This story came to me when I was writing an assignment and in the end I just couldn't let it go, I have published on here in a long time and I'm trying to find my footing around the site again so I can only apologise if the document uploading isn't very good, I hope you enjoy and can leave me a review.

Like every Jedi before her, Artora carried the weight of Order 66's memory, a shadow cast

across the history of the Jedi. At fifteen, she had been a Padawan of remarkable promise,

studying under the esteemed Master Windu - the highest Master in the Jedi Order. Artora's

aptitude for the Jedi teachings was evident from an early age. The Clone Wars had been a

crucible; exposing her to the brutality of war.

In the hallowed silence of the Jedi Archives, a young Artora delved into the annals of the

Order - a task bestowed upon her by Master Yoda during Master Windu's absence. The

ancient texts whispered secrets of valour and wisdom. She clung to these tales - seeking

solace from the savagery she had witnessed mere days prior. The politics of the galaxy

weighed heavily on her young shoulders, prompting Master Windu to grant her respite

within the serene walls of the Jedi Temple's Library. There, amidst the towering shelves and

sacred Holocrons, she found her haven.

Master Windu's parting words lingered in her mind - a dark revelation about Chancellor

Palpatine and a confrontation that awaited. His assurances did little to quell the storm of

apprehension stirring within her. As hours ticked by her unease grew. She fought against

the tide of worry, mindful of its perilous path. In the library's embrace she sought refuge in

knowledge - allowing the wisdom of ages to anchor her in the storm.

Artora lingered in the embrace of a secluded alcove, her gaze adrift through the pane that

crowned the library's lofty heights. The sky of Coruscant, draped in twilight's tender hues,

blushed with a pink serenity—a delicate breath of colour yielding to night's advance.

Beneath her, the urban expanse unfurled—a mosaic of luminance and shade. It may have

lacked the majesty of far-flung celestial vistas, but it thrummed with the intimate cadence

of home.

A subtle stir in her periphery snagged her attention, capturing her gaze. Striding toward the

temple was a tableau both familiar and unsettling. Anakin Skywalker, the 'Chosen One',

trailed by a phalanx of Clone Troopers, ascended the steps. Yet, with each step, a

disquieting symphony of wrongness played its notes. His visage, shrouded by a hood,

betrayed his usual bravado. Skywalker's gait was a discordant rhythm to the clones' martial

cadence and it whispered secrets she wasn't sure she wished to hear.

The clones, ever the stoic guardians, now marched with blasters at the ready, a stark

contrast to what she had grown accustomed to on Coruscant. A sense of foreboding crept

upon her, a silent alarm that rang through the fog of exhaustion. Hours spent in

communion with ancient texts had left her mind weary, her body petrified in scholarly

repose. Yet, she could not tear her eyes away from the procession below; even as she

coaxed life back into her stiffened muscles. A loud pop echoed through the chamber as

Artora stretched, the sound was a stark reminder of the day's long vigil but the urgency to

find her Master spurred her into motion. The once comforting rhythm of reading had soured

into monotony, and her spirit grew restless for news of his return.

With a final lingering gaze out the window, she rose, gathering her sparse belongings with

mechanical motions. Yet, her attention was inexorably drawn back to the scene unfolding

below. The Clone troopers, a familiar sight on the temple steps, now marched with an

unsettling purpose. Her intuition screamed that something was amiss. Anakin, the hero

without peer, bypassed his customary greetings. The Clones, once relaxed, now bore a

readiness in their stance that spoke of an impending storm.

Artora's heart quickened, a drumbeat of alarm resonating within her chest. Anakin's stride

carried an omen, and the Clones' hands on their blasters were not just precautionary - they

were poised for action. As Anakin disappeared beneath the window sill into the temple's

maw, a shiver of foreboding ran down Artora's spine. Something was terribly wrong.

Time stretched into an endless corridor, each second was a lingering echo in the void as

Artora bore witness to the last vestiges of peace the Jedi Order would know. She would soon

learn of the inaugural death caused by Order 66. The unsuspecting Jedi, stepping out of the

temple, was blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind him. Abruptly, the Clone

nearest to him hoisted his blaster, a harbinger of doom, and unleashed a bolt of betrayal.

The Jedi tumbled, a marionette severed from its strings. Neighbouring onlookers at the

temple windows pivoted their heads, lured by the siren call of blaster fire. A kaleidoscope of

unnamed emotions surged through Artora, forbidden sentiments that her training had

sought to extinguish. It was as if the Force itself had inhaled deeply, only to exhale in

jagged, shallow gasps.

In the hushed sanctum of the library, the sudden turmoil shattered the silence. Younglings,

their emotions unbridled by the rigours of Jedi discipline, erupted in cries and screams. The

day's reprieve from lessons had left them unprepared for such turmoil. Meanwhile,

seasoned Jedi stood amidst the chaos with their composure unfazed. Betrayal, a rarity within

their ranks, now loomed as an unfamiliar spectre, leaving many confounded. Only the

sagacious elders, versed in the complexities of the Force, grasped the gravity of the betrayal

that had unfurled. Master Windu's foreboding words about Chancellor Palpatine echoed in

Artora's mind. Could the Chancellor, cloaked in the guise of a benevolent leader, be

orchestrating this chaos? Was he the Sith Lord, a serpent lurking in the garden of the

Republic?

As the realisation dawned, she found herself adrift in contemplation when action was

imperative. The cacophony of terrified younglings swirled around her, as a compassionate

Jedi shepherd guided them to sanctuary. Meanwhile, the older Padawans, their senses

tingling with the sting of betrayal, sprang into motion like leaves caught in a tempest. Their

Lightsabers, a vibrant tapestry of blues, greens, and yellows, sliced through the dusty

shrouded atrium below, painting streaks of hope amidst despair.

The distant rattle of blaster fire crept closer, a sinister drumbeat threatening the library's

sanctity. Yet, Madam Jocasta Nu stood as an island in the storm, her calm contrasting with

the frenzy. The seasoned Jedi, too, remained statuesque, their sabres dormant by their

sides. In their wisdom, they seemed to believe the maelstrom would pass, that the need for

their blades would dissolve like shadows at dawn. But the question lingered in the air: Would

their pacific stance weather the brewing tempest, or was it the calm before the storm?

As the blaster fire grew louder, Madam Jocasta Nu's eyes flickered with a spark of

determination. The seasoned librarian knew the library's secrets better than anyone,

including the hidden passages that wove through the ancient walls like veins. With a swift,

decisive motion, she activated a concealed panel behind a towering bookshelf. The wall slid

open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor.

"Follow this path," she commanded, her voice steady and resolute. "It will lead you to

safety." The older Jedi and a few masters who had been taking a sabbatical in the confines

of the vast halls stayed put and ushered their young Padawans along. Till only Artora stood,

she was not disillusioned to the peril; it wasn't like she wanted to stay and fight. Quite the

opposite—all her senses were screaming at her to go and find her master.

The librarian was staring at her now, it wasn't a disapproving stare, more like a knowing

one. The older woman was wise and to her, it seemed like all-knowing.

"Madam Jocasta, I need to find Master Windu," Artora said, her voice trembling with urgency.

"Do you know where he might be?"

Jocasta Nu's expression softened. "Artora, Master Windu is likely in the Council Chambers,

but the path there is perilous. However, there is another way." She pointed deeper into the

tunnel. "Follow this corridor until you reach the third junction. Turn left, and you will find a

hidden staircase. It will lead you to the upper levels, closer to the Council Chambers."

Artora nodded, her resolve strengthening. "Thank you, Madam Jocasta. May the Force be

with you."

"And with you, young one," Jocasta Nu replied, her voice filled with both hope and sorrow.

"Now go, and may you find your master".

With a final glance at the librarian, Artora sprinted down the corridor, her heart pounding

with a mix of fear and determination. She knew the journey ahead would be fraught with

danger, but the thought of finding Master Windu gave her the strength to press on.