And... we are back after a LONG, LONG pause.

I feel like I have to explain why... you deserve that much. The reason is simple: I get bitchy when I don't get what I want, and what I wanted was dozens of people telling me what they thought about my story and frankly not many people made it past chapter 2. It annoyed me, and thus I went off and decided to write it for myself and attempt to get it published. Problem with that? Not really, except it's laughable to think that they would publish an Alternate Universe story for Star Wars, so I ended up retooling a great deal of it... to the point that they really aren't the same story any longer. Yes, they have a basic plot that both follow, but... well they aren't the same. So, now you get to finish reading this (if you so desire) until I run out of the chapters I had made for it... and then I'll have to get my butt in gear and finish it. Thankfully I have all the way until chapter 20 finished. Go me.

As always, I answer and and all questions, respond to all reviews, and I enjoy saying thank you for anything you point out with my spelling/punctuation. I am a perfectionist after all.

Much Love,
Sarai

Chapter 10

"Left!" Cai shouted, alerting Sylir just in time to duck down a gap between two buildings and rush onto another street. There was the crack and scream of a blaster bolt burning into the wall behind them. The hunters were getting closer, and they were slowing down.

"What next?" Sylir whipped his lightsaber behind him, knocking away one of the deadly red projectiles.

"Turn right at the merchant shop!" Cai shouted, pointing at a vibrant sign hanging from a gaudy metallic shop front.

Danger…

Sylir stopped their momentum just as three silver projectiles embedded themselves in the street before them. Cai's eyes widened, and Sylir's gaze turned up to the nearest rooftop. Crouched above them was a tall, lean woman with long hair which caught the breeze like a net. She looked like an ancient warrior—but right now Sylir was more worried about the deadly weapons interlaced with her fingers. The blond assailant had three more of the thin knives in one of her hands, and from what he could tell—she threw them fast and accurate. If the Force hadn't warned him, both he and Cai would be dead; a lightsaber wasn't going to be very helpful here.

"We need to run…" he shoved Cai onward, jumping just barely to miss the next barrage of projectiles.

The Amazonian woman leaped from the roof, throwing another blade directly for his head. Sylir ducked and charged for the woman… only to find that she had already drawn another blade and thrown it for his chest. The Cathar threw up a hand, summoning the Force to barely deflect the weapon in time. He snarled, gritting his teeth as the blade cut a thin line down his arm—the price for becoming hasty. With better success, Sylir deflected another two blades and used the Force to throw the tall woman through a shop window.

Her form crashed through the glass with a loud shattering noise; Sylir took this chance to catch up with Cai. The fleeing Nautolan had made it to the shop front and was taking a right down the alleyway. Just as he caught up with her, turning to follow her lead; there was a shrill whistle of something passing through the air with great speed. The Jedi Master turned just in time to miss being stabbed by another flying knife. The glistening blade tore a gash through his upper thigh as he jumped to dodge, burying itself into a far wall with wet, warm rubies running down its blade.

Sylir growled with pain, but he was—for the most part—unharmed. He couldn't believe how persistent these hunters were being; well, if he had to correct his disbelief, it wasn't that he couldn't take their persistence—rather they never seemed to stop. These beings were masters of their craft, and they were holding their own against him rather well. Each hunter knew how to cover another's weaknesses. Every time that he felt he could take one of them down, another hunter appeared to fill the gap he had created. He couldn't help but feel exhausted, which he was.

"How much further?" Sylir snarled, angrily. It wasn't directed at his companion, but at his lack of ability to stop these foes—this was a new situation for him.

"If we could get a break," Cai wrapped an arm around Sylir in order to move faster, "It's really not that far."

Sorrowfully, Sylir looked at Cai, "If I wasn't alone I might be able to thin their ranks… but I'm a little distracted at the moment." He gave her a sheepish grin; then leapt the two of them over a short wall, hoping to put some obstacles between their retreat and the people chasing them down.

"Knife lady is pretty impressive," Cai muttered, "Not as frightening as your red friend back there… but enough so. You think you can take her?"

"I could," Sylir said without ego.

"Then go buy us some time… you can find me right?"

The Cathar nodded.

"Then go!" Cai urged, breaking away from Sylir and running down the alleyway.

The Jedi master didn't want to split up; he knew that was how L'loria had died, but Cai was not a Jedi—perhaps that would save her. A sharp whistle drew his attention upward, to see the knife thrower on the roof above, barely in time to dodge a flying blade. How had she gotten up there so quickly?

Sylir placed himself close to a stone wall, preparing a jump with the Force as he attempted to get behind the blond combatant; however, it appeared she didn't want to take the battle to rooftops, jumping down to the street level to face him. A flurry of blades flew towards Sylir, and he threw himself flat. The blades whirred overhead, lodging in the wall behind him, and the Jedi propelled himself forward. A tremor in the Force turned into a propelling wave, knocking aside the retaliation attack—knives flying in all direction. The Force threw the female warrior backwards where she slammed into a wall.

The knife thrower was skilled, remarkably so, but she didn't have the Force—and Sylir did. The Jedi prepared to launch forward and dispatch his foe when suddenly the ground exploded. Sylir was pelted with gravel and heat, summoning the Force about him to shield his face and body as he went flying. Hitting the ground, the Jedi Master rolled coming up to see an angry Twi'lek with shoulder cannons trained on him and a very nasty Barabel standing next to her.

"Great…" Sylir muttered to himself, "Reinforcements."

Three against one normally wouldn't be a problem for a Jedi—normally. Under these circumstances he wasn't willing to take two against one, much less these odds. That feeling was proven mutual when the Barabel threw a small black orb at him. Sylir recognized it almost immediately… it was a high-velocity projectile launcher; street name: Barab Pincushion. The device emitted a sonic pulse which shook the Cathar's auditory sense and killed his sense of equilibrium… and then it exploded, launching dozens of deadly barbs in a random radius—most of which were headed towards him.

Sylir's eyes widened and he threw up both hands in shock. What happened next could only be proclaimed as miraculous. He called upon the Force and it answered with exuberance, far different that usual. Feeling it surge through his arms and around him in a shield, it almost felt effortless—until he felt the sting of several barbs pierce his upper body. The projectiles didn't go deep and were more of a stinging annoyance than a danger. When he applied a bit of his own will, the rest of the danger was harmlessly deflected as if he were surrounded by a wall of steel plating.

The feeling was gone the moment that Sylir let down his arms, feeling far more tired than he had a moment ago—which meant it was time to run. He motioned to the fallen barbs, launching them with the Force towards the hunters who were rounding the corner to attack him again. Sylir watched with amusement as the hunters ducked again behind walls, trying to escape the deadly barbs of their own weapon. Sylir felt no guilt for his glee, and he used the spare moment to leap onto a rooftop, heading for the direction where he sensed Cai.

[...]

"The Jedi has taken to the rooftops," Brejec muttered into his wrist-comm. From his vantage point on the tower, the expert sniper could see pretty much everything that was going on. "I have a shot if you want me to take it."

"No." Allara's voice was very stern; he knew what that tone meant. "I want the others to bring this Jedi down. How is the sky net?"

"I have snipers posted at north and east… west is relocating due the Jedi's change in path… but I can still see him from hear. We won't lose him."

"Good… I'm in route with my squad and Lovast is circling around… we'll have him trapped shortly.

Brejec took a look down his scope at the Jedi, "He's moving towards the Outer Ward… Rhiar is hot on his tail with some of squad one, those that aren't injured… better hope Lovast hurries or the Jedi's about to make it to civilians."

"Then why don't you call and let him know?" Allara cut the transmission and Brejec was left with static silence.

The old man chuckled, taking his finger off the trigger in order to punch-in the new comm-channel. Allara could have been his daughter in another time and circumstance—he felt as if she were. Still, everything was always business with her; it made her a good leader, but not a nice person. Perhaps one day that would have talk about that. "Lovast," he called, "It's Brejec. I have a point for you."

"Go ahead sky net…" a voice answered.

"Jedi is about three clicks from and headed for the Outer Ward, due about three degrees from the southwest."

"Understood… moving to intercept."

Brejec trained his scope back in on the Jedi just in time to see a flurry of blaster fire redirect the Cathar's course. Looks like Lovast wasn't too far after all. There was a twinge of regret—only for a moment—as Brejec thought about what that could mean. The Jedi was going to die. It wasn't every day that one witnessed such a display of skill. The fact this Jedi was putting up such a good fight—it was a testament to his skills. Brejec would hate to see him actually put down.

Still… if the other Jedi on Coruscant were this good, Brejec smirked at the thought… perhaps he wouldn't regret it after all.

[...]

"Damn fool of a Jedi!" Rhiar snarled, barreling down the street as she watched the Jedi leap from his perch on the roof and into an ally across the way, "And damn Lovast for getting in the way!"

"I'm going to go around…" Perel announced, breaking off from the group and dashing down an alley like a wood nymph. The woman was so graceful while at the same time deadly… Rhiar hated and admired her.

Picking up the pace, the red Twi'lek skidded around the corner just in time to see the Jedi. Both of her shoulder cannons kicked, the large scarlet blasts exploding into the wall just shy of missing the Jedi. Rhiar swore and tore after him again. Unexpectedly, Calixa was on her flank.

The Barabel had deep red-orange scales like the setting sun, and she wore the standard black clothes of her people—a simple creature, but she was sharp and cunning. Calixa cared about few things, and attaining a kill was one of them. She didn't bother with all the fancy weaponry that most of the Toran'ak used; rather she preferred to hunt naturally by sight and smell. It was honorable, as was her belief that she could take down a Jedi with only a heavy blaster… but Rhiar had decided, in the case of Jedi, less was not more. They needed the weapons and the skill, Calixa would end up slowing them down—as would Perel in the long run.

"Perel is setting up a trap… just force the Jedi onto the street," the reptile didn't offer any further information. At least her speech was more understandable than Varesk.

"Any more helpful information?" Rhiar smarted?

"Yeah," Calixa flashed a fanged smile, "Don't follow him too closely."

Having circled around, Perel came out onto an empty street. Off in the distance she could hear the sounds of Rhiar's cannons—they were getting closer. That was a good sign, but she would have to be quick. The Amazon drew several knives from a special belt on her left thigh—these knives came in pair… each connected on the end by filament-razor. The fine wire could sever a Gamorrean in half as if it were warm fat… and the stupid pig wouldn't even know about it until both halves were on the ground.

With several deft flicks of her wrist, Perel strung the knives across the street, covering the air between her and the approaching Jedi with the near invisible filament. He'd come running for her, hoping for a repeat of last encounter… and he'd be dead before he even came close. Perel smiled grimly at the though, taking a step back to make sure the sun wouldn't reveal the presence of her trap. Satisfied that everything was in order, Perel drew three knives for both hands and prepared for the Jedi.

As if summoned, the Cathar came barreling around the corner, much closer than she had expected—meaning it would be over that much sooner. She locked eyes on the Jedi and let fly one hand of her projectiles. The dazzling silver knives were knocked aside by some invisible hand and Perel once again cursed the Force for being able to destroy her perfect art. This drew the Jedi's attention, and he focused his attention on here.

Perel was ready… and then she was caught off guard. Rather than rush towards her, the Jedi threw his yellow blade as if it were a projectile weapon. The deadly revolving blade tore through her trap like flimsy paper and came directly for her. In desperation Perel spun sideways, throwing her other hand of knives in an attempt to stop the Jedi… it succeeded; partially.

The golden yellow blade burned a whelp across her chest as she hit the ground, watching as the Jedi only received minor cuts from her last attack. Perel hated the force, and she hated how it had returned the Jedi's weapon to him. He was going to kill her for certain—

Scream of blaster fire. The heat of an explosion.

The Jedi dance away from her as Rhiar and Calixa opened fire upon the target. Perel had never been more thankful for their loud, noisy and inelegant weapons than she was now. The tall warrior pulled herself to her feet and joined in the pursuit, making a mental note to herself to study more about this "force" the Jedi used. She was tired of her knives being rendered useless by the Jedi… and sick of the others for looking down upon her.

[...]

Sylir whirled around the next corner and saw Cai slumped against a dead end wall. His first thoughts were those of horror and panic, but then she lifted her head up and looked at him with weary eyes. "Bout time you got here…" she muttered, struggling to her feet.

There was a rapid, shrill beeping that Sylir knew all too well, and he spun around just as the red Twi'lek lobbed a thermal detonator at his feet. The Cathar threw both hands towards the explosive, leaping for what felt like the thousandth time that day… but it was just a moment too late. The explosion was managed by the Force, but the seismic waves blew the Jedi off his feet. Sylir landed on his back, winded as the full force of the detonator was released. Heat dried out his eyes and stood his fur on end; he threw hands up to his head and tucked into a ball to escape most of the damage… which was minimal, thankfully.

His lightsaber had landed somewhere, but who knew exactly; The Jedi Master rolled onto his knees and opened his eyes… and he saw red. A blaster fired and he rolled back… barely missing the deadly shot—which burned into the ground where his head had hung moments ago. Using the force, Sylir summoned his weapon to him and ignited the blade. He faced off with the red armored commando, the Twi'lek with twin shoulder cannons, the blond knife thrower… a deadly looking Barabel—and with the clicking of weapons all around her, Sylir's gaze took in about twenty other deadly mercenaries or bounty hunters—it didn't matter what they were. He was outnumbered, and one of them was going to hit him and possibly Cai in the process.

His Nautolan companion was standing directly behind him now… and he knew that it was over.

"It's over Jedi…" the mechanical voice spoke from behind the Mandalorian T-visor.

Sylir nodded, deactivating his weapon. "Make a promise on your word?" he asked.

The cold hunter nodded, the red helmet barely moving a fraction up and down.

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.'

"You're right," the Mandalorian spoke, surely the entity had been a Mandalorian at one point—only they operated with this cold detachment; Mandalorians and sociopaths that was. "You were the one who involved others."

"That was my fault," Sylir admitted.

"Die with honor, Jedi." The clawed, copper hand brought up the lethal looking blaster and took aim.

Sylir heard the shot. As he let himself be embraced by the ever present arms of the Force; he knew that he had heard it… but that was a second after the fact that he had noticed the floor disappear from underneath his feet. Except he wasn't standing on floor—he had been standing on a street, a street which was connected to the planet's surface… so how had that disappeared? Sylir didn't know. As he was swallowed into darkness, the only thing the Jedi Master knew—was that he was falling, and he was alive.

[...]

The blaster bolt scored the wall behind the Jedi.

Allara watched with both fascination and anger as the ground literally opened up and swallowed the Jedi. She had known the Force to do amazing thing, but this wasn't one of them. She turned her helmeted visage towards Lovast who was poised on the edge of a roof. "What in the seven Trade Routes was that!" The shout, coming from the synthesized voice of the helmet, was bizarre and frightening.

Lovast and several others, including Marec the Bith scientist, jumped down and began examining the area where the Jedi and the Nautolan had vanished. It was several minutes before they had anything, all the while Allara was growing more and more irritated.

Finally Marec was the one who approached her. The Bith was calm and collected, and she had a faint idea that he didn't really care about death—the scientist was warped in that manner. "Madam I believe what we have stumbled across here… is the entrance to an underground sublevel… it could have been her for centuries or days for all I know, but it grants access to a subterranean altitude on Abregado-rae. My guess… black market or underground imperial faction."

"And can we get into it?"

The Bith chuckled as if she had just made a joke. When Allara took her helmet off and let her brown and copper eyes do the talking for her, Marec swallowed and became professional once more, "I'm afraid not. There is a layer of duracrete, under that you have standard security doors, and under that I'm afraid you have high density blast doors… people don't want you to get in—or anyone for that matter. It would take a drilling crew, with industrial grade beam drills, a week to get through that, and we don't have half that power in explosives." Marec rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his face, "I supposed there is probably a security measure used to open the door, but locating it in this alleyway and then figuring out how to open it will take time."

"How in the karking hell does this Jedi keep getting away!" Allara yelled, spinning on her heel and storming away from the scientist. It took her all of three seconds to regain her head, even though she was still seething. It shouldn't have been this difficult. The Jedi from the shuttle died without a problem… the Padawan burned up in the shuttle explosion—they'd found the body and the lightsaber to corroborate it. The Zabrak padawan had died with ease… they'd taken out a fully manned security station for crying out loud! What did this one Jedi have that kept saving him?

"You, Rhiar," she pointed to the Twi'lek, "Take a team and find out what's down there and how many other entrances there are. Who knows about it, who can get in, why would they be down there."

Allara spun, "Lovast!"

"Yes," he saluted.

"Take some of the others and get back to the apartment. Man the eye and see if the Jedi surfaces. We found him twice… we can find him again."

When that order of business was taken care of, Allara turned her steely gaze upon Marec, satisfied that the scientist actually had to adjust his collar, "I want you to take whatever you need… because I know we have it… and get this entrance open."

"I will do my best," Marec assured her.

Allara was assured. As she followed Lovast and his group back to their current center of operations. So the Jedi had evaded her twice, and he took out an up and coming sniper… he was good. He was on the Council for a reason then. This was ok… it wouldn't bother her. She'd proven today that they could corner him—they could kill him. The Jedi may not believe in luck, but Allara did. She knew that luck was the only thing to have saved him… he was lucky she had honor.

The leader of the Toran'ak had no problem with leaving the Nautolan female alive… she wasn't part this—though Allara could feel the throbbing bruise from where that alien had shot her. The Armor had done its job and saved her life, but that didn't mean she didn't feel it… she would have to clean her equipment tonight—that would give her something to do while she thought this out.

[...]

"You don't even know what you are saying!"

"I don't? You weren't even there!"

"This isn't even the problem! The problem is sitting in the bowls of the Senate Rotunda!"

"Right now that isn't a problem… it's a relief!"

The Jedi Council Chambers where in an uproar, as was perhaps fifty percent of the galactic populace… the other half would be joining within the next twenty-four hours; still, no one would be feeling this sense of confusion like the Jedi were at the moment. They all had personal feelings and ties to what had gone down this morning, and none of them were feeling very reassured about the outcome.

"You're telling me that Darth Virtra, the person who nearly killed Master Yoda fourteen years ago, who succeeded in killing Master Ti… who made an assassination attempt on Palpatine just for a laugh… just surrendered her weapons and let Senate guards drag her away?" Kyle was trying his hardest not to laugh in his brother's face, "She knocked out half of the Imperial Center's power grid when she made that assassination attempt. I don't think anyone has forgotten that!"

"No… Kyle, we haven't," Jeta snapped, "Which is why Dain is so on edge—as am I. My visions have been hinting about something like this for days… I just didn't know what it meant."

"I tend to agree with Kyle on this," Maris looked ruefully at Dain. "Why would Darth Virtra go into custody without putting up a fight?"

"Because it's not her," Kyle chuckled, "Someone is just playing for their ten minutes of fame."

"It's fifteen minutes, idiot," Dain snapped, "And I'm certain it was her… I'd never forget that face."

"Then why can't we feel her?" Kyle shot back, "She hung in the Force like a fog… you felt as if you couldn't breathe when she was around… and now she magically appears and we don't feel anything?"

"Right now she is in a maximum security room, pumped full of Force-repressing agents, surrounded by Ysalamir, and monitored by two Jedi Knights outside at all times… along with a full platoon outside her cell. She's not even conscious, much less accessing the Force."

"What about before?" Depa proposed, "Kyle raises an excellent question. Why couldn't we sense her before? She couldn't just appear on Coruscant. She has to have been in the galaxy for days… which is probably when Jeta's visions started."

The seer shook her head, "I don't know if she was the cause or not… all I know is that she's going to bring calamity, darkness, and ruin if we don't do something."

"We've heard all this before and then she just vanished…" Maris snarled irritably, "Why don't we just execute her to make sure we are in the clear?"

"Maris?" Several of the Council members exclaimed.

"If it is indeed, Darth Virtra," Zallar muttered, "We'd be doing the galaxy a favor, but without knowing for certain… could we sacrifice the code so readily?"

"If it destroyed that monster…" Maris bristled, "Yes."

"No." Jeta countered, "Jedi have survived without doing it before… we won't do it now."

"The Jedi haven't faced Virtra before!" Maris shot back.

"That we know of," the Wookiee's silver face was a mixture of consternation and deep thought, "She certainly knew of us before we encountered her the first time, and if she is as old as she claims to be… perhaps Jedi of the past have faced her."

"Then she killed them as well, because…" Maris pointed out the window, "Look who is still here."

"Maris is right," all attention was drawn to An'ya Kuro, who stood framed in the doorway of the Council Chamber. Somehow the appearance of the youthfully-old Jedi Master had managed to silence all of the argument that had been going on. "The way I see it… we have two options: it is either Darth Virtra, or it is an impostor. Are you willing to take the chance? If it is not… you've killed a depraved lunatic who thought it would be a smart choice to impersonate a murderer and a tyrant. If it is—you've saved the galaxy. A small price for liberty if you ask me."

All mouths were open as she spoke, except for Dain. The Grand Master looked straight ahead defiantly, "Master Kuro… why are you here?"

"Because it is just before the evening meal…" An'ya offered, "You were to hear my request at this time."

"We agreed to no such thing…"

"But you will hear it," An'ya interrupted. She stared Dain down until he sat back in his chair, silent and resigned. The other Masters present had no problem listening to something other than an argument. "The galaxy is on the verge of repeating history," An'ya repeated, "Darth Virtra is back… and no matter where you keep her—if she isn't dead, she's a threat. On the opposite side you have Darth Vader and Palpatine's Remnant. If we don't act, the galaxy will be torn asunder by war with two Sith factions once more… we cannot, in good conscience, allow that to happen again.

"Therefore I propose," An'ya took to the center of the Council Chamber, standing before all gather with a strait posture, "That I take a small team of Jedi to track down Vader and end his threat permanently… as I did with Darth Bicara."

The silence was long… and it was unsettling.

Then there was a storm of voices once again.

"Absolutely not!" Dain shouted, outraged.

"Why not?" Maris sneered, "Because it gets something done?"

"We cannot condone murder!" Jeta pleaded, looking at her old master, but An'ya was making eye contact with no one.

"It's not murder if it's protecting someone else or the galaxy," Kyle pointed out.

"You cannot justify killing anyone," Dain shot.

It continued back and forth until both Zallar and Depa stood up and shouted, "ENOUGH!"

Zallar took his seat and left the rest to the Chalactan Jedi, he was only needed for his outstanding vocals in this instance—Depa would know what to say.

"You're bickering like the younglings downstairs, not like the Council of elders who are supposed to view things with a clear mind and a sound conscience," Depa's bandaged face seemed to gaze into each and every member gather, "We will deal with these issues one at a time. Master An'ya's request will be first."

Depa looked at An'ya, "Her request is unorthodox, but these are not ordinary times. Peace is fragile… but do we sacrifice ourselves for peace, if it means corrupting all of us? Or is your request so pure of intentions, Master Kuro? I cannot be the one to judge… but I do call them into question. The matter can only be settled by a vote, and once the vote has been reached… it is the duty of the Grand Master to set the parameters." Depa looked to Dain to start the proceeding.

"I ask for each of your opinions on Master Kuro's request…" Dain said evenly.

They started on the left with Zallar, "I for one am against it. Darth Vader has made no move upon the Republic in ten years… if he makes one now, we are prepared with patrols on the outer rim. We are not so weak that he can pose the threat he did in our youth. Darth Virtra is the more pressing matter."

Kyle was next. "I agree. Vader is as much of a threat if not more… he has the forces, the following, and the knowledge of things that have been going on. He's not some old woman come back for the glory days, and we don't have him locked up and ready for execution. I say that we send Master Kuro, Master Brood, and myself to take Vader out. The Galaxy will sleep safer once he's gone."

"Absolutely not," Dain said looking at his brother, "This is ludicrous. I can't even begin to understand why we are actually considering this request. Master Kuro, with as much respect as I can give her at the moment, is a relic from an old era… and even at that time she was radical. This is the outcry of a zealot who needs to find evil in the galaxy, and if she cannot... she does not have peace of mind. The Jedi cannot condone her actions any longer."

"While Dain's words are—harsh," Jeta couldn't look at her master any longer, "I don't believe that he is wrong. Perhaps your time away from all of us has been… difficult? I think that with time, you might come to see things in the proper light again, but the time you spent chasing Bicara has given you an incorrect view of the galaxy... and its people. I'm against it."

"You people don't get it…" Maris sighed, almost willing to cry out in frustration. She was in the same position they had placed her in ten years ago—except she had more responsibility now, "We need to change, and we do... little by little, but it is never in the right direction… you stick to some codes, you change others… what makes us able to decide that one member of the Council is correct and another is not?" With a deep sigh, Maris looked at An'ya, "I wish nothing more than to support your request, An'ya… but with the Jedi Code as it is, they are correct. This isn't in accordance... It does not mean you are wrong, but until things change… my duties to the Council, and to this order will not allow me to support you."

An'ya's straightforward gaze faltered at this announcement… she was already out voted, and Depa was the only one remaining. An'ya looked at her old friend with pleading eyes. She didn't care that she was out voted, but she did need this one vote—this last bit of confidence in her abilities.

"I cannot agree," Depa said quietly, "But it is not for the reasons this Council has stated." Her words cut off An'ya's urge to wallow in despair. "My friend… my long time companion, Master Kuro, has been through a traumatizing and life changing event. She may not realize it, but her battle with Bicara could have yet unknown effect… beyond the changes that we see. I for one cannot feel safe or secure in sending her to face Vader, until I know that she is going to be safe—or that the Jedi under her watch will be protected. She is the greatest warrior I know… and I value her opinions."

Dain couldn't help but feel the painful jab that came from those words. He was the one who had defeated Vader the first time; not An'ya… but Depa was calling her the greatest warrior? It wasn't—the Grand Master took a deep breath. "The Council has decided… your request, Master Kuro, is denied. I hereby removed your sanction by this Council until further evaluation. If you leave to pursue any endeavors… it is not with the support of the Jedi Order. If you wish to remain with us, then you make take up a room here; you can spend time in meditation, and we will discuss this matter further once we have decided on the matter of Darth Virtra." Dain locked eyes with An'ya, daring her to start anything that would give him a reason to prove who the greatest warrior was.

"You're going to take this?" Bicara's voice was incredulous. "All you have to do is spank the child and the others will listen to you."

"No," An'ya said aloud… more to Bicara, but it was enough to get them all to listen to her words. "I will not pursue other endeavors. I accept… your ruling, even though I view it as flawed. I will retire for the evening meal now." With that she turned and exited the chambers without another word.

Kyle glared at his brother, and Dain only watched as the Jedi master fled from her defeat.

"I suggest we all do the same…" Depa offered, getting up from her seat, "We are not in any state to review the matter of Darth Virtra further. I suggest we consult the Force for the night, and then reconvene in the morning."

There was a somber silence among the Council Members as they filed from their chambers. The Jedi Order wasn't ready for another calamity—they weren't ready for dealing with it. Depa had a feeling that every dark force in the galaxy could sense this weakness—perhaps that is why Virtra had decided to return. With her monstrous presence, the Sith could easily pull those forces into a cohesive unit. Crime syndicates, war lords, pirates, the Imperial Remnant… if Virtra was to truly make her presence in the galaxy… they'd all be clawing at her feet for just a piece of the glory. As she made her way back towards her sleeping quarters, Depa wondered if An'ya's solution was really so dark after all?