, will we not?"

"Of course."

Alan didn't need to use the Force to sense his apprentice's discomfort. "It is a little irregular, I admit, but us Jedi Knights and Padawans must trust in the wisdom of the Council. They are most in tune with the will of the Force, and that makes it our duty to trust in their decisions."

The doors opened to a large, open hangar bay jutting out of the side of the tower. The area was littered with Republic fighters, their pilots and maintenance crew, and a dozen or so Jedi. Before Freya could express just how little her doubts of the Council's decisions had been assuaged, one of their robed brothers called out to her master from across the bay.

"Alan! Over here!" The bald and dark skinned human was sitting cross legged on a pile of crates, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Who's the youngling?" he asked as the pair neared. Freya suppressed a wince.

"Easy, Ragh," Alan said quickly, as if taming a crazed tauntaun, "This is Freya Asar, my new Padawan." He emphasized her rank, stealing a glance at his young, clearly nerve racked and slightly annoyed apprentice.

The Jedi hopped down from the crate, sticking out a friendly hand to Freya. "Ragh Sors, Jedi Knight." The Padawan took his hand, reluctantly, and was met with a hearty shake and an equally hearty laugh. "Welcome to the Order proper."

"Thank you, Master Sors," Freya replied with the appended title as was customary, even if the man was only a Knight.

"Please, call me Ragh."

The three of them chatted, the two Knights as old friends did, the Padawan a little more reservedly, as they patiently waited for the Sith defectors to arrive. Apparently Ragh was more in the loop than Freya or her master. According to him, the defectors were representatives of the worlds that had been ravaged under the rule of the Sith Order. Those of the dark Order and their allies held little regard for the well being of the weak.

It was not long until the awaited announcement sounded throughout the bay. "Incoming transport to hangar bay D-24, Zone 3. D-24, Zone 3. Please clear the area." Several moments and a civilian yacht landed gracefully at the designated zone.

From where she was standing, Freya was able to get a good look at the disembarking party. At the front of the group was a fellow Padawan, who she did not know personally but recognized by the young man's braid. Behind him was a group comprised of a Gungan, a Rodian and a Neimoidian. At one glance, she could tell that none of the three were actual Sith, which meant that Ragh had been correct. These defectors were leaders who wanted to leave the rule of the Sith Order, probably with armed support from the Republic. No doubt they were keen to negotiate terms with a more reasonable government.

At the tail end of the pack was a Zabrak Jedi Master who she could actually identify. "Oh look, it's Master Arule."

"Yep," Ragh said with obvious admiration, "Keev Arule. Fought alongside him once, back on Hoth. Like lightning, faster than you, believe it or not, Alan."

"Oh, I believe you." Alan barely got his words out as sirens blared overhead, and the bay was filled with red emergency lights. "I also believe that there may be trouble on the way, my friend."

"You don't say," Ragh muttered as he took off for the Sith defectors.

Alan followed suit. "Come along, Padawan." Freya was already hot on his heels. "Master Arule!" he shouted over the sirens. All of the Jedi spread across the bay were now converging on the Master for guidance.

A loud explosion rang across the bay and the floor beneath them shook violently, almost knocking Freya off her feet. Her hand instinctively reached for her lightsaber, the familiar texture of the hilt somewhat subduing her growing restlessness.

That tiny scrap of calm she had managed to scrounge up she lost grasp of as she felt another explosion, but this time a Sith transport came almost crashing down into the hangar. And then she sensed it. A presence in the Force, so profoundly dark, it almost swallowed her whole. The Jedi around her ignited their lightsabers at once, green, blue and yellow mixing with the red lights above. The transport door opened with a hiss.

It was Magna. Darth Magna, in the flesh. He was there, right across the bay, less than fifty meters separating her and the Overlord of the Sith Order.

"Move! You must go, Freya!" Alan shouted, pushing his Padawan toward the Sith defectors, "You must take them to safety. Go to the nearest bay and ensure they arrive at Utapau!"

"Master!"

Alan tore his gaze away from the Sith and looked into the worried eyes of his apprentice. "The Force is strong in you. You are ready, my Padawan." He then returned his eyes to the slowly approaching enemy. The dark lord was masked and clad in black heavy armor, but moved with ease as if they were a set of robes.

"But-"

"Go! Now!" Alan and the other Jedi could only protect the defectors for so long with their Force Shields.

Freya turned to the terrified politicians, hardening her resolve. "Follow me!"

And the Padawan was off.


Alan inhaled as slowly as he could manage. Magna ignited his lightsaber, and so did his apprentice behind him. Darth Bane.

He exhaled and let the Force flow through him. He was a mere custodian of his body after all, it really belonged to the Force, and he relinquished himself to the light. The Jedi, led by Master Arule, charged toward the two Sith Lords.

Magna leaped forward, landing in the midst of the Jedi and breaking their spearhead formation, but the sound of clashing blades never came. Only those of cauterization. The Dark Lord was so powerful, taking on a dozen or so Jedi was a mere triviality. Magna dodged and weaved through the strikes of his enemies rather than wasting his energy parrying their slow blades. The Overlord was a shadow, blurring in and out of vision too fast for any of them, and every time he reappeared, another one of them fell.

Alan's opponent was Bane, however, and their blades danced in a battle of feints. The Sith Apprentice was powerful in his own right, with his elegant but deadly Makashi mastery, seemingly four steps ahead of each attack Alan launched. A hot fire erupted from their blades as they clashed together. From the corner of his eye, he saw Magna swipe a wide red arc. Ragh bellowed in pain. Alan lost his focus.


One by one, Freya could feel the Jedi down in D-24 falling to the Sith. She was on bay D-31 now, and was forcing herself to press onward, guiding the defectors toward the nearest transport. Then it came. Pain, like a wound inflicted upon her soul through the Force, the severance of a connection. It was just as she had feared. Her master was dead.

"Master Jedi." It was the Neimoidian defector, his voice drenched in terror. "We must go, before the Sith Lords come after us."

She had frozen at the foot of the transport, unable to move. Clutching at her chest, Freya nodded. You have to be strong. Everything is as the Force wills it.

They boarded the transport, Freya jumping into the pilot's seat, relying upon the Force to help her recall the controls of the specific ship model. It was a spice freighter, something she was unused to flying. It all occurred to her with relative ease, and within a few seconds they had taken off and were speeding off into the clouded sky.

She looked down below as they ascended into and beyond the atmosphere. The compound and the surrounding stations were in flames, red, blue, green and yellow blending together in the distance. She returned her focus to the ship controls and punched in the coordinates for the hyperdrive.

And then she felt short of breath.

Weird. A life support failure? That could be a problem. She calmly checked the status terminals. All systems were green.

"Hey, back there. Anyone else-"

It was no longer just hard to breath. She was choking. Sounds of gagging filled the cockpit as Freya and the defectors gasped for air. Fading into unconsciousness, the Padawan pushed up the large silver handle with her last ounce of strength.


Bane watched on as his master remained rooted in place, his arm outstretched toward where the freighter had just been before slipping into hyperspace. Magna looked furious. Had the traitors escaped?

"No," the Sith Overlord clarified, "The traitors are dead. It is that youngling, the Padawan. Her connection to the Force is immense. Her potential, troublesome."


Notes: This fic will be about the Old Republic, but based only on what we know as the current Disney canon. However, in terms of lore, I will use some concepts that are now considered to be a part of Legends (like Force Shield). Thanks for reading.