The Fall of the Jedi - 19 BBY
The quiet hum of the ancient Jedi Temple seemed to resonate with the deep stillness of the surrounding forest. Chaladdik, the towering Wookiee Temple Guard, had grown accustomed to this silence. It wasn't an emptiness, but a tranquility—a peace that allowed the Force to flow freely through the abandoned halls. The temple, hidden among the towering spires and dense foliage of Batuu, was a relic of the High Republic, a time when the Jedi's presence had been a beacon of hope in the galaxy.
But that beacon had dimmed long ago.
Chaladdik had been assigned to safeguard this forgotten place. Though the temple had been abandoned after a mysterious artifact brought from the Unknown Regions had caused an unspeakable calamity, the Jedi believed it still held significance. He maintained its sacred grounds, meditated within its quiet chambers, and ensured that its secrets remained hidden.
That evening, he had settled into the central chamber, a grand hall lined with carvings of ancient Jedi history. Sunlight streamed through broken windows, casting long shadows over the cracked tiles. Chaladdik sat cross-legged, his massive frame dwarfing the modest meditation cushion beneath him. The golden-yellow blade of his lightsaber rested unlit at his side, its presence a silent testament to his enduring connection to the Jedi Order.
It was during this meditation that the galaxy shifted.
The disturbance came suddenly, like a dagger to the chest. The Force, usually a steady current flowing through him, erupted into a storm. Chaladdik's dark eyes shot open, his chest heaving as the air seemed to thicken around him. The tranquility of the temple shattered, replaced by a cacophony of despair and pain that rippled through the Force.
A deep growl rumbled in his chest, reverberating through the chamber. His translation device, resting on a nearby pedestal, hummed to life.
"Something is wrong," it translated in his deep, resonant voice. "Terribly wrong."
He rose to his feet, his claws flexing as if to anchor himself against the whirlwind of emotion threatening to overtake him. His gaze turned to the holocomm device he kept in the temple's archives—a relic from his days of service, now rarely used. With shaking hands, he activated it.
The flickering blue image of Lioran Kel, his former Padawan, appeared. Lioran's face was pale, his dark hair damp with sweat, and his robes were disheveled as though he had been running. Behind him, the faint sounds of blaster fire and screams cut through the static.
"Master Chaladdik!" Lioran's voice was frantic, strained with urgency. "The temple—Coruscant—it's under attack. The clones… they've turned on us."
Chaladdik's growl deepened, his claws tightening around the edge of the holocomm. He could feel Lioran's terror through the Force, a sharp edge to the already overwhelming storm.
"I've deleted all records of the Batuu Temple from the archives," Lioran continued, his voice faltering. "No one will know it exists. It's safe. But you… you must stay hidden. The Order is…"
The transmission crackled as Lioran dropped the holoprojector. Chaladdik's breath caught as the image shifted, showing the silhouettes of clone troopers raising their weapons. The faint hum of Lioran's lightsaber igniting was drowned out by the deafening sound of blaster fire.
"Lioran!" Chaladdik roared, the anguish in his voice shaking the walls of the temple.
The message ended abruptly, leaving only static. Chaladdik's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching the holoprojector to his chest. His heart ached as he replayed Lioran's final moments in his mind, the betrayal, the loss. His Padawan, his friend—gone.
The Force surged around him, a maelstrom of grief and fury that mirrored his own turmoil. Lights flickered, and the air in the chamber grew heavy. Dust swirled from the ancient carvings, as if the temple itself were mourning the fall of the Jedi.
Chaladdik roared again, a primal sound that echoed through the surrounding forest. His anguish rippled outward, drawing the attention of the nearby settlement.
The villagers of Arorua's Reach, a small group of settlers who had long shared an unspoken bond with the Wookiee guardian, rushed toward the temple. They arrived cautiously, their steps hesitant as they entered the grand hall. There, they found Chaladdik kneeling in the center, his golden-yellow lightsaber ignited and humming softly in the dim light. The blade cast long, flickering shadows on the cracked walls.
Raal, a young human barely of age, stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Chaladdik," he called softly, his voice steady despite the unease in the room. "What's happened? Are you hurt?"
The Wookiee turned to them, his massive frame trembling with restrained emotion. His growls, deep and sorrowful, filled the room. The translation device hummed, translating his words with a calm monotone that belied the grief in his voice.
"The Jedi are gone. Betrayed. The galaxy is shrouded in darkness."
Raal exchanged a glance with the others. They didn't fully understand the implications of Chaladdik's words, but they didn't need to. The anguish in his voice, the sorrow in his eyes—it was enough.
"Whatever's happened," Raal said, stepping closer, "you'll always have a home with us. We don't know what's going on out there, but you've always been here for us. We'll do the same for you."
The others murmured their agreement, nodding as they surrounded Chaladdik. An Ithorian woman named Pell placed a comforting hand on his arm. Chaladdik looked at them, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. Their support, their unwavering kindness, was a small light in the overwhelming darkness. Slowly, he extinguished his lightsaber, the golden blade retracting into its hilt with a soft hiss.
"Thank you," his device translated as he bowed his head. "Your kindness is a beacon in the darkness."
