For me, the beginning of the Clone Wars was like a fall into frothing water.

In the decades leading up to the war, I was balanced on the edge of the cliff. For seventeen years, I had been the Padawan of Master Ingrîs Djalmia. She was a wise, courteous, strict, yet kind human woman who always stole your attention even when she never spoke. The Republic governed the galaxy and the Jedi Knights maintained the peace. War was ancient history.

Yet, the cracks were already forming in the stone beneath my feet. The dominance of conglomerates such as the Trade Federation and Commerce Guild. The discontent of Outer Rim planets impoverished or exploited in their wake. The Republic, infected by corruption, refused to do anything about it and the Jedi powerless to stop it. Yet, there was peace.

Then the cliff continued to fracture, and I could feel that we were starting to slip. The world of Naboo fell victim to the Trade Federation's greed. Our former brother Master Dooku rallied thousands of discontented planets to secession. These Separatists assembled an army of droids as more worlds broke away. And on the eve of the break, we Jedi discovered a secret army of clones on a world deleted from our archives, this army made for us.

Before we could make sense of any of this, the ledge finally broke beneath our feet and all foundations tumbled down the cliffside. The first galactic war in a thousand years ignited on Geonosis, and Master Djalmia was shot down upon the sands. Over a hundred Jedi died, and the Council scrambled to recoup their losses. Suddenly, I became a Jedi Knight and General in a brand-new army, and I plunged into the churning waters.