The squad consisted of five men. They had supported him all the way through the safe house, a tiny apartment in a residential area. With their comm, they were able to trace the movement of the other deployed troops and choose a safe pathway. He knew he needed to send them back quickly, because their behavior was deviating obviously from the intended path. Undoubtedly, the person in charge of the coordination and deployment would soon notice that something was amiss.

Obi-Wan lay on a makeshift bed fashioned out of an old sofa, where a soldier tended to his injuries. He had lost consciousness halfway through the procedure, but he hadn't been out for long between the injected stim and adrenaline. He still felt an odd feeling of disorientation in his psyche, and it worried him. Dissonance pervaded his mind, feeding the awful headache. He examined one of his pendants and scrutinized his Soul-Kyber crystal in its bluish glow. To his dismay, he detected several small cracks that hadn't been present before, and it was concerning. His physical state prevented him from conducting a thorough analysis, so he placed the crystal against his chest and let it rest there.

Sense of safety eluded him; he wasn't comfortable sharing the space with Clones troopers.

Each clone in the grand army had their own unique way of standing out from one another, often derived from a personal experience that led to their chosen moniker. However, as he looked upon their frozen and emotionless faces, he couldn't discern any of these individual traits. In a single sentence, he had reduced them to mere automatons, devoid of any sense of identity.

They seemed like simple, personality-less entities, devoid of individuality, responding instantly without discussion to any of his wishes. The perfect slaves.

With a heavy heart, he clenched his teeth and let out a deep sigh, berating himself for his decision. Though he couldn't think of any alternative courses of action, he still felt responsible for the outcome. The thought crossed his mind that it might have been better to end their lives instead, allowing them to die as free men.

The Force continued to elude him, but its tumult was noticeably less chaotic, and he could sense some information that made sense again. The five men facing him and standing at attention were empty in the Force. They were alive, but they lacked the vibration of intention, of free will that characterized all sentient creatures.

Obi-Wan had committed a grave offense against his values by this regrettable decision. Throughout his extensive life, he had made countless choices that slowly pushed him closer to the very thing he was fighting against.

He closed his eyes, fighting nausea and dizziness. He knew he needed to regain his strength first to analyze the situation more effectively and decide what to do next. Regardless of the numerous intricately laid plans he had formulated over the years, he had failed to consider this aspect of the situation. Doubts had always lingered in his mind regarding his ability to achieve his ultimate objective. As a result, he had never allowed himself to ponder what would happen after Sidious' demise.

Despite the dark lord being finally out of the game, he couldn't help but feel an odd sense of emptiness. After achieving his ultimate goal, his euphoria was short-lived, replaced by a pressing need to save his life and maintain appearances. He had a whole organization to repurpose now that his enemy was eliminated. It would have to wait. For the moment, he knew that he needed to focus on rest and recovery, rather than devising complex strategies.

Obi-Wan got up gingerly, and went to the 'fresher to splash cold water on his face. He took the opportunity to rinse his hands and his blood-covered chest. He dried himself off, gently dabbing a towel around the edge of his wound, and pulled on a fresh linen shirt. He completed his outfit with his leather belt and woolen robe, and examined his appearance in the mirror. His features were pale and drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot. He carefully replaced the neural-headband, which was designed to prevent the onset of an epileptic seizure. He pulled on his hood to obscure his features and sighed. To regain some semblance of good health, he knew he would have to abstain from social activities for a while.

He turned to the men who hadn't moved an inch, rigid in their armor.

"Your orders are to return to your unit and resume normal activities, without disclosing what happened. You must follow your superiors' orders, except those that may put me in danger. Do you understand?"

"Understood, Overlord."

Clenching his fists, he silently vowed to find a way to make amends to these men. But even with the direct order, he wasn't sure if they could ever return to a semblance of normal life. What was done was done, and Obi-Wan knew he couldn't undo the past.

]o[

In the Force, the city vibrated with an unusual clamor, subdued and oddly frantic at the same time. Civilians had mostly evacuated the streets. Those who remained walked quickly with their heads bowed, eager to regain some semblance of safety by returning to their home. Obi-Wan blended in, adopting their hurried gait despite his wounds, exhaustion and pain. He was used to operating under duress, and his respite had done wonders for his general efficiency. Finally, he reached a taxi station, and tried to hail the few remaining vehicles, but they were closed off or already occupied.

Obi-Wan stifled a curse. He didn't look forward to the long walk but seemed deprived of a choice here. So he undertook the grueling journey of long walking episodes interspersed with taking the elevator to return to the upper district. The pain radiating from his shoulder was still acute despite the earlier sedation, and his headache wasn't faring much better.

His grip on the Force had improved marginally. He was still at the point where maintaining his most basic shields was difficult. But, given the circumstances, it would suffice for the moment, the priority being not leaking with problematic emotions and thoughts. He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. All these years, he had taken care to remain as discreet and as unremarkable as possible. He wasn't keen on throwing all his efforts into the water.

After a long hour that seemed endless to him, where he dragged his carcass through the streets of Coruscant, he finally arrived in the temple district. The area was, unfortunately, close to the Senate, whose surroundings were cordoned off by security forces. However, his appearance and status allowed him to pass through without difficulty.

The architectural spires loomed in the night, projecting deep shadows in the moonlight. He grimaced at the prospect of climbing the many steps to the Temple porch. Sweat covered his brow, and he had trouble regaining his breath. One idea monopolized his mind: reach his humble accommodation and let sleep soothe his screaming mind and body. He paused to take the time to release his pain and exhaustion in the Force, and entered the Temple.

The Force that swirled through the high halls of the Temple radiated conflicting emotions. The Jedi as a community was seemingly affected by the events. The waves of power stirred from restlessness, turmoil, and anticipation. Obi-Wan's flimsy shields were not enough to keep these emotions at bay, and his throbbing headache intensified with renewed strength.

As he walked past the familiar faces of his fellow Jedi, none of them stopped to acknowledge him. To almost everyone, he was just an anonymous Corpsman, who was occasionally spotted in the Archives, having spent the majority of his recent years in the distant Outer Rim. He was seen as a quiet, bookish figure who preferred to remain in the background, far from the spotlight and any notable accomplishments

This suited him just fine. He preferred to remain anonymous rather than be the sole survivor of the entire Order. He had long come to terms with the isolation he had imposed upon himself. The true friends he had known had perished a long time ago, victims of betrayal and blindness.

The present-day counterparts of those lost companions, who roamed the lengthy halls of the Temple, were merely shadows of their former selves. They were all on suspended sentences. Had been, he corrected himself. Despite the pain and exhaustion, a faint smile crept onto his lips. With Sidious no longer in power, perhaps he could start to view them in a new light. Anyhow, he had more pressing matters to attend to than ruminating on his personal relationships, or as he hesitated to say, his attachments.

He, at last, reached the Temple Corps section. It was a little removed from the heart of the building, and was occupied by the various trades keeping the community in working order, like a small village. This area was filled with anonymous like him, defined essentially by their specialty. They were all essential cogs in the smooth running of the micro-society that constituted their Temple.

The Jedi had a culture and a language of their own, spanning across millennia. Deeply linked to the existence of the Republic, it nevertheless pre-existed and remained stable thanks to the transcendence conferred by the cult of the Force. The traditions were strong, like the trunk of an ancient oak. Jedi had prevailed, protected by habits and customs, until they could not save themselves. The Sith had cleverly, insidiously hollowed out the oak, until the final hit, which ended the Order in a spectacular, dramatic collapse. Traditions had preserved them, but also constituted their weakness.

Years of exile in solitude had enabled thinking and studying. Obi-Wan had understood that immobility and centralization had contributed to the Jedi Order's fall. Sidious, through the institutions of the Republic, had slowly reduced their prerogatives and autonomy. If the Jedi wished to perpetuate the precious culture that shaped the soul of every being who had set foot in this temple, they had to consider a more flexible tradition and accept the risk of a schism. United, they were robust but easily targeted. Divided, they would have less power but would be more resilient. Obi-Wan had seen many occurrences of various Force sects during his extensive travels, but sadly often weakened by rigid traditions. With the Empire, many had been hunted and reduced to nothing. Sidious had wielded cultural genocide with masterful cynicism.

He crossed the indoor square, decorated by a fountain, that distributed the many apartment sheltering his fellow Corpsmen, when a voice he knew well hailed him suddenly. "Archivist Kenobi!"

Obi-Wan cursed silently, closed his eyes to focus on composing his expression, and turned toward the fearsome Head of the Jedi Archives.

"Good evening Madam Nu. What can I do for you?"

"Where were you?" She asked. "I looked for you everywhere. I need the Sith Thesaurus for a translation, and last time I checked, it was in your possession."

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing too dedicated Archivists and their obsessive-compulsive disorder. He knew perfectly well Madam Nu didn't need the karking thesaurus. She just couldn't tolerate knowing that one of her precious holobook wasn't in its proper place. He snapped. "Can it wait until tomorrow? I'm afraid I'm suffering from a terrible migraine."

Madam Nu gave him a sharp look, her eyebrow raised. Since his return through time, Obi-Wan had been careful to cultivate a persona far from his real character. Obi-Wan Kenobi was known in this timeline for being an awkward person with poor social skills, afflicted by random epileptic seizures, and who needed a calm and low-stress life. This mask allowed him to slip away often: rarely seen and interacting, rarely in the preoccupations of others.

"It's just…I'm counting on you tomorrow, then? Go and rest. You indeed look like hell." She waved her hand in dismissal.

Obi-Wan knew she was caring, in her cold, distant way. He was too tired to smile properly, placating a fixed grin while he thanked her, before parting ways.

Finally, Obi-Wan arrived in the echoey corridor leading to his humble abode. He sighed in relief when the door closed behind him. The familiar space he was inhabiting since he got the job at the Archives was enshrouded in darkness. Despite being equipped with a cooking unit in a corner, it was more of a chamber than an apartment. It aligned with his preferences: better to have no unchecked space in his immediate vicinity. Since the decades spent hiding and fleeing, he was partial to easily defendable shelters.

The room did not have an actual outside window, unlike the larger living quarters accommodating more eminent members of the Order. At most, a screen could simulate the landscape outside, but Obi-Wan needed the stillness. Plain, opaque walls agreed with him. The burn of the tight knot of stress and the adrenaline coursing in his veins lessened, heightening the dizziness. He would not last much longer, and needed to prepare for a healing trance. He couldn't even see himself summon sufficient energy to strip off his clothes and check his wound. He crashed on his narrow bed, enveloping himself in the blanket, and finally closed his eyes, letting the darkness swallow him.

]o[

Mace Windu was seated in his chair in the Council Chamber, and was massaging his temple. He was just beginning to recover from the severe migraine that had knocked him off his feet when the burst of the most significant shatterpoint he had ever experienced occurred. This event coincided with the assassination of Chancellor Palpatine, and while he wanted to believe that it would have a significant impact on the fate of the galaxy's inhabitants, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was something much more significant than just the loss of a prominent politician.

The High Council convened an emergency session for those who could make time, as many were absent due to the pressing circumstances. According to the initial reports from the security forces, the murderer of Palpatine was undoubtedly a Force user. They had no further information on the assassination itself, but they were able to view footage of the assassin fleeing and evading the soldiers who pursued them. Despite being visibly injured, the being displayed formidable skills and managed to disappear without a trace.

What the images showed pointed to an extremely worrying situation.

It was unclear who had injured the assassin despite their impressive abilities. There was speculation that they might be affiliated with the Separatists or another faction, but their agenda remained a mystery. What was particularly odd was that no terrorist group had claimed responsibility for the attack. The political ramifications of such a high-profile assassination would undoubtedly be significant, and any organization seeking leverage and reputation would not miss such an opportunity. However, it was still early, and only a few hours had passed since the event occurred. The night was still young, so it was possible that more information would emerge in the coming hours.

Mace had not yet had the opportunity to meditate on the full implications of the assassination of Chancellor Palpatine. However, he knew that its effects would be far-reaching and significant, impacting the galaxy in ways that were yet to be seen. The Force did not provide any specific answers, but the overall atmosphere had shifted dramatically, signaling that the balance of power had been disrupted in a significant way.

In the past few years, the Force had been shrouded in obscurity and felt murky, with a gradual change in its overall tone. The sudden tear in this insidious veil was revealing in itself, but Mace did not have any answers as to why this was happening. However, he couldn't help but feel that an oppressive lid had been suddenly lifted, and the Force had become considerably lighter since the shatterpoint occurred. Despite his reservations, Mace couldn't help but wonder why the death of the Supreme Chancellor was seemingly such good news to the Force. His thoughts were leading him down a dangerous path, and he wondered if there was more to Palpatine than the kind grandfather mask that he always flaunted.

"A Jedi matter, this situation is," said Yoda. The wrinkles on his face were more profound than usual, and conveyed the preoccupied mood everyone was feeling.

"We can't waste any time," said Kit Fisto, he said urgently. "We need to send specialists to the scene immediately and collect any clues we can find."

Shaak Ti replied, "Palpatine's office is currently sealed by order of his security detail," . "Commander Fox seems ready to work with us."

Windu nodded grimly. "We need to be assured that nobody will obstructing our investigation, and we have to begin now. The longer we delay, the more the traces we can collect will likely be disturbed and modified. This seems to be a complex affair, and we may be facing a massive conspiracy."

"Afford to wait, we can't." Yoda agreed.

Plo Koon spoke up. "The being didn't hurt anyone else besides Palpatine. We've seen the recording of the encounter with the Clone squad. It doesn't match what we know about dark side users."

"Our best specialists on the case, we need."

"I'll go, with Master Sinube," said Windu. "And perhaps Master Vos could join us, his talent with psychometry would undoubtedly be helpful. Master Tholme, could you contact him?"

"We also need to work with the Chancellor's security service," added Shaak Ti. "The Coruscant Guards are efficient and reliable, and Commander Fox could help coordinating the crisis center. We'll need to pool all the elements we have."

"We'll meet again in a few hours," said Windu. "The rest of us need to be ready for deployment if the assassin is sighted. But do not engage. We can't afford to lose more Jedi in these troubled times."

]o[

Commander Fox, grim-faced, had been waiting for them at the Senate's entrance hall, and had led them through the evacuated and secured corridors. Clones stood at attention outside the door, and moved aside when the Jedi team arrived. Mace tipped minutely his head in salute, and entered.

Palpatine's office looked like a battlefield. Lots of debris littered the rich carpeted floor. The monumental door was smashed in, and was only held together by a fragment of hinge. A pit ripped the floor open, and the transparisteel bay was gone entirely. Two clones were currently installing a tarp to block the yawning gap. Howling wind rumbled through the shattered room, stirring the dust and flapping the heavy hanging depicting events of ancient history. The furniture was turned over, broken, and sometimes clearly cut in two in what was distinctively lightsaber done. A smell of explosives permeated the air. Someone had installed spotlights in every corner of the room, and the harsh brightness left only a few deep shadows.

"We did our best not to modify anything in the scene." Fox handed them a datapad. "We have gathered the elements that seemed relevant to us, in the recordings, so that you can also study them with your eyes."

"Where is the Chancellor?" Mace asked while scanning the room.

"The body fell in the pit, and is currently two levels below. I have a team guarding the corpse. The Chancellor was beheaded. The first kinematic analysis indicates high probabilities that it had happened here." He designated a yellow mark on a large steel beam sticking out of the floor and hanging over the void.

Mace approached, his companions flanking him. He peered down in the darkened pit. Unclear movement and light caught his eyes, but he couldn't distinguish the details. He would have to go down later to inspect the body before its necessary removal.

Master Sinube thoughtfully hummed. He removed from his large robes a camera and set about taking pictures. Master Vos approached the wall decorated by the hanging and took off his gloves. He let his hands hover, not quite touching but more like soaking up the vibrations tinging the Force. "The Dark Side is powerful here."

Mace felt it too. It wasn't the superficial scent that a dark side technique might leave. The darkness's influence was more profound than that, as if it permeated the Senate palace walls. Like in a Sith temple. But how could this be? The Jedi were regular visitors of the Senate, and they would have felt the peculiar coldness they associated with the Dark. Yet, no one had ever reported the slightest feeling of unease.

Without actually touching, Master Vos approached his hand of the various elements of the room methodically to scan everything.

Mace was reviewing the multiple footage sequences provided by Commander Fox: those recorded before and after the event. No doubt there were numerous hours of recording to examine, but the Commander had made an interesting preselection.

Master Sinube was eyeing a mound of broken wood with a bewildered expression, splintered beyond what could be salvageable. "I don't know what happened here really, but I know it was violent, and I know it was not a one-sided battle. So, either there was a third party involved, either our good Chancellor was not who he appeared to be."

It was very close to Mace's own musings. The Force wasn't clear, but the clues they had gathered tended to indicate only two protagonists in this affair. The beings that fought here were very powerful, and their battle had left clear imprints in the Force.

Master Vos abruptly halted along the woodwork behind the desk's original position. He traced the contour of a bas-relief. "There is something here," he said while pushing the panel to reveal what appeared to be a safe door. He squinted to distinguish details. "Those lock dials… are those Sith characters?"

Mace peered above his shoulder and said: "I'm afraid so, my friend."

"It seems Palpatine had a lot to hide. Or someone tried very hard to frame him."

"I want our best analysts on the spot," said Mace. "Commander Fox, this affair falls definitively in Jedi jurisdiction. This safe must remain untouched. I'm sure trying to open it could be hazardous. Yet, speed is important, and we must organize a crisis center. Master Vos, could you fetch Madam Nu from the Archives? We need her input."

Vos groaned. "This late? She'll have my hide."

"Nonsense, this woman doesn't sleep. Even so, we don't have the luxury of waiting for the morning. This matter takes precedence."

Master Vos grumbled but complied, and left the office briskly.

Mace turned toward Fox. "Commander, could you lead us to Palpatine's corpse?"

The body had fallen two levels before crashing against the round table of a ruined conference room. The destruction of the ceiling had ruptured water canalizations, soaking everything. Someone had cut the alimentation, but they could hear the drip drip drip punctuating every second. The head had rolled to a corner, and rested in a puddle, the visage facing the wall.

Mace took a rapid look, releasing his disgust to the Force. A hideous grimace distorted the Chancellor's features. They were scarred and deformed, barely recognizable. Palpatine looked like he had suddenly aged several decades in one go.

"I'm not that much into politics but… is the Chancellor supposed to look like this?" Master Sinube whispered. "What could have caused such a drastic change in his appearance?"

Mace knelt down in the water, and carefully extended his hand toward the body-less head. He closed his eyes to feel the waves of the Force, tasting its flavor. He had the impression of plunging his hand into a stream of frigid water. He hissed: "He reeks of the dark side."

Master Sinube pressed a supporting hand on his shoulder. "I have trouble making peace with the idea, but everything seems to tell the same story. Maintaining the utmost prudence is paramount. Maybe we would need to keep…" Sinube paused, troubled. "...certain realities under folds. The Republic's stability may be at stake."

"We need to conduct a full inquiry on Chancellor Palpatine. Everything we can have on him. We'll probably need a warrant to search his personal quarters. Commander Fox, could you fill an urgent request to the Coruscant Prosecution Service?" asked Mace. "We have to move the body to the Temple for further examination. We need to be wary of the possibility of a Sith curse, and isolate the body in a containment chamber."

]o[

Obi-Wan woke up with a start. Someone was knocking hard on his door and saying his name urgently. He groaned and grimaced: his migraine had not subsided. He checked his timer: barely two hours had passed since his return, and his healing trance had only a minimal effect. At least the pain had receded a little, but his energy reserves were still dangerously low. He straightened up carefully, kept his left arm against his body, put on a large robe to partially conceal his condition, and walked to the entrance to open his door.

Madam Nu faced him, and Quilan Vos stood beside her. Obi-Wan stiffened. The shock felt like a jump of icy water thrown in his face. He checked his shield to keep him from leaking his turmoil to the Force. Quinlan Vos didn't know of him in this timeline. Obi-Wan had kept his distance, but in the unfolding of his many plans, he had meddled a little to keep Quinlan from disappearing.

After all, he had amassed considerable resources to support his machinations, and a non-negligible part was devoted to keeping certain key persons safe. Including Qui-Gong and Anakin. So Quinlan still haunted the corridors of the Temple, and it was the first time Obi-Wan really faced him since his return. Naturally, he was somewhat wary of Quinlan's psychometry. What information would he be able to pick if the Kiffar were too close to his Force Infusions? Or worse, of his Soul-Kyber?

"How can I help you, fellow Jedi? I reckon that you know of the ungodly hour?" Obi-Wan greeted.

"Kenobi, sorry to bother you, but this is a matter of galactic importance," Madam Nu said, looking apologetic. "The High Council is requesting your presence. I know of your ailment, but, unfortunately, you cannot rest."

Obi-Wan held his breath. Could the Jedi have uncovered his trail?

"We need your expertise in Sith language and artifacts," said Quinlan. "We came across a…worrying collection here on Coruscant."

Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh of relief, but he still couldn't see why it would be this urgent.

"How is that a matter of galactic importance?"

Silence fell for a few seconds, until Madam Nu elbowed Quilan's side. He said: "We need your help investigating Chancellor Palpatine's murder."

Obi-Wan blinked. "What?"