The Jedi Remnant

Dante had returned to the Temple, the 5 giant pillars on the metropolitan-planet, and found himself in the empty Council Room. It had been far too long since the Jedi Order had been gone. It had been some 8 months since he had seen some of the last few Masters in the Order—or rather, who were in the Order. He knew that soon he would have to find the others who were not killed.

As for Atris, he thought to himself, why would you choose a narrow view of the Force? A wise Master such as yourself should never have succumbed to your own failings. But there may yet be hope for you—you've embraced some measure of your emotions. I only hope that in time, you do not delude yourself with other ideas.

Dante sighed to himself as he looked out at the night sky—which was more of an indigo colour now—as he found himself drifting into thoughts of the Jedi Civil War, more accurately, towards the Sith. He knew that the war had been a matter of invading several core systems and planets vital to the production of war. But why?

Before Revan had left, the Jedi had stated that there was another group of Sith—the True Sith Empire, beyond the Outer Rim. Revan had left to combat them—or join them. No one knows. But those who had the ability to tap into the Force felt the tumultuous tremors within it—which only came when Revan had flashbacks of his former self.

If that was the case, then the Galaxy would be seeing another war all-too-soon. If that was the case, then the Jedi have been fighting an unrelenting war that only the Sith could fight. A war where only the Sith raged against Sith—another civil war.

Dante continued to ponder. Is there no end to war? Will we continue to be inexorably forced into continuing this dastardly cycle of relentless war and death? Before he could continue, he heard the doors hiss behind him and hiss once more as he felt the ripples in the Force of a powerful figure approach him from behind.

"Master," the young feminine voice spoke. "Isn't it a bit late for you to be up? It's been so long since you've slept." It was clear she was from the Core—she was Corellian and her voice had told him so before he even turned around to reply.

But he knew it before she could even speak. Her presence was very familiar to him. He turned around to see a young human female—no more than 18 years of age—staring back at him. "I will sleep in a while, Rena. You should have some sleep yourself."

Her hair was as black as the night itself, her eyes radiated a crystal blue that betrayed her intensity. She was clad in light, cream-coloured robes. Her hair ran down to her shoulder blades, as some of her hair covered her own pale cheeks. Rena Naver had only been no more than 12 years when he had found her. She had been running away from a group of slavers that Dante had cut down in order to protect her.

He recognized her incredible strength in the Force and took it upon himself to train her—she had no family. But before he grew used to her presence, he found it familiar before they had even met. She had the intensity and charm of someone else from Dante's past. Someone he could not seem to remember for the life of him.

"You know what they say Master," she smiled, " 'no rest for the wicked.'"

"Perhaps, but you're still younger than me—and I make the rules, so get some sleep."

She sighed and turned around, grumbling to herself. "You only make the rules because you're so old," she said under her breath, as she walked out of the room.

"I'm only 28," Dante shot back before she was out of reach. "Masters Jace and Frreral are much older than me!"

He was satisfied to hear her giggle, but heard someone cough suddenly. Oh Sithspit, he thought as six imposing figures walked in: an ithorian, a nautolan, 3 human males and a wookiee.

"Master Ravenmoon," the bald, dark-skinned man spoke, leading the procession into the Council Chambers.

"Master Jace," Dante acknowledged the older man with a nod of his head.

"I see that you've been entertaining your Apprentice, rather than training her in the ways of the Force. I take it that you have decided to leave the Jedi Order and commit yourself to comedic antics instead?" Cyrin Jace, the Jedi Master and former Council Member suggested, with a tilt of his head to indicate he was not amused.

"Not at all, Master Jace," Dante replied coolly, stifling the urge to laugh.

"Very well, take a seat Master Ravenmoon," the Master replied. There had been a point when the hard-as-nails Master would have been amused—but at this point, the Jedi Order had nearly been broken and only a few remained in a shattered Galaxy. It had come to a point when no one would be able to remember when the Master had smiled—or if the Jedi could even smile at all.

As they sat down, Dante greeted his compatriots by nodded in their directions: the green, black bulbous eyed nautolan, Master Len Vizta; the T-shaped head of the ithorian Knight Sneed Ze; the Zen-like countenance of Master Ash Merrick; the lighthearted appearance of Knight Tarn Seethes; and the golden furred wookiee Frreral—who was on his way to becoming a Master soon enough.

"I will come straight to the point," Jace began as everyone's attention focused on the dark-skinned man. He reminded Dante of the former commando Sekula, some years back at the end of the Jedi Civil War. "Knight Toll Fin has not returned from his journey to Corellia."

"I thought that he was there to search for the elusive presence of a Force-adept?" Dante stated rather than asked.

"We all did too," Jace replied as he turned to his compatriot Ash Merrick, who would explain the rest.

"After he did not report in, I left to Corellia in hopes of finding him," the serene voice started. "Before I could leave, I found a lightsaber that had been sent to us. It was Master Fin's lightsaber," he said, revealing the scarred and worn cylindrical weapon in his hand.

"Could it merely mean that he has left the Order?" Len spoke up, hoping it was not the myriad of alternatives that began to swirl around in the minds of his comrades as well as him.

"Unfortunately no," Ash answered, as he lifted the lightsaber upright and continued. "Shortly after I received the lightsaber, I also received a message from CorSec—they reported the remains of Toll. However, there was a message that was intricately crafted into this lightsaber." He tapped the activation plate and where there was supposed to be an emerald shaft of energy, came a blue-hued image of the Jedi Knight 's face as he spoke.

"This is Jedi Knight Toll Fin. I am being pursued by—someone. I think it is a Sith Assassin. They have not been wiped out. I don't have much time—and if I do not survive, then I can only hope that this will be sent to you in record time. There is a structure underground the Republic military base. It is much more than a mere base—it's a breeding ground of, some sort of army. I don't have much time left Masters, but I hope this message returns to you quickly. The Force presence I was sent to search for undoubtedly lies there—and the Republic has not been forthcoming with this information. All I know is that there are hexagonal observation posts—there is something—no, someone down there! Masters, I must leave it at that—I don't have much information. There is—oh no." Fin's face left the image as the sound of lightsabers activated. After that, the image died away.

"The message replays after that," Ash spoke softly, understanding that his companions were in silent thought towards this threat—and for the loss of their friend.

After a few more moments, Jace looked at his companions and then paid careful attention to Len. "Len, you will inform Knight Fallout to go to Corellia and discover what this threat is. He should be returning here from Borleias."

"I understand, Cyrin," Len answered softly. The Nautolan suppressed a shudder at the possibility of his former apprentice dueling with a Dark Jedi. Despite his worries, Len knew Gideon Fallout was a highly skilled duelist in the Order, but Len also knew that Gideon had had enough of killing.

"We have developed a new problem," the Jedi Master spoke once more as the others sat down, "the Senate has been growing complacent with the need for the Order to rebuild as opposed to helping the rest of the Galaxy."

"The Order has suffered enormously from the last three wars," Ash spoke thoughtfully. "Surely they can't ask us to spread our numbers even thinner than they are now."

"Be that as it may," Sneed spoke, "the Republic still needs our aid."

"When our numbers are in the low double-digits?" Tarn rebuked. "Sneed, obviously you can see that we only have a handful of able-bodied Jedi," he gestured across the Council Room, "and they are essentially us. We have only one apprentice and she is only 18. We have younglings that are only 5 year olds. We are in no position to aid."

"I am inclined to agree with Tarn," Ash said. "We're too few to police the Galaxy. As much as we want to help the Galaxy, we're in no position to help ourselves. Every time we seek to add more Jedi to our Order, parents choose not to give us their children because of the damaging reputation we've sustained from the wars."

"But that only occurred in the first place because our teachings were too strict," Sneed began. "We've rectified that mistake now."

"Only now," Tarn snorted, "but the rest of the Galaxy doesn't know that. All the Masters who had chosen not to accept the failures of Revan, Malak, Qel-Droma and even Kun are not here anymore. We're the remainders of the Order; and the reason why the Jedi Civil War was labeled as such, was because no one could tell the difference between us and the Sith."

"But the Sith are evil," Sneed began, to be cut off by Dante.

"Evil? Sneed, the people had put us on a pedestal—that we can do no wrong, yet look where that standard has taken us. We chose to ignore the voice of the Force and we chose to commit to the Civil and Silent Wars. We ultimately created the Sith, we are to blame. This Order needs more time to conduct itself—we're only a handful of Jedi."

The room stood silent for a moment more before Dante spoke again.

"The Sith are no more than the promise of our inner darkness—we're to blame. We're the evil ones, and rightly so." He sighed and looked at his companions, as they seemed to be enmeshed in their own thoughts.

"We still haven't heard any word from Atris," Cyrin spoke once more.

"The Exile had mentioned Atris' whereabouts on Telos. But she had also said that Atris had lost her sanity and fallen to the Dark Side," Len said, his expression had become ominous.

"Be that as it may, we cannot afford to have another Revan—or Kun," the dark skinned man said, his dark eyes seeming far off. The Jedi Master was older than his companions in the room—including Frreral. The 53-year-old man had seen war for most of his life and it hadn't affected him as badly as the Jedi Civil War and the Silent war. He had been forced to kill his second Apprentice—the daughter whom he never had—during the Civil War. And he had watched as his third Apprentice—whom he took after long debate—be killed by his first, who was shortly killed by the powerful Master, during the Silent War that Sion and Nihilus had started. It was unknown to the rest as to what his reasons were for learning of the Unifying Force. Very few in the Order—during and after the dark times—could match his skill with a blade and his strength in the Force.

It was a stark possibility that not even the late Master Kavar could out-duel him..

Dante had been saddened at hearing the loss of the Jedi Master on Dantooine. Kreia—or Darth Traya—had killed the three survivors and warped the mind of the fourth. He wondered where the Exile had gone. He had only heard about her and he often wondered if she even existed. He cut his line of thinking as he noticed that Cyrin Jace was saying something.

"Dante," the Master started, "you will go to Telos, with your Apprentice. It is there that you will find out what happened to Atris. If possible—gather what information you can about her and the artifacts she had in her possession at the Hidden Academy."

"I understand, Master Jace," Dante replied.

"Also," the Master added, "if you feel the awakening of a possible Force-adept, please inquire about it."

Dante merely nodded.

"May the Force be with you," Jace said. The Council's session had come to its end.


Dante roamed through the Temple corridors. As always, they were silent and empty. He knew it would only be a matter of time until the Jedi Order was back to high numbers. He had spent most of his life in the Temple, training with friends who had inevitably fallen to the Dark Side or were killed during war.

It had been hard on him to live through the Temple after the Silent War, but now did not matter to him. His heart was cold—the only warm thing that flowed through it was one person: Rena. Since he had begun training her—for no real reason, other than to teach her the ways of the Force and to help her control the burgeoning powers within her—she had become someone to pull him through his darkest moments.

He roamed past her quarters, knowing—rather than feeling—she wouldn't be in there, and made his way to the combat training room.

She had been helping the other Master with training the Younglings—the Bantha Squad.

They were young and eager to learn the ways of the Force. Most were orphans or came from poor families. These children would know peace and live to achieve great things. Since there were so few children, they were all thrown into one Cub Clan: the Bantha Squad.

The doors hissed open and closed, as he walked through them, his black duster continued to billow around him. He chose not to wear his cloak—he hadn't worn in quite some time. He witnessed her swinging her emerald lightsaber around the air, sweeping into arcs and other colourful displays.

She had become very fond of using one of the older Jedi fighting styles: Form I. Though the fighting style was an introductory fighting style, few ever mastered the volatility of the fighting style—most often chose other levels, such as Form III, V or even Form VI. Whatever reason Rena had chosen to use this fighting style, she seemed very skilled with it.

Dante found he couldn't help but smile at the sight. He felt her presence as a constant current through the Force—a symbol of harmony that bridged the gap between Light and Dark. She had truly become his own Star pupil, finding her own center within herself and the Force. Perhaps she is much closer to understanding the Unifying Force than I ever will, he thought admittedly.

She stopped as she felt his presence and turned around to face him, bowing and smiling. "Ah, Master," she began, "have you come to berate me for not sleeping?" Remarkably, the young woman hadn't even been panting or had a bead of sweat—it was clear she wasn't drawing on the Force, as it appeared she was in tune with it.

"Actually no," he began, removing his worn black coat and casting it aside. "I've come with news, though you do seem to require a sparring partner." He walked down the little steps and onto the sparring platform, positioning himself in front of her. "Would you care for one?" He asked, shamelessly.

"You know I'd be honoured, Master," she replied, tilting her head in something akin to a maternal, yet teasing fashion. She tapped another button on her black and silver weapon, indicating that it was on a low power setting.

"Very well," he replied, doing the same and igniting his sapphire blade—the blade of someone close to him so very long ago. The silver hilt had appeared worn, yet was clearly serviceable. It carried intricate design patterns along the grip, including an old saying of 'there is no such thing as luck, only skill.' It was the lightsaber hilt of Rin Mesa. "When you're ready," he said, tightening his hold over the blade.

The only signal he received was a nod from her, before she lunged at the Master, bringing her blade all around his shoulders and legs, aiming for limbs, while he continued to parry each strike, defending and adapting to her movements.

Dante had focused his skills on his fighting Form IV—the adaptive and defensive stance that allowed him to essentially defend his way to victory. In a blur, he began to deflect each strike, turning some of them back, forming arcs of turquoise as their blades meshed around one another.

She kept her eyes on him as he did the same. She let her blade stay in one hand as she swung towards the left on a horizontal slash, arcing upwards towards his left shoulder and then back down towards his right leg, weaving a pattern of emerald death in a deadly combination.

He spun his blade in a clockwise fashion, taking care to knocking each strike away from him and towards her. He enjoyed turning back Form I manoeuvres—Form I tended to be a hazard to opponents and the wielder themselves.

She begun to start moving herself away as she was slowly pushed on the defensive, as Dante brought his blade high and low, only to lock his blade against hers.

"It's over," he said, smiling as she continued to struggled with his grip, as his other hand wrapped around her hands that held her lightsaber.

She continued to struggle, her blue eyes radiating the defiance of defeat.

"You know," he began, a smile forming on his lips—a smile that had rarely occurred since the end of the Jedi Civil War—, "you should mind your surroundings if you are eager not to concede defeat." With that he left go of her hands, both blades thrumming, as he crouched and swept her feet out from under her. He quickly rose and snatched her lightsaber from her grip, igniting the emerald blade while it tried to die away. He pointed both blades at her face—her flushed face. "Yield."

"I yield, Master," she said, sighing with an air of defeat.

"Good," he said, deactivating both blades and helping Rena up. He returned her blade to her and couldn't help but add, "you lasted longer this time—you're getting better."

"As if, Master," she snorted.

"What? You've never lasted longer than 10 minutes—this time it was 25."

She looked at him with a somewhat irate countenance, but found she couldn't resist laughing at the thought of her chasing her Master around with her lightsaber set on low, slashing at him as he leapt high into the air, yelping for his life.

"What?" He asked, his expression puzzled.

"Nothing, Master, just some Padawan Mental Disciplining." After another moment, she looked at Dante and had to ask. "What did you want to see me for, Master?"

He looked at her soft blue eyes—sometimes they could even be piercing. He sighed. "The Council has decreed that we should be sent to Telos—to investigate the Hidden Jedi Academy there."

"A mission? Hidden Academy?" Her expression seemed even more puzzled.

"There was a Jedi Master that created the Academy there, Rena—after the Civil War," he explained as he sat down on the stairs. "Her name was—is—I am not sure if she even exists anymore—but her name is Atris. She had been a survivor of Dantooine and transported many Jedi artifacts towards the battered planet. It made an excellent hidden Enclave." He sighed. It had been so many years ago, since the events of Darth Malak and Revan. "Last we heard, she had fallen to the Dark Side—but we do not know if she still lives. We need to see if the Academy still exists—and if there is anything we can do lend aid to both the Republic and the Jedi Order itself."

After a few more moments of soaking in the information, Rena nodded her head eagerly. "The Council wants us to recover whatever we can?"

This time, it was Dante's turn to nod.

"All right then," she answered. "When do we leave?"

"Later in the afternoon," he said, rising. "But first, time for us to rest. We have a long journey ahead of us." And hopefully you don't run into Sith immediately. I sense that the Council has hopes of Knighting you before you could even be ready. Let us hope that I am merely paranoid, he thought to himself as he grabbed his coat and left the room, eager to find his quarters and rest.