A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…
Star Wars
Episode VII
Legacy of the force
The gleaming spires of Coruscant, once symbols of galactic unity and hope, were now stained a menacing crimson. The crimson dawn, a shadowy organization of immense power, had seized control of the city-planet, their forces forming an impenetrable blockade around the core world of the New Republic.
With the galaxy effectively cut off from its heart, desperation began to set in. Yet, amidst the growing fear, a beacon of hope remained: the Jedi Order. Called upon not to fight, but to negotiate, two peacekeepers were tasked with a seemingly impossible mission – to find a path to compromise with the ruthless Crimson Dawn and potentially reclaim the Republic's capital without bloodshed.
The fate of the galaxy hung in the balance, resting on the outcome of these delicate talks.
Act 1.
The Crimson Dawn space station, a colossal metallic leviathan, loomed against the star-strewn void. Its immense docking bay gaped open like the maw of some prehistoric predator, a chilling invitation granted with unnerving ease. Instead of a grand fleet, a single, silver arrowhead of a starfighter sliced through the inky blackness. This was no ordinary arrival; it was a subtle intrusion, the ship's sleek frame a stark contrast to the station's brutalist architecture. It touched down within the cavernous bay with a soft, pressurized hiss, the sound swallowed by the heavy, stale air – a reek of recycled breath and mechanical oil that spoke volumes of the station's oppressive environment.
Two figures, enveloped in heavy, dark cloaks and concealing hoods, emerged from the ship. Their presence was almost spectral, their steps measured and silent as they were guided by a pair of gaunt, hollow-eyed slaves. These unfortunate souls moved with a weary resignation, their heads bowed, their faces etched with the grim reality of their servitude - faces that told tales of unyielding labor and stolen freedom. The slaves led the cloaked figures through sterile, echoing corridors. A constant, low hum of machinery vibrated in the walls, a subtle yet ever-present reminder of the station's cold, mechanical heart. Finally, they reached a large, austere conference room, the blast doors of which were constructed of heavy durasteel. With a drawn-out hiss, the doors slid open, revealing the full scope of the room and its formidable occupants.
Here, the two figures finally shed their disguises, their true identities now clear. They were Jedi, but not the composed, serene guardians of legend. One was Kira Solo, a young woman of nineteen years, her face alight with a fierce and unwavering determination that belied her youth. Her brown hair was swept back into a practical braid, emphasizing the angularity of her jaw and her piercing gaze.
The other was Skyler Solo, a man of similar age, his dark hair and sharply angled features hinting at some inner conflict, a roiling storm beneath the surface. Both carried the weight of their Jedi heritage, but it was worn with a raw, youthful energy – a defiance that was both admirable and perhaps reckless.
Their entrance was met by a palpable wave of malevolent power. Darth Maul, the scarred and fearsome leader of Crimson Dawn, sat at the head of the long, obsidian table. His presence exuded a low, barely contained hum of dark energy. His yellow eyes, burning with a chilling scrutiny, seemed to penetrate their very souls. Beside him stood his sister and apprentice, Darth Talon, a crimson-skinned Twi'lek with an almost predatory grace. Her double-bladed red lightsaber rested casually on the table, its crimson glow casting a menacing, shifting light that seemed to writhe like a living thing. Kira felt a chill run down her spine at their dark presence, a feeling of being hunted in their eyes.
Kira stepped forward, her voice clear and sharp, cutting through the thick tension that filled the room. "Crimson Dawn," she began, her eyes locked on Maul, "I know your game. You seek to resurrect the Empire, bring back the chains of slavery and control. The galaxy deserves the freedom to decide its own fate." Her words echoed through the room, filled with the conviction of one who had witnessed the brutal realities of oppression and the price of liberty. It was a challenge, a declaration of war on everything Maul stood for.
Maul leaned forward, a cruel smile stretching across his scarred lips, making his face even more sinister. His voice, a rasping growl that vibrated with dark authority, resonated with a chilling intent.
"Freedom? That's a fool's promise, little Jedi. Your so-called freedom has left families broken, worlds ravaged by criminals. It is chaos." He leaned further forward to emphasize his point. "The Empire, for all its faults, provided order, shielding its citizens from the crossfire of a lawless galaxy. I did what those so-called heroes couldn't. I restored order by controlling the chaos. This is why I was successful in taking the crime syndicates under my control. The people sought a strong hand, a chosen one, to protect them." With each word he reinforced his conviction, a twisted justification for his tyranny.
Kira felt a surge of frustrated anger coursing through her veins. His words were a perversion of justice, a justification of his crimes against the galaxy. Her Jedi morality raged at his twisted logic, his willingness to enslave in the name of order. But to her utter bewilderment, Skyler stood silent, his gaze fixed on Maul with a strange, conflicted intensity, a flicker of something akin to fascination in his eyes. It was as if he were mesmerized, as if Maul's darkness held a strange allure. It was a look that spoke of a hidden struggle, an unspoken temptation.
Skyler spoke, his voice hesitant, yet laced with a surprising agreement. "He... he's right," he began, almost as if he was testing the words. "The galaxy needs stability, a strong guiding hand. If we work with him, use his methods and his network, the lives lost in the crossfire will be no more. We can help the people, guide them towards a new era of peace." His excuse for aligning with Maul was a thinly veiled attempt to justify the darkness that seemed to be taking root within his heart, a seed of corruption slowly blossoming. His words were a betrayal to everything they stood for.
Kira stared at her brother in disbelief, her eyes wide with shock and rising panic. "Are you even hearing yourself?!" she wanted to yell. "Slavery?! Taking away free will?! That's not helping ANYONE!" But before she could voice her outrage, Maul's patience wore thin, the charade of diplomacy reaching its end.
"Enough," Maul's voice was a command, a dark baritone that silenced all other sound. "Remove them."
The room erupted in a storm of blaster fire. Criminals, their faces contorted in sneering hatred, opened fire. Blaster bolts spat through the air, their crimson trails painting streaks of violence. The laser fire bounced harmlessly off the Jedi's lightsabers, deflecting the bolts back into the chaos, sending the criminals scrambling for cover and screaming in pain. With blinding speed, both siblings dashed towards the docking bay, where they came from, their lightsabers weaving patterns of light in the smoky air. Darth Talon, her face a mask of cold fury, was in hot pursuit, her movements a fluid dance of deadly intent.
Talon was a predator, her movements fluid and precise, each step a calculated advance. She soon cornered the Jedi, her double-bladed lightsaber igniting with a menacing hum, the crimson blades painting the scene in a terrifying, hellish glow. The fight began, a chaotic ballet of blue and red lightsabers clashing in a shower of sparks. Kira fought fiercely, her blue blade a whirlwind of motion, each strike infused with a desperate energy, but her attacks were wild and without any synergy with her brother. Skyler, his movements sluggish and distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere. He swung his blade with a half-heartedness that betrayed his inner turmoil.
Talon moved with effortless grace, her attacks a relentless barrage, each strike a calculated assault. She danced around Kira's wild swings and then effortlessly parried Skyler's half-hearted thrusts. Her eyes locked onto Skyler, a dark amusement twisting her lips, a subtle smile that hinted at her sadistic pleasure. It was clear to her, even amidst the chaos, that he was not fully committing to the fight. And then it became all too clear; he was holding back while looking at her with a mixture of fear and fascination. He was mesmerized, willingly allowing himself to become distracted.
The realization hit Kira like a physical blow. Skyler was distracted, his mind clouded by an unfamiliar and dangerous thrill of dark attraction, as if drawn by an invisible thread. He fought with reservation, his heart wrestling with an impossible conflict. Talon, sensing his feelings, used the distraction to her advantage. With a swift, brutal blow, she knocked him unconscious, sending his limp body crashing to the durasteel floor with a sickening thud. Kira gasped, tears welling up in her eyes as the horror of her brother's defeat pressed down on her.
With a desperate surge of adrenaline, she knew she had to flee. Leaving her fallen brother behind was the most difficult decision she had ever had to make. The weight of their combined failure was heavy and stifling, but there was no time for grief. She turned and ran back towards where they entered from, her heart pounding in her chest, knowing there was no way to save him now.
As she desperately fumbled with the control panel of the escape pod, a small, spherical droid rolled in, its optical sensor fixed on her. It was a BB-8 unit, battered and scarred, its white paint scratched and dented, yet it was somehow determined. It beeped and whirred insistently, a symphony of mechanical urgency. Kira ignored it, her focus entirely on her escape, and boarded the escape pod as it shot out of the docking bay, falling through the atmosphere of Coruscant like a meteor.
The BB-8 unit, with an unwavering persistence, followed her, its mechanical movements surprisingly agile as it rolled into the escape pod and prepared for the terrifying escape. The flickering neon signs of the upper city barely pierced the grimy alleyway as Kira, with a final surge of adrenaline, scrambled over the lip of the loading dock and onto the narrow, grated walkway. She could hear the harsh, amplified voices of the security drones receding behind her, their searchlights momentarily blinding as they swept past her escape route. She'd managed to slip through their net, for now. Heart hammering against her ribs, she took a moment to catch her breath, one hand pressed against the cold metal railing, the other absently brushing stray strands of dark hair from her face.
A soft whirring noise pulled her from her frantic contemplation. She turned to see a small, squat droid, its chassis a patchwork of dented metal and faded paint, clambering onto the walkway after her. It wasn't one of the sleek, polished models you saw in the wealthier districts; this one looked more like it had been salvaged from a scrap heap. It wobbled slightly on its single, omnidirectional wheel and emitted a series of rapid beeps and clicks as it approached.
Kira stared at the droid, bewildered, her brow furrowing in annoyance. The adrenaline was slowly giving way to a rising irritation. "Why are you following me?" she asked it, her voice sharper than she intended. The droid, however, just continued to whir and beep in response, its single optical sensor blinking. It didn't seem to register her question, its actions dictated by some hidden programming.
She tried everything. First, she shoved the droid gently towards the edge of the platform, hoping it would roll off and find its own way. No such luck. She then tried leaving it on the bustling, crowded streets as she ventured into the lower city, weaving through the throngs of people and narrow market stalls. It was a labyrinth, a place where she hoped no one would think to look for her. But the small droid seemed to have a mind of its own, an unnerving, almost stubborn determination, always managing to find her, its presence a constant source of irritation and a reminder that she wasn't truly alone. It would appear around corners, or pop out from behind overturned crates, the persistent sound of its whirring motors a constant background hum to her flight.
She finally resigned herself to the droid's company, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was laced with sarcasm, a thin veil over her mounting frustration. "Fine," she muttered, her gaze fixed on the grimy, uneven cobblestones ahead. "You can stay. Just don't expect me to like it, you rusty garbage can." Her snark was more to cope with her own fear and frustration than it was directed at the droid. The constant surveillance, the feeling of being watched, of not being able to fully relax, was starting to wear her down. Still, the sharp words brought a small, bitter satisfaction, a tiny rebellion against the unfairness of her situation. She was alone, hunted, and now saddled with a quirky, over-attached droid that seemed determined to make her already difficult situation even more complicated. It seemed her troubles, far from ending, had only just begun, and the endless, persistent beeping of the little droid felt like a constant reminder of that fact. The weight of her predicament pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, and she knew that she was running out of options.