Pale light aglow upon immaculate tile. Thousands of years of history resting upon a spire rising like a champion from the cityscape of Coruscant. The Jedi Temple, tenacious, timeless. It has fallen before, as has Coruscant around it. War is forever in the galaxy. But time after time the temple has risen again, cycling like the Order itself through rebirth, growth, and fall. It will fall again, some day. But today it is in splendor, the Jedi High Council in session, Masters and the holograms of those out on the battlefront present in a congress of the galaxy's wisest in matters of the Force. No keener minds. No more tenured experience among all the stars and ships from the Core Worlds to the Wild Space.

Yet in the face of the all-consuming struggle of the Clone Wars, they are not invincible. Even with all their combined knowledge, even with millennia of history beneath their feet, they will never know everything.

"This…artifact you found on Empress Teta. Our preliminary research has been troubling, at best," Madam Jocasta Nu says to the assembled Jedi Masters. At the center of the room nearby stand Anakin and Obi-Wan, the former's face full of frustration, the latter's spilling over with concern. "The recording you provided was most useful, Skywalker. But I'm afraid it has provided only more questions than answers."

Master Yoda leans forward in his seat. Diminutive, aged—but even in this great room that dwarfs him so in size, he commands respect beyond even the most imposing of Jedi around him. There is no hesitation, no fear, when he probes for more answers. Only curiosity, as if he has never let that wonder of childhood fade away despite his age. The desire to learn more. The understanding that even nine hundred years as part of the Jedi Order does not resolve every mystery in the galaxy. "Intriguing this mystery is, Madam Jocasta," Yoda says. "What you have learned must we know, no matter how troubling."

"Of course, Master," the elderly archivist says before turning to Anakin. "You said you activated the artifact with the Force, did you not?"

"Sure felt that way," Anakin says, shrugging. "Although, honestly, it was more like it was reaching out to me. Like it wanted me to find it."

Jocasta nods. "That would corroborate our early findings, to some extent. The…man…your recording captured. The one shown visually. Him we found a match for in our archives."

"A Jedi?" Master Ki-Adi-Mundi says. His face blurs and shifts in his hologram, but even though he speaks from the war front near Antar, his apprehension is as clear as if he sits here in session.

"No. A lord of the Sith."

"I beg your pardon?" Master Mace Windu says. "It was a Sith artifact in the Arkanian's vault?"

The archivist presses her hands together and bows her head. The weathered lines across her face betray the gravity of the situation. "I cannot speak for certain on that, Master Windu, but whoever recorded that interaction, whoever was the other voice speaking that Skywalker heard, they must have had close access to this Sith."

"And this Sith lord, who might it be?" Yoda inquires.

"An ancient one. Thousands of years ancient, so ancient that he was a member of the original Sith species, more than one thousand years before they were presumed to go extinct. A lord named Ludo Kressh."

"Never heard of him," says Obi-Wan.

Yoda points at him. "Know this name, I do, if only just. Defeated by a Sith rival, he was, long ago. Very strong in the Dark Side, he was."

"I'm more interested in what he was talking about hiding," Anakin cuts in. "What is it? A weapon? If the Sith made it, and Dooku gets a hold of it—"

"There is little chance of that, given that it took your command of the Force to activate the artifact," Master Mundi says. "As far as I know of your assignment, Ternon Tath was simply a very wealthy man, not a Dark Side adept. Our reports said he was a collector of antiques and art. Likely he picked it up at auction or from the black market and never figured it out. That would explain why the rest of his vault was missing, yet it remained."

"Unfortunately, I have no idea of to what he referred," Jocasta says. "The history of the ancient Sith is muddled. Even our records are incomplete, at best. So much has been lost over the years. There is so much we no longer know."

Yoda and Windu trade glances. Obi-Wan catches the look, ever so subtle. Understanding darting between the two venerable masters like an arrow whistling through fog. "That will be all, Master Jocasta," Windu says. "Stick around, Anakin. We have more to discuss."

When the old archivist dips her head and exits the room, Obi-Wan folds his arms across his chest and sighs. "It's a shame Tath died. Interrogating him would've filled in a lot of our blanks."

"You can't blame me for that one, Master. He was dead before I got there," Anakin protests.

Obi-Wan knows. Not even Anakin can rouse a man from death. Yet he knows his former Padawan well enough to also understand that stealth and subtlety are as much Anakin's strong suits as compromise is. He had never agreed to send Anakin on an investigation mission of this discretion in the first place—it's a war, send a fighter like him to the front lines and keep him where he excels—but the Council had judged the Arkanian noble to be a threat given his implied ties to Dooku and the Separatists, one too great to send just anyone—and Anakin is a Jedi not inclined to failure. Yet here they were now, with, as Jocasta had said, more questions than answers, a dead man guarding his secrets, and only the recording—and the suspicions swirling around in Anakin's head—to guide them. Every little slip-up in war costs. Every mistake compounds like a hitch in a supply line, one errant move cascading into breakdown in no time at all. Hopefully this all turns out to be nothing. But given the dour faces all about the Council chamber, Obi-Wan imagines the last thing it will turn out to be is nothing.

"We didn't send you to Cinnagar for no reason, Anakin," Windu says. "Ternon Tath was our main concern, but that family is full of…let's call them troublemakers."

Anakin scoffs. "What, are they walking their narglatches in a no-pets zone?"

"Much influence on the planet Taris, the family has," Yoda answers, "and in a delicate state, that world is."

"That's a member of the Neutral Systems. What's it our concern?"

"It's our concern because the Republic had a sector fleet based in orbit above Taris as recently as last year. But not long ago the Tarisian government voted to oust it, and now they defend themselves with only their own sectorial forces," says Windu. "This war isn't going well, Anakin, and especially not recently. With each passing battle the Separatists seem to grow stronger. They've rebuffed our advances against Agamar and Muunilinst and recently seized Bandomeer. They're in position to reign over the entire galactic north, and, with a little push, advance into the Inner Rim and the Core Worlds. Our defense is failing."

"And what does a neutral planet have to do with that?"

Obi-Wan puts a hand on his shoulder, but Anakin shakes it off angrily. "Anakin," Obi-Wan says, trying to calm him as he shares a look with Mace. Restless. Reckless. This is why you keep him at the battlefront, Master Windu. Leave him where his heroics do best. I would know. "The Neutral Systems are one of our only buffer zones in the galactic north. Taris is one of their most influential members in the Senate—perhaps second only to Mandalore. The Tarisians are already distancing themselves from the Republic. If they were to openly side with the Separatists—"

"And is that happening?"

"It might," Windu interrupts, his voice stern, his eyes like steel. "Especially if we do nothing."

"A sister, Ternon Tath has, on Taris. Hosha, her name is," Yoda says. "Along with a cousin. Solan. Brilliant scientists they are. And charismatic, they are too."

Windu nods. "Arkania is renown for their scientists, but these two are a cut above their peers. That they've been getting into regional politics as of late is odd, but it it's far stranger given Ternon's reported association with Dooku. If anyone knows anything about this, it's them."

"So, what? We're going to leave a potential war-changing weapon just to hunt down two local politicians?" Anakin says. "Excuse me for saying it, Masters, but that sounds like the wrong priority."

"We don't even know if whatever the artifact spoke of is a weapon, Anakin. Slow down," Obi-Wan says.

Yoda nods in agreement. "Assign someone else to investigate Madam Jocasta's findings on the artifact, we can."

Anakin sighs. "Fine. So go to Taris, find these scientists. Ask them how Dooku's been. That sum it up?"

"Perhaps we should send another Jedi," Obi-Wan starts. "Given our recent reports of a build-up near Thyferra—"

Mace cuts him off with a hand. "No. Anakin was the only one to experience the artifact's vision in person. He also found Ternon and investigated his manor. No one else is better positioned for this, Master Kenobi."

"But—"

"I agree," Master Mundi chimes in. "Skywalker began this chase. He should see it through."

This was going to end poorly—probably with two more dead Arkanians and even more dead ends. After all this time, the Council still does not know how to maximize his strengths. "How about I join this little expedition?"

"What, I can't handle two scientists?" Anakin says.

Obi-Wan flashes him a look. Not now. Later. Somewhere we can talk alone.

To his relief, Windu nods. "We're in a stalemate along the Thyferra-to-Kashyyyk line," he says. "We can afford it. And perhaps the two of you together will get to the bottom of this quicker than Skywalker alone."

"An important assignment, this is," Yoda adds. "Lose further ground, we cannot. Fall to Separatist influence, Taris cannot."

"Session dismissed for the day," Windu says. "And Obi-Wan: Make sure your transportation's something unmarked. The last thing we need is any more friction with the Tarisians, and rumors of Republic warfighters coming into the system's only going to push them further away from the Senate."

When they are alone in the elevator descending the High Council Tower, Anakin throws up his hands, scowls at Obi-Wan, and says, "This is a huge waste of time. We're not going to bother looking for something important, something that might help us in the war. We're not even going to battle anywhere. Instead, it's playing fetch on a planet that doesn't matter."

"Anakin, I understand—"

"And why're you so interested in coming along?"

"Think, Anakin. This war's bogged down into a series of stalemates, except for the one front that the Separatists have constantly been winning on—the galactic north. That's what we're preventing them from advancing any further on."

"By chatting up two scientists?"

"By ensuring that Dooku can't secure alliances. If you're so interested in that artifact, then you'll have the chance to ask these two Arkanians about it all you want. Maybe you'll even find out about some long-lost Sith secret. One more thing to plaster next to your face on the Holonet. Frankly, I'm skeptical there's anything to that."

"After what I saw—"

"It's not that I doubt something dark and terrible exists, it's that it'll at all matter in the war. It's the political and military realities I'm worried about. The Taths are not minor nobles. They're exceptionally wealthy, and they command immense influence on Taris. If the planet throws its support behind the Confederacy, the sector goes with it. Mandalore's not far. How long until an emboldened Separatist navy advances on it, too, and suddenly the Neutral Systems are gone? How long until the Republic's promises of security mean nothing?"

Anakin reacts not with anger, not with admission, but with uproarious laughter. "Oh, so that's why you're so interested."

"What is it now?"

"Look, I won't tell the Council. I'll drop you off on Mandalore on the way to Taris. You and Duchess Satine—"

Obi-Wan presses a hand to his face. "Oh, we are not having that discussion."

"Why not? Suddenly I'm pretty enthusiastic about this."

"No, no. This is a mess already. You know what? Go rope Ahsoka into this. At least between the three of us she has some cleverness."

Anakin snorts. "Great. I'm sure she'll be overjoyed."

Obi-Wan grins. "Lovely. Another thrilling mission."

Peace among nature. It may as well be a fantasy on Coruscant, and yet here it is.

Tamri digs her fingers into the soil of the Jedi Temple's gardens and closes her eyes. Velvet-soft dirt pushing against her fingertips. Gentle resistance like a mother's touch, as if the warm earth reassures her that it is here, so close, just under her hands and feet. I will never leave you. Go ahead and dig deeper. Plant your roots and let your leaves unfurl. Nothing needed save the sun and water, and all manner of life will thrive upon this refuge, war and city and strife so far away it all may as well be a storybook rhyme.

Members of the Agricultural Corps shuffle around the gardens, stretching blue-leaved penna-fruit vines up the sunset-stone columns that stand like soldiers about the soil. Fruiting ventharberry trees stretching statue-tall, giving shade to younglings resting in the wake of mid-afternoon lessons. The welcome rattle of happy chatter, the tinging of laughter young and old. Tamri doesn't know any of the others in the gardens around her—every Padawan she is friends with except for Ahsoka Tano is away on some war mission or another—and yet she feels as if she fits right in.

What a strange feeling.

Maybe, she imagines, she would've liked this life. Just a random no-name member of the AgriCorps, one of the "Jedi washouts," so the derisive term goes. The Service Corps members who failed their Initiate Trials and never became Padawans. Tamri is not blind: She has seen Ahsoka and others her age in action. She knows their command of the Force exceeds her own. Maybe she can swing her lightsaber well; she can fight, she can run, she can persevere, but she will never move mountains. Perhaps she was never meant to.

Yet at least here in the sun-kissed gardens she can, if only for this brief afternoon, push aside the daggers in her heart. So often they attack when she is alone, with Sae on assignment or here in the rest quarters of the Jedi Temple on quiet nights. They strike her from within, a taunt with each hit: Weak and horrible and you messed up and you're never going to pass the Trials for Knighthood at this rate. As if some sprite follows her around and, when her guard is down, points out every one of her flaws and failures. What are you going to do in thirteen years when you're the Order's first thirty-year-old Padawan in history? Will Sae dump you on some backwater in the Outer Rim? She looks so depressed these days that she just might do it tomorrow, especially with Master Gallia's death. Does anyone even care what happens to you?

Thinking about it brings on the beginnings of a headache like the first sight of a storm. Tamri digs her fingers deeper in the earth, pursing her lips, staring at the soil. Wood chips and fertilizer and dirt and a thousand other bits of nature all stirred up. It smells so wonderful here. So friendly. Lose yourself in that. You can. You don't always have to be thinking about what to do next.

Soil. Roots. Life. The Force all around you.

A thud rouses her from her thoughts. Sae's toe kicking the planter next to her. Master's shadow enveloping apprentice. "Hey."

"Hi." It is all that is needed between them. "Um. Do you need me for something?"

Sae frets. She kneels down in the dirt next to Tamri, runs her hands over the thorny bush in the planter, and says, "Which one's this?"

"It's...er, you really want to know?"

"Well, you're planting it by the looks of it. So yeah. Tell me about it."

Tamri perks up. These little moments where her master brushes aside talk of the Force and combat and life lessons. These budding-flower hours where Tamri can feel good at something. Where the two of them talk like just two people, not like Jedi. "Actually, I'm moving it. Someone planted it here by mistake, but it needs soil with higher salinity. It's a creeping saltshrub. From Crait."

"From where?"

"Crait. The mineral planet."

Sae shrugs. "Don't know it. Lotta planets in the galaxy. No one can know 'em all. Never been to any Crait."

"Well, now you know. If you want to take a pleasure cruise to a mining planet, I guess."

"Sounds like a real relaxing time," Sae says, looking over her shoulder. "Doing pest control, too?"

"Hm? No. Why?"

Sae points, and Tamri looks behind her long enough to see a massive granite slug slithering through the soil in her direction. She cringes, looks away in a flash as disgust curdles in her gut, and says, "Ugh."

"Might want to get rid of that."

"Can you?"

"What? It's a slug, Tam. It's not going to assault you."

"It's gross. Please?"

Sae sighs. A yellow flash. The hum of a lightsaber. Then a hiss, an awful sizzling sound and an even worse fired-flesh stink. Two thumps. "There. You can look. Maybe he just wanted to be your friend."

"I'd really rather not."

"You'll never know now. But fine," Sae says, kneeling down once more. "You should say bye to your friend Ahsoka, too. Master Kenobi told me he's going with her and Skywalker on some assignment starting tomorrow."

"Ahsoka? Where to?"

"Taris, apparently. Didn't ask why," says Sae. She smirks. "Knowing them, it's probably to go pick a fight."

Tamri looks down. "Oh. I should go see her, then."

"Hold on first. We have an assignment too."

"We do?"

Sae looks away. The innocence of the moment lost. Setting-sun glow giving ground to the shadows advancing up her face, like armies, like wraiths. Already her eyes are in twilight. "Let's plant this bush first, shall we?"

The sun droops further, dipping behind the wall of the Temple Gardens. Darkness pathing between trees, slipping through vines, beneath flower petals. Like an invader insidious in its reach, tendrils probing every opening. But at least here Tamri knows the light will come again with sunrise. She pushes salt-littered earth about the roots of the saltshrub, giving it a home next to several similar specimens. "There. It only needs watering twice a year, so we can water it now. That'll hold it for months."

"Assuming no one else here waters it between now and then," Sae says.

"I trust them to figure it out."

"Psh. I don't."

"Why not?"

"They planted it wrong in the first place, didn't they?"

Tamri frowns. Her master is probably right. She should leave a sign, or something. Still…"Well, they can get a second chance."

"Eh. Your bush."

"Technically it's the Temple's bush."

"Great. Not my bush, so your call," says Sae. She looks around as the AgriCorp members disperse for the evening. "Look, you can catch up with Ahsoka at dinner in a minute, but we need to talk."

"About our assignment? Are we going somewhere?"

Sae looks off at the darkening sky. High cheekbones so jagged in the waning light. Black hair like a veil of night. For as long as Tamri has been her Padawan Sae has never been prone to a happy disposition, but as the Clone Wars have dragged on her sullen demeanor has intensified. She says little these days, eats less. Spends so much time alone. Tamri knows her master has lost friends in the war—who hasn't among that older generation?—and now Master Gallia has fallen at the hands of some Dark Side monster, according to what Ahsoka said. All of it is widening that hole in Sae's spirit that Tamri cannot see but knows is there. She tries to make things better. Acts the obedient Padawan—if for no other reason than to compensate for her own shortcomings as a Jedi apprentice. But she does not know if anything she can do will help.

And if she cannot help, then what?

"I spoke with the Council right before I came to see you," Sae says, her jaw hardly moving as she talks. "We're being sent into Separatist space."

Tamri rubs her arms. It is the oncoming of Coruscanti winter, and the sheer height of the city-planet's surface superstructure, thousands of levels above the world's original surface, means that it can still get chilly after sundown despite the capital's activity. "Er. Why?" she asks. It is hardly the first time she will be behind enemy lines—Sae is a member of the Jedi Sentinels, and investigation and uncover operation is typical business for those Jedi who specialized in that discipline—but something feels wrong about the slow, stoic way her master tells her this.

"Apparently," Sae says, stopping to take a deep breath in before continuing, "Skywalker and your friend Ahsoka found some Sith artifact on Empress Teta recently. We have been tasked to look into it."

Tamri feels confused. "Why aren't they following up on it?"

"Because they're going to Taris."

"Oh. Okay. What else?"

"We're to rendezvous with an intelligence officer and his Clone Commando team on Belderone," Sae continues, "but to get there we have to take civilian trade and refugee transports and pass through a few layovers and checkpoints in neutral space, given that it's in Separatist territory. Booking on our first shuttle's already arranged for bright and early tomorrow, so don't stay up too late."

"So we're going to Belderone?"

"Lemme finish. We're going to Ossus. Hyperlanes to the planet are virtually nonexistent, but Belderone is right next door, so our intelligence operative friend is going to secure us a ship. Then we jump to Ossus. If all goes right, nobody ever knows we're there. Ossus, according to our reports, is almost undefended given its obscure location."

Tamri scratches her head. "Ossus is a blasted planet."

"Yes. It got cooked by a supernova thousands of years ago during the Old Sith Wars. It was also, thousands of years ago, home to the greatest Jedi archive in the galaxy."

"So…"

"So it might have knowledge that our own archives lack. Knowledge, apparently—" Sae looks around to make sure they are out of earshot— "about some old Sith lord who ended up recorded by an artifact Skywalker discovered."

"What?"

"Hey, it's just what I was told."

Tamri blinks. What is going on? "I thought there were archeologists and stuff on Ossus."

"Before the war, sure."

"Wouldn't they know what we need?"

Sae scoffs. "Probably not, and the Council doesn't want to wait on all the bureaucratic nightmarishness in academia. Believe me, I brought the point up. There were a few Jedi there now and then over the years, but Ossus is so inhospitable and hard to get to that it was mostly well-funded expeditions by universities and the like. No one's ever punched through all the debris on the planet. We're going to do that, dig into the heart of the old Jedi temple there, and find out whatever their archives might hold about a Sith named Ludo Kressh. Specifically, about whether or not the old Jedi from that time learned if Kressh had hidden away some terrible power."

"Uh. Just the two of us?"

"Just the two of us. Like I said, if all goes according to plan, no one will know we're there. We'll have the time."

Tamri frets. "This really doesn't sound like a great plan."

"It's probably not."

"Huh?"

Sae slumps her shoulders. "It's up to us to deal with what happens. Look: We can't think about what may or may not happen, Tam," she says, looking her apprentice in the eye and resting a hand on her shoulder. Tamri does not shrug it off. "Let the Force into you, here, now. Where you and it are both alive and free. That's what matters. Not the future, just now. And if this mission of ours all blows up the minute we set foot on Belderone, well, you and I will face it with everything we have, and the Force with us. We just…we keep going. Understand?"

Tamri nods. "I understand."

"Good. Go find your friend and have dinner."

"You're not going to eat, too?"

"Eh. No."

"Where are you going, then?"

"Out."

"Out?"

"Out. To have a drink."

Tamri lets out an exasperated breath. "You just told me not to stay up late. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Sae raises her hood. "Nah, probably not."

These old, cold halls. They feel lonelier then ever. Not that Count Dooku requires company, but alone with his thoughts his mind runs rampant.

What is the way of the Sith?

Who has planted these thoughts in his head? Where have they come from? He thinks of his most recent talk with his master. Darth Sidious, as imposing as ever even over the holo, ordering forces this way and that as if moving pieces about a dejarik board. Three years of war and Dooku has not once found any reason to doubt his master. They have come this far, have they not? The Confederacy controls nearly a third of the galaxy. And that is only a prelude: Dooku knows what his master truly has in store, the secret that will turn the Jedi into naught but a slur in the annals of history. They will triumph. Rule. Stand side-by-side at the top of a new era, one of peace, one of order. One of surety.

But where is this doubt coming from, then?

It is not like him to question himself. He strolls down the hall again, looking up at the pastel paintings of Serenno artists from the post-ancient interregnum era, drenched of color, edges curved and worn as if all the precision has been strangled from the brushstrokes. Pale moonlight filtering through the skylights, white upon black floor tile. Still and scentless air. Only his footsteps to break the silence.

Then something more. At the far end of the hall comes the ting-ting of the secure holo in his office, and Dooku hurries off to answer. His master, again? So soon after issuing orders? That cannot be good—and again his doubts race to higher heights.

When he steps inside and shuts closed the office double doors, however, he sees it is not Sidious. It is Grievous. He can wait—but Dooku is here, and with his wandering doubts plaguing him, perhaps hearing Grievous's reports will dispel his demons.

"Report," he snaps to the holo.

It whirs to life, blue and white light filling out above the durasteel oval of the pan-galactic communicator. There in electronic visage bows General Grievous, super-human stature of armor and mech-work dipping his head to Dooku's presence. "Count," Grievous says.

"What is it?"

"I have crushed the Republic fleet at Muunilinst. They retreat in tatters. Another Jedi scum dared face me and—"

"Yes, I have the report," Dooku says, bored. "Is that all?"

Grievous pauses. Clearly he hoped to find Dooku more appreciative, but the Sith lord cares not for defensive victories over whatever no-name Jedi Knight was assigned to spearhead a doomed assault against a fortified position. It is not his concern that the Jedi are too foolish to realize that until it is too late. "Our assault on Bandomeer—"

"Has also succeeded. I am aware. Thank you, General," Dooku says. But Grievous seems eager to move now that he has smashed multiple Republic incursions, and Dooku can make use of this. It is not Sidious's orders, certainly, but what would his master say if Dooku did not take the initiative? For that matter, what is Sidious thinking at all? No, no. Do not heed those doubts. "I am sending you to Thyferra, General."

Grievous scoffs. "Thyferra? What is there, the Jedi—"

"The Republic has made multiple attacks in Thyferra's direction, picking away at our advance forces," Dooku says sharply. "And it is the source of our bacta holdings. It cannot be lost. You will hold there."

"Hold? And?"

"And engage the Republic just enough to draw in their advance navy nearby, above Ghorman. Lure them to Thyferra. Then destroy them."

Grievous snorts. "The Ghorman fleet is a pipsqueak. You are sending me to swat flies."

"I am sending you to destroy that very fleet in order to scare the Republic into thinking we plan a greater offensive."

"And that offensive is?"

"A ruse. You will bring their fleets to Thyferra's doorstep and you will hold, General. That is all."

Grievous nods. Dooku moves to disengage the comm, but the cyborg speaks up before he can. "I assume this plan involves more than just a defense."

"It does," Dooku says, "and you will know when I contact you next. Until then, you will hold. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Count," Grievous says, bowing.

Now Dooku shuts off the comms and stares into the shadows. Sidious's strategies. Schemes. Attacks and feints. Dooku has carried them all out fervently, without question, without delay. He has shared everything with his master, and yet Sidious shares only tidbits with him. In the duskiness, Dooku realizes an uncomfortable reality: In truth, he has no grand plans of his own. He follows his master's orders. He knows the Sith will emerge victorious—but that is because Sidious has convinced him so.

What is the way of the Sith?