Quinlan eyed his cup of caf, wishing belatedly for something stronger. He couldn't take this endless day anymore, but sleep still eluded him: he was far too unsettled for that. From what he had understood and analyzed with his rather confused mind, Obi-Wan was, to put it simply, a time-traveler.

"So, you have a whole new set of memories. That doesn't belong to you. And they are from the future?" Tholme asked, his eyes shining as if he were still an impressionable young man. "That's a wonderful material for an exciting story, padawan!"

Yes. A time-traveler, like in holodramas—provided you could call an entire consciousness being sent to the past to speak with its younger counterpart 'time-traveling'.

"A kind of future, at least. I certainly hope it won't be ours." Quinlan sighed and massaged his forehead, to distract himself from the headache that hadn't left him since his encounter with the strange kyber. "I know it sounds outlandish, and I haven't really had time to examine it all—the mind healer will help me with that—but it's far too coherent, far too vast, to be anything else."

Tholme emitted a non-committal sound. His old Master had been, for now, rather open to his explanations, even if Quinlan struggled to organize them to make them easier to understand.

Quinlan had caught a glint of interest in the elder Shadow's eye, while never feeling that his words were being doubted. And Tera had taken extensive notes—Quinlan hoped this would help him with his investigation.

Sharing his experience brought him relief and, he had to say, comfort. It also helped him to make sense of things, because he had to admit that he himself was no longer sure of what to believe. Quinlan was also glad to enjoy his Master's all-too-rare presence, in this specific place. It reminded him of the good old days, when they had shared a home and missions together.

But the peace that reigned here seemed oddly fragile. An undercurrent of tension existed behind this appearance of quietude. Quinlan wasn't sure whether this lingering tension resulted from his encounter with the Soul-Kyber and the upheaval it had induced in him, or whether it was there for some other reason altogether.

"I have to say, it's an interesting tale," Tera said. "…and oddly coherent considering what we know about this man. Do you have any other information about what Kenobi has been up to now?"

"I don't know yet, it's all quite a mess in my head right now. But from what we covered with the mind healer, those extra memories deal with the life of this other Obi-Wan." Quinlan took the time to think about it. Even the barest of attention focused on a memory caused the scenes to unfold, unsolicited. It was rather invasive, and it would surely take time and discipline to control it all. There were also random bits of knowledge, not associated with any particular memory. "It seems I have only what was actually encoded in that Kyber."

"Only?"

"Ah yes," Quinlan chuckled. "Only two centuries worth of memory."

As he said it aloud, Quinlan felt a slight sense of vertigo take hold of him. That was about how long the man had lived before he was able to project his consciousness into the past.

"That's a fairly long life for a human," said Tera, noting this rather odd piece of information.

Quinlan nodded. The memories towards the end of old Kenobi's life were rather confused, with many parts missing. A lot of time and many meditation sessions would probably be needed to make sense of them. "There are gray areas in this story, and it bothers me that my mind is involved."

Thoughtful, Tholme took a sip of his caf, and said: "Yes, it's rather concerning. Your mind is precious, padawan. While I believe you have the experience to defend yourself in this respect, I hope you will call on the Mind healer if necessary." Tholme laid a comforting hand on Quinlan's shoulder. "He's a man I'd like to meet, this Kenobi. He sounds like a rather interesting person. With a lot of stories to share. But I really hope it won't cause you any more trouble, my young friend."

"I could have done without this kind of event, Master." Quinlan still felt a lingering queasiness about the whole deal, but the previous hours had helped him to see things with a bit of hindsight. Obi-Wan had come from such a terrible time that he had no choice but to do whatever it took to avoid the tragedies ahead.

Apparently, Quinlan himself had played a significant role in Obi-Wan's first life. They had been friends for decades. More than friends, even. Family.

In his current psychic disarray, Quinlan was having trouble sorting out what he had perceived of this alternate version of himself. Still, he felt it would be easy to integrate these strange recollections as having a place within his genuine memory.

Quinlan was the type to take things as they came, and this flexibility had always been invaluable in adapting to the unexpected. His gift of psychometry predisposed him to integrate feelings and memories that weren't his to begin with.

Of course, Quinlan never had to absorb so many elements at once.

Oh well.

He would deal with it—with time and effort. And keeping close to Obi-Wan, even if it annoyed the Archivist.

Kenobi had well deserved the annoyance.

Thinking actively of Obi-Wan made the shields on the Force Bond more porous, allowing Quinlan to sense Obi-Wan's thoughts and feelings. Because of that, he perceived the sudden dread and agitation that arose in the Archivist's mind.

And it coincided with the sharpening of the feeling of unrest he perceived in the Force since earlier.

Urging him to act now.

Tholme and Tera must have sensed it too, because they stood up simultaneously, alertness transforming their entire demeanor.

What's going on? Quinlan sent the question through the link, but Obi-Wan seemed focused on a clone-related matter and didn't bother to answer.

"Something's going on," Tholme said, extracting his frame from the armchair to reach the monitoring console. He opened the communication channels and leaned over to examine closely the surveillance screens in and around the Temple.

There was no sign of commotion.

And yet, the Force continued to cry out in their minds. Quinlan checked frantically with Tera and his mentor for any sign that something was amiss. Flashes of light drew them to a particular group of monitors. These were oriented towards the space territory of Coruscant and there, they displayed the full extent of the impending disaster.

Thousands of warships had just emerged from hyperspace, and within a second of their emergence, they were already dropping warheads toward the planet, effectively taking its defenses by surprise.

"By the Force," Tera breathed. Tholme swore. Quinlan stayed silent, stunned. Everyone had been taken by surprise.

It would take several minutes, if not dozens of minutes, to mount an effective defense against such an attack. They weren't ready.

The Jedi would probably have to take the lead, given the state of the Republic's political organization. But this was no time for political reflection. They couldn't waste precious time on pointless discussions. "We need to recall all Shadows available and stand ready to act," Quinlan said. He squinted. "It's the CIS army."

Tholme nodded and said, grimly, "We'll probably have to face Dark Force users. I'll stay here to coordinate positions. Maybe you could join your friend. If what you said is true, he knows things that will be of great use, and I think it's wiser not to leave him alone in the coming confrontation." Tholme cast a circular eye over their headquarters. "We're well equipped to coordinate our actions here. I'll get in touch with Mace. You do what you have to do."

Adrenaline surges shedding exhaustion for sharpened focus, Quinlan tugged on his boots, whilst checking both his lightsaber and comm. The Force Bond was deep enough to give a general sense of direction to lead him to Kenobi.

"May the Force be with you, Masters." They would soon need whatever help they could get.

"And with you, Quinlan. Be careful."

Quinlan set off.

It would be a long night before morning.

]o[

The water-slicked ground reflected the flashes of light that burst like fireworks overhead. Mace and Depa stood on the large delivery bay that housed the transit ships, conveniently positioned one level below the Temple, yet still close to the barracks and supply warehouses.

Wherever Mace looked, there was bustle. But it was organized, and he could feel the purpose and grim resolve permeating the atmosphere. Everyone present knew what they had to do, and knew they might meet their end sooner than later.

If they were lucky enough to get out of this dreadful situation, things would never be the same. Mace knew that he himself would not remain unscathed. The balance was already lost, and the Jedi ancient way of living would change. Precious things would be destroyed. Precious people would die. And Mace would have given anything to avoid this. But it was too late.

The cost of their blindness was going to be devastating.

"May the Force be with you, Depa." Mace wouldn't say anything else. A "be careful," or a "Come back to us alive," would sound far too hollow.

The Force was screaming in his ears, and he still had a violent headache from the shatterpoint that had exploded when the enemy fleet had begun bombarding Coruscant.

"May the Force be with us all, Master." Depa said, with a sad smile, which barely relaxed the worried lines on her lovely face. Yet, her frank, direct gaze conveyed the determination that animated her. She held him close to her heart one last time. "I must go, Master. We all have a role to play, and we can't afford to be late with destiny. Take care of Ahsoka and Anakin."

The outcome of the battle was more than uncertain, and, short of a miracle, they were only supposed to buy time for the more fragile to evacuate. And it devastated him to send Jedi into battle, knowing perfectly well that very few of them would return alive.

But the Jedi had to hold the line, whatever the cost, for as long as possible.

Sirens still wailed in the night, while Coruscant's atmosphere vibrated with the panic of its inhabitants. Myriads of civilian ships had risen in the night, seeking to evacuate the planet, as the enemy fleet had not yet had the time to impose a blockade.

The Republic would fight to keep a way of evacuation open, so that those who could flee could do so.

For the others, Mace hoped the enemy would show leniency. This was perhaps conceivable for civilians: after all, a rich planet, worth being conquered, had to continue to function thanks to its workforce.

But this would probably not be the case for the Jedi. Being captured by the Sith was probably a fate worse than death.

"Farewell, Depa." You've always been my precious padawan, and my heart bleeds to send you up there.

"Farewell Master." Depa kissed his hand, and, with a last smile, started running along with her men to gain her flagship. She replied, with her inner voice: Duty above all, Master. Save what can still be saved.

Depa's shuttle took off quickly, and Mace allowed himself the ultimate indulgence of taking a few seconds to follow it with his eyes. When the shuttle was too small to be distinguished from the myriad of other small dots racing above, he bared his teeth and turned, gaining the elevator that would take him to the Tactical Coordination room.

This would be the first time they'd used it in decades, and Mace wished that this room had remained unused for centuries to come. But reality was knocking at their door, and they couldn't ignore it.

]o[

Bant, her mind numb after so many hours of concentration, sighed as she applied the bacta patch to the Clone she had just finished treating. She'd lost count of the number of men she had treated, and wouldn't take the time to consult medical records to find out.

In the distance, beyond the familiar sounds of the infirmary, she could hear the planetary alarms that had been bellowing continuously since the attack began. Ever the professional, Bant's focus didn't waver until the end of the surgery but she couldn't help to feel the dread that steadily mounted in her heart. It was only the beginning of the night, but things were about to get worse.

Much, much worse.

It wouldn't be long before she'd have to perform a completely different surgery. The kind that was performed on the battlefield, and which most often consisted of sorting out the patients who had a chance of making it, and the others.

She really didn't want to go through that.

Vokara was already organizing the Halls of Healing in anticipation, and clearing the main hall to set up row upon row of cots to accommodate the wounded.

Bant took a shuddering breath. They were all exhausted from the race against time they'd started a few hours ago, to dechip as many soldiers as possible as quickly as possible. But they'd been caught short, frantic preparations made far too late, now a weakness, making no difference in the battle ahead.

But foremost, a healer had to integrate the unexpected into their way of working. They had to take the reality in stride. Their energy was too precious.

Bant could feel the fatigue building slowly in the back of her mind, like a rising tide that would be impossible to stop. But she had experience. She knew how to put her needs aside and prioritize what was important. And, right now, her duty came first.

]o[

Coruscant was under attack.

The heart of the Republic, the very entity Fox was supposed to protect with his life. That's what he'd been born to do—at least, that's what he'd always believed until recently.

Fox wasn't ready.

His men weren't ready.

The planetary alerts went off.

Their terrible wail, which no one could ignore, rose into the night. With blunt clarity, Fox knew many of his brothers would not survive in the hours to come. They had only a fraction of their army at their disposal, and had been taken completely by surprise.

Distant explosions echoed like thunderstorms, while the automated defenses met the first strikes, which combined energy blasts and concussive force. The heat of the moment would overtake them before the night was over, and Fox felt his heartbeat rising along with the tingling in the extremities caused by adrenaline.

There was no time to lose.

Fox's comm beeped on the emergency channel, as did those of all the soldiers in the room. They were called upon to mobilize.

Closing his eyes, fighting the pain and fatigue induced by the brain surgery he'd gone through a few hours earlier, Fox felt his resolve solidifying. But first, he had to deal with the situation at hand, and quickly.

Kenobi was still holding his target down, his grip unyielding, despite Fox's blaster still pointed at his head. The Jedi archivist was disheveled, and deep dark circles marked his eyes. Despite his obvious fatigue, he looked furious.

Dangerous.

"I will not let this man go back to his master. So either you deal with him or I will, but I will not show mercy."

The man was indeed Jango Fett. He was older, and lighter-built than the Clones. And he clearly didn't care what his choices meant for his offspring. Fox did not mask the disgusted grimace that twisted his mouth, while lowering his weapon. Kenobi seemed like a reasonable man, despite his obvious anger. "This is a matter that concerns the Clones. It's up to us to decide what to do with him." Although he really didn't want to worry about that now. And, anyway, he didn't have time for that.

"I hear you, but you need to settle on a decision quickly. Fett is Dooku's agent. His presence here is necessarily linked to the attack."

Fett took advantage of this moment to say, in a voice slightly distorted by the pressure on his throat: "I've already transmitted everything I was paid to find, Jedi. It doesn't matter now." Fett took a labored breath. "Let me go, and I promise I will be out of your hair right now."

"It's too late to ask for mercy, asshole. There's no way you walk away without answering for your actions."

Fett grimaced. "I'll tell you everything I know about Dooku." And, in a softer voice, he added: "Please. I have a son. I don't want anything bad to happen to him."

Kenobi's eyes widened slightly in surprise, like it was crucial information. "Boba," he said, tone distant.

And Fox could see what was unmistakably fear in Fett's gaze, for the first time since he'd been under Kenobi's power. "How do you know that name?"

Fox was missing some context, which made the situation even more confusing. Time was running out, and he could sense his brothers, who had spent the last few days lounging at the Temple, preparing with a nervous energy for battle. He, too, was in the rush for action, and the explosions they could all perceive heightened the sense of urgency.

His duty demanded action now, and he had neither the time nor the energy to worry about Fett. Fox sighed, "I'll leave that to you, Kenobi. If we get the chance, we'll consider his fate, after the battle."

If they survived, of course.

His comm had continued beeping continuously, updating his orders, which, as he could see at a glance, were contradicting each other. He frowned. The orders were issued by Tarkin, the senior official in charge of CorSec. And, sadly, CorSec was doing little better than politicians regarding the way they dealt with his brothers.

Given the current situation, it would be a miracle if the politicians could agree quickly enough to set up a chain of command that would hold together.

"Kenobi, I'm sorry but we're going to have to part ways," Fox said, making no effort to mask his displeasure. He would have preferred to fight alongside the Jedi–at least they showed basic respect. "Take care of your prisoner."

Fox handed his regulation handcuffs to the Jedi, who, in one fluid movement, turned the bounty hunter over to bind his hands behind his back. Kenobi then stood and helped Fett get back to his feet.

"Commander, one moment before you go. I have important information to give you." The Jedi said, and Fox knew immediately what Kenobi was going to tell him, and he hated knowing that he'd probably get to use that information too soon.

]o[

Watching the last Clones vacating the room, Obi-Wan clenched his fists. He felt dizzy after the brutal physical exertion following his forced bed rest. But his physical state mattered little. Obi-Wan had waited too long, and now was not the time for passivity and discretion. He turned to the bounty hunter.

"What would you be willing to do to ensure Boba's safety?"

Fett didn't answer for a few seconds, clearly fighting an internal battle. Obi-Wan could make out, beneath his closed expression, real fatigue, and perhaps a genuine desire to end it all. His face then expressed defeat. "I can help you take down Dooku. I have codes that allow access to his ship."

Obi-Wan let an unkind smile uncover his teeth. "Ah. Now that sounds interesting."

Madam Nu chose this moment to enter the room, disheveled. She must have waited outside for the Clones to leave. "What's going on here?" Her supple movements and alert mien were noticeably shaken in deference to her advanced age.

"We caught a spy," Obi-Wan said wryly, placing an assured hand on Fett's shoulder, and updated her on what had just happened. Fett had adopted the bored expression of someone who didn't feel concerned by the situation. But Obi-Wan could perceive that it was only an act by the few subtle signs he had obviously passed on to his offspring. He recognized the way Cody liked to sulk: only those who knew him well could see when he wasn't okay with the situation.

"The hour is grave, Obi-Wan." Madam Nu said. Her face had lost the attentive gentleness of the last few hours, replaced by exhaustion and worry. "We need to get in touch with the Council now," she said while putting a hand on his arm, as if looking for support to stabilize herself under the burden of each of her long years of existence. She looked at Fett and raised an eyebrow, probably wondering about his uncanny resemblance to the Clones. Obi-Wan kept a part of his attention on the bounty hunter, ready to act if the man expressed the desire to escape. He had plans for him. But first, Obi-Wan had to make sure he had something to negotiate with Dooku.

Obi-Wan knew why the Sith Lord had come all the way to Coruscant. Beyond the fact that it was a sound strategy–for he had struck at the heart of the Republic at a moment of vulnerability–Dooku had come to secure an even greater power.

He had come to recover Exegol's Wayfinder, and thus gain access to the Stellar Forge.

So, like Sidious in his time, nothing and no one in the galaxy could hope to oppose Dooku, if he were to get his hands on this weapon. That cursed planet had the facilities to create an entire fleet out of thin air, at a rate no other shipyard in the galaxy could possibly match. Sidious had effectively squashed any form of rebellion with his endless army. He had used cloned soldiers, and later, monstrous creatures to man them. No way to cut supply lines, no way to stir up rebellion between the imperial ranks. The resistance had finally died a slow death of despair, as Sidious ensured himself a more and more unchallenged power.

And Obi-Wan hadn't gone through all that effort and sacrifice to get to this point with another Sith. All his life; he had believed that Sidious was the endgame, and that by eliminating him, things would be easier. But he had never imagined that his actions would bring about this catastrophe.

It was time to play a different tune.

Placing his hand on Jocasta's to take it and nestle it between his two clasped hands, he begged, "Jocasta. I need the artifact. Now." He took a deep breath. "We can't leave it here. Dooku will come, and he'll destroy everything in his path to get it."

She shook her head, looking towards the windows, before sighing, "Perhaps you should have told us more." Outward, flashes of light testified to the ferocity of the early fighting. "Yet, how could we have suspected it could have gone this far? I find it hard to believe what's happening, and yet I'm a direct witness to it."

"It's my fault. I did everything I could to avoid this, and I failed. But I must correct my mistakes, and to do that, I need the key. Will you entrust it to me?" It was urgent that he finally get his act together.

"Why must you always insist on doing everything on your own, Obi-Wan? Isn't it time we finally worked together to find a solution? And don't think you're responsible for what's happening, because I wouldn't believe a word of it."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me," she said, with a glint of challenge in her eye. "Of course I can't understand, if you don't tell us anything."

"I…" He trailed off.

How could he?

How could he explain the fucked up situation that was his life since his early adolescence? And would it change anything to be finally transparent about the reasons that had brought him to this point? The Jedi had chosen to believe in him, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but they really knew little. How could he justify all the decisions he had made, which had required him to make impossible choices? How could he justify the deaths of those he had let die? And the death of those he had killed preemptively, when they hadn't yet done anything wrong in this timeline?

For the greater good, Old Ben whispered. Obi-Wan closed his eyes tightly for a second. Did it still make sense?

But Obi-Wan couldn't back down now. If he didn't want all these sacrifices to have been in vain, he couldn't falter and have second thoughts.

Jocasta joined her other hand to their linked hands. Her fingers were icy. "The war wasn't supposed to come this far." She whispered. "We hoped for a quick resolution. After all, what were a few rebel worlds on the outer rim worth against the might of the Core worlds?" Jocasta shook her head. "Fools. We were fools, and contemptuous to boot. I'm tempted to blame the Sith Lord for devising this horrible plan, but he didn't force us to behave as we did. We were too avid to seize the promise of peace and stability. We lacked courage when we should have reformed the Order. And, of course, you had nothing to do with that."

It was indeed the mindset that had been the Republic's and the Jedi's at the start of the war. It had lulled them into believing it would be just a minor war, a matter of a few months, to put the Separatists back on the right track.

The years spent fighting had deprived citizens and Jedi alike of the hindsight to realize that it was all folly. The Order had fallen into the trap of protecting institutions that had long since deviated from the values they were supposed to defend. A minor war, to protect the interests of the powerful in power.

Their blindness had cost them dearly.

But not again. Obi-Wan still had cards to play, and he hoped all was not lost. He turned to Fett, who was following the conversation with a calculating gleam in his eye.

Ha.

If the bounty hunter had the chance, he'd probably find a way to monetize the content of their exchanges. But Obi-Wan no longer had the luxury of going forward masked. It was time to lay his cards on the table.

"Maybe. But I know I can still change things, and unfortunately, I don't have the time to ask the Council's opinion before acting. I need that artifact, now." He took a deep breath and looked her squarely in the eye. "Don't make me force you, Jocasta." You can't back out now, Obi-Wan. He furrowed his brow. "Please."

Jocasta didn't answer immediately, holding his gaze. In her eyes, Obi-Wan couldn't help but read questions, disappointment, and hurt. She said, desolate, "How did it come to this?"