The wind whistled between the high arches of the Jedi Temple on Tython. Light filtered through the treetops and danced on the ancient stone floor in soft patterns. Yet, within the Council chamber, the atmosphere was heavier than usual.

Loewen stood tall, composed, at the center of the Masters' circle. His report was clear, precise. He left nothing out.

— "…The individual identified himself as the Emperor's Fury. He didn't attack. He left his target behind without resistance. And told me we would meet again."

A murmur rose among the Masters. Some exchanged dark looks, others took silent notes.

Master Satele Shan, seated at the heart of the circle, remained silent until the end.

Then, once the customary thanks were spoken, she gestured discreetly to Loewen.

— "Stay. Alone."

The Council dispersed slowly. She led him to an adjacent chamber, more intimate. Far from protocol, far from watching eyes.

— "What you witnessed," she said softly, "could shake the Jedi's understanding of the Sith hierarchy. The Emperor's Fury was, until now, a legend. A rumor. A threat whispered only in half-words."

Loewen crossed his arms.

— "He's no myth. He's real. And… unlike anything I've ever faced."

Satele studied him closely.

— "You seem troubled."

He gave a slight shrug.

— "He was expecting me. He knew me. As if he… recognized me from a dream."

— "And you, Loewen? What do you feel?"

He took a moment to answer.

— "I don't know. There was no hatred. No fear. Only… certainty. As if our paths were always meant to cross. But at what cost, I have yet to learn."

Satele inclined her head slightly.

— "You know what that could imply. Doubt is a doorway. And compassion, if misdirected, can lead to shadow."

He nodded.

— "I won't let him reach me. But I won't underestimate him either."

She placed a hand on his shoulder.

— "If you encounter him again… don't fight him right away. Observe. Listen. What we don't know may be as dangerous as what we fear."

He bowed slightly.

— "I understand, Master."

Aboard the ship

The vessel glided silently through hyperspace. In the cockpit, T7 hummed cheerfully while managing the systems.

— "Next mission = locating the Emperor's signal / Data = encrypted / Network = active."

Loewen entered the room, followed by Kira, Rusk, and Doc, who was finishing what was clearly a very questionable anecdote.

— "…and then she says, 'You call that a lightsaber?'"

Kira burst out laughing.

— "Seriously, Doc, if you spend as much time talking about your dates as living them, it's no wonder you're still single."

— "I prefer to think of myself as a misunderstood romantic. You, of all people, should get that—my favorite ex-Sith."

— "Keep talking and I'll stick you in a meditation cell with Sergeant Rusk."

— "Duty above all," Rusk replied stoically.

Loewen let their banter play out. He settled into the command chair, one hand resting on the armrest, watching each of them with silent fondness.

— "Our next mission," he said, "will bring us closer to the Emperor's trail. T7's found a network of dark transmissions. Kira, you're on decryption. Rusk, prep the arsenal. Doc, full check-up on the team."

— "You sure you don't want a massage instead, boss?"

— "Not until we win this war."

They all laughed—even Rusk, briefly.

Loewen looked at them.
They were more than a crew.
They were his family.

And he would need them.
Now more than ever.