Foreword: This is an original story featuring original characters set in the universe of Bioware's 'Star Wars: The Old Republic'. Events depicted take place up to a decade prior to events in-game. Rated 'T' for potential depictions of violence and violent themes, as well as minor romantic scenes. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.
(1/16) Additional note: I have gone back and done some revising, making edits and combining some of the shorter chapters. That means older reviews will be attached to the 'wrong' chapters. If you left off in the middle of the previous version of the story, you may find your last chapter further ahead than where you left off. New readers, you can expect a cleaner experience as I've also done a sweep for typos and other errors. And as always, no matter where you are in the story, I'll gladly accept any comments you have.
Prologue: Endings
Dust. Rubble. Ruins. Little more than the errant wall and pillar remained of the Coruscanti Jedi Temple. Gone was the once-magnificent structure, the once-welcoming home, replaced by the very antithesis of the Order. Disorder. Chaos. Death.
From a distance, numerous robed figures looked onward in silent dismay. Fires raged throughout the district and the atmosphere was thick with smoke and Imperial warships. A red haze permeated the vision of all who dared look upon the wrecked cityscape. It was a scene of destruction, of grief, and ironically… peace.
A group of Jedi watched from a nearby platform, for that was all they could do. A treaty had been signed. The Great War was over. There was peace between the Republic and Empire. Between the Jedi and Sith. Thus, those without a temple, without a home, watched as it burned, standing beneath the shadows of its destructors.
Amongst the onlookers were two men standing side by side, their heads slightly bowed.
Osetto Karrehl. Miraluka. Consular. Much of his unburdened visage was obscured by the brown hood raised over his head, and the simple band of matching cloth concealing his species' vestigial eye sockets.
Dehros Norrida. Human. Guardian. The cloak he wore surrounded a heavy suit of armor typical of someone from the frontlines, and hid a stern face that knew the hardships of battle.
Both were young enough to have been born since the advent of the twenty-eight year war. Expedited to knighthood, because of the war. Master-less, because of the war. Forced to watch their allies die and driven from their home, all because of the war. And now, upon witnessing the true face of peace, none who gazed upon it found solace. For some, emptiness. For others, a despicable fullness that nothing could have prepared them for.
"This…" Dehros muttered. "This isn't peace."
"I understand the pain you're currently feeling," Osetto calmly said, "but there isn't anything we can do."
"There is plenty that we could do, that we could have done," Dehros replied. "We could've fought. We could've resisted. We could've done everything in our power to prevent our home from falling to Imperial martial law."
Osetto continued to cast his eyeless gaze upon the slowly burning rubble in the distance. "That isn't our home anymore, brother."
Dehros' hands slowly balled into fists. "Until the last speck of stone is removed from that foundation, I will never give up on the temple… never give up on Coruscant!"
"That isn't where we are needed. And quite frankly, I'm not sure that's where we are wanted."
"Not wanted?" Dehros balked. "What if there are Jedi still fighting for their lives, opposing the Empire?"
"Trust me," Osetto began after a pause. "There's no one left."
"And how do you-" Dehros started before being interrupted by the Consular softly laying his hand upon the Guardian's shoulder.
"I've no eyes, but I am not blind. I see… so much more… so much less," Osetto said, almost at a whisper. "When I look upon the temple, I am forced to witness an indescribable scene. An emptiness that rends my heart. A chaos that wracks my mind. I want nothing more than it to stop. I want nothing more than to be the one to stop it. But it is folly. Not a single spark of life remains in the temple."
"You can't… you can't be sure. There still might be…" Dehros muttered, the Consular's hand weighing heavy upon his shoulder.
Osetto's head dipped. "I'm sorry. But those Jedi gave their lives so that we could escape. If we stayed, their sacrifice would have been for nothing. We'd be dead, or prisoners in one of the camps…"
"To be executed if we didn't accept their damned treaty," Dehros replied, gritting his teeth. "But we just stood by and watched. Our brothers and sisters had guns to their heads, and we did nothing."
"What could we have done? Only the smallest of groups escaped the eyes of the Imperials, escaped the soldiers, the bombings, the destruction. Would you rather have marched on the encampments, accompanied only by younglings and Padawans?"
"We are Padawans no longer," Dehros declared. "We swore to defend the Republic. The Order."
"Then defend something still capable of being defended," said Osetto, maintaining his calm. "These other Jedi need us. As much as it pains me to say… this is peace. It is our duty to preserve it."
The Human slowly shook his head. "Peace is a lie. Remember that? That's their code. We're fooling ourselves if we think this is peace. So long as the Sith remain, we will never be safe. I would gladly die opposing them if it meant it would bring peace."
"Bring peace? Or bring yourself peace?" Osetto asked. "Don't think for a moment that I would not sacrifice myself for the good of the Republic, for the galaxy. But right now, all you would be doing is throwing yourself away in the most selfish of ways, not to mention endangering the treaty. Don't throw yourself upon a pyre because you cannot handle the world you see before you. If you truly value peace, you'll survive. Persevere. The Order will not rebuild overnight. It needs people who can keep it strong and guide the next generation. Striking out against your foes, blinded by emotion... that is weakness. And you're stronger than that."
Dehros paused, taking a deep breath and gathering himself. "There is no emotion."
"There is peace," Osetto added.
"Ignorance… passion… chaos… death… the Sith certainly succeeded in testing us."
"That they did."
Dehros lifted his gaze, turning to face his friend. "Do you truly think we can rebuild?"
"There are survivors," said the Miraluka, keeping his eyeless gaze affixed to the horizon. "The Empire will release their prisoners and, luckily, many Masters were off world."
"Perhaps we can restore balance," Dehros admitted, almost a whisper.
Osetto nodded. "Perhaps. Unfortunately, I don't think we'll be returning to the temple here anytime soon."
"Where will we go?"
The Consular dipped his head, gently scratching his chin. "Not sure. The Grand Master is calling for the withdrawal of the Jedi. And not just from Coruscant. The newfound peace with the Empire has stirred something of a conflict between the Order and the Senate. What's left of it."
"So, we just leave," Dehros muttered, a touch of anger returning. "Coruscant is burning… and we just leave."
"I don't want to leave either," said Osetto. "But the Order isn't the only thing that needs to be rebuilt. Hardships are likely to plague the planet and its citizens, but if we aren't called upon to render aid, we would be intruding."
"Intruding? We've given our lives to the Republic, at the very least we could lend a hand helping the burdened communities."
"The people are discontent with the Order. We will likely hold much of the blame for the Empire's transgressions."
"Cast out. Not once, but twice," said the Guardian.
"We must preserve the balance," replied the Consular. "Marching right back into war or forcing ourselves upon the Republic hurts all of us."
"I just wish there was more we could do."
"There is. Just not here. Just not right now."
"Then where? When?" Dehros asked.
There was a pause as a heavy silence hung between the pair.
"I do not know," Osetto admitted. "I don't think anyone does."
The Jedi watched as a Republic shuttle descended upon their location, one of the first permitted to pass through the Imperial blockade. The transport touched down in a clearing atop the urban platform, resting on its struts and deploying its entrance ramp. Descending the ramp were a pair of Republic soldiers, armed and armored, tasked with escorting the nearby Jedi off world. Tasked with protection. Tasked with assurance.
In mournful silence, the flock of Force-users boarded the shuttle, unsure of their final destination.