As I left the Council Chambers with the others trailing behind me, the echoes of voices and shifting robes faded into the vast expanse of the Main Reception area of the temple. The space opened before me like a cathedral, ancient stone columns rising toward vaulted ceilings that had witnessed millennia's of Jedi history.
Ahead, I saw the same grand staircase where the old ancient holocron monolith used to float, suspended in the Force like it did in the old SWTOR game from my past life. Now the space stood empty, a void waiting to be filled with purpose or left as a monument to what once was. We were still debating whether to place something there or leave it as a reminder of the past we were trying to transcend.
The air here always carried a distinctive quality since I'd first arrived on Tython, a powerful blend of old stone warmed by afternoon sunlight and fresh air flowing from the outside deep into the temple's heart. The scent was clean and fresh all at once, carrying hints of mineral and earth, of time itself pressed into every surface. Shafts of golden light streamed through the high windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air like tiny stars.
It should have felt peaceful, this moment of transition between one task and the next. But my nerves were still on fire, every nerve ending singing with residual pain and heightened awareness.
The wounds and scars from the fight with Dooku hadn't healed. The bacta had done its work on the surface, knitting flesh and sealing burns, but the deeper damage remained. And beneath it all, clinging to the back of my mind like a shadow I couldn't shake, was the void and that voice, that cold, silky, eerie presence that had whispered to me in the darkness between life and death.
"...so soon... You have awakened me... so soon... You will know my love."
The memory sent a chill down my spine even now, in the warmth and light of the temple. What had that been? Who had spoken to me in that place beyond consciousness? The questions circled endlessly, unanswered and unsettling.
And then there was my eye. The left one, hidden now beneath the black eyepatch Master Plo had provided. It still throbbed with a pain that defied explanation, a phantom sensation that was somehow worse than the physical injury itself. The eye was blind and yet not blind, seeing without seeing in ways I was only beginning to understand.
The Force auras, the shatterpoints, the cracks in reality itself, all of it visible through that damaged eye when I dared to look. But keeping it covered was its own kind of torture, like holding back a sneeze or suppressing a cough. The pressure built behind the patch, a constant reminder of what I'd lost and what I'd gained in equal measure.
I was walking halfway down the grand staircase, my hand trailing along the smooth stone balustrade, when I heard someone call out from behind me.
"Excuse me, are you the one they call Cain?"
I didn't recognize the voice at first, my mind still half-lost in contemplation of void-voices and phantom pains. But what snapped me to full alertness was the realization that a presence had slipped into my new blind spot so easily. Whoever this was had approached from my left side, and they were too close, far too close, without me having sensed their approach until they spoke.
My body reacted automatically, instincts honed by years of training and recent trauma taking over before conscious thought could intervene. My shoulders tightened, muscles coiling like springs ready to release. My feet shifted subtly, adjusting my stance for better balance and mobility. My waist turned slightly, positioning my body for optimal defense or attack. My left hand twitched toward my lightsaber hilt, fingers already curling to grasp the familiar weight.
I would have drawn it completely, would have ignited the blade in a defensive posture, if not for the last shred of rational thought that reminded me I was in the temple, surrounded by allies and civilians. I couldn't just cut down someone who might be nothing more than a curious visitor or a nervous petitioner seeking an audience.
I turned sharply, my one visible eye narrowing as I assessed the potential threat.
A young Twi'lek man stood there, his hands raised slightly in an apologetic gesture that was both defensive and placating. He had light orange skin that seemed to glow in the temple's golden light, smooth and unblemished, speaking of youth and relative inexperience with the harsher realities of the galaxy. His lekku were tucked behind his back in a posture that suggested both respect and nervousness, the head-tails moving with subtle, unconscious gestures that betrayed his emotional state.
He wore simple dress robes, clean and pressed and official-looking, the kind of garment someone would wear when meeting with important people they wanted to impress. But despite the civilian appearance, I could tell this man had a hidden weapon on him. The slight bulge beneath his left arm, the way his weight distributed itself, the readiness in his stance despite the apologetic hands, all of it spoke of someone who knew how to fight and was prepared to do so if necessary.
But after searching through the Force for his intentions, I could feel the man meant me no harm. There was nervousness, yes, and uncertainty, but no malice or aggression, and no dark intent lurking beneath the surface.
The Twi'lek's eyes widened when he saw my reaction, taking in the defensive posture, the hand that had moved toward my weapon, the intensity of my gaze. "Sorry," he said quickly, his voice carrying genuine contrition. "I didn't mean to surprise you like that. I should have announced myself from farther away."
I paused, forcing myself to take a breath and center myself. Then the tension began to ease out of my body, though I remained alert, aware. "No, you're fine," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I'd intended. I cleared my throat and tried again. "That's... on me. I'm dealing with this new thing." My fingers gestured briefly toward my eyepatch, acknowledging the limitation without dwelling on it. "So don't worry about it. How can I help you?"
I studied the young man more closely now, taking in details I'd missed in that first defensive assessment. He looked young, not much older than me, if older at all. Maybe eighteen, nineteen at most. There was something familiar about him, something that tugged at memories from my previous life, from knowledge I shouldn't possess but did.
Then it clicked, and I remembered what C-3PO had told me during his report. If this was who I thought it was, then standing before me was someone who would become crucial to the Rebellion, a leader who would fight the Empire with courage and conviction, who would raise a daughter who would become one of the greatest pilots the galaxy had ever seen.
I straightened myself, adjusting my posture from defensive to respectful, and offered a small nod of acknowledgment. "You must be Cham Syndulla."
Cham blinked, surprise flickering across his features. His lekku twitched with the emotion, a subtle movement that spoke volumes to anyone who knew how to read Twi'lek body language. "Yes," he said slowly, studying me with new interest. "So you are Cain. It is... nice to meet you."
The surprise in his voice was understandable. He'd expected to meet with some Jedi, yes, but probably not someone so young, not someone who already knew his name and seemed to be expecting him.
Cham shifted his stance, his demeanor becoming more serious now that the initial awkwardness had passed. "The elders, and my cousin Josa, said some Jedi wanted to speak with me. They said it was urgent." His lekku moved again, expressing the confusion and curiosity he felt. "Josa said you want to talk about something important? Something about migration... and about my people possibly relocating to Tython, with our own land as long as we abide by the Jedi rules."
He paused, his eyes searching my face for answers. "I came as fast as I could. But... why me? Why talk to me, and not them? I'm not an elder, or a leader...."
"Your someone the Force has shown me will become far more than he currently believes," I finished quietly. My expression softened, and I gestured down the large corridor that branched off from the main reception area. "Follow me. This conversation deserves a better setting than a staircase."
I led Cham down a side corridor that wound through the temple's ancient architecture, past chambers being restored and halls still bearing the scars of time and neglect. The path opened eventually into one of the temple's newly reclaimed gardens, a space that had once been nothing but overgrown ruins and now showed the first signs of returning life.
The transformation was remarkable. What had been a tangle of dead vines and crumbling stone just months ago now featured fresh soil, dark and rich with nutrients, carefully tilled and prepared for planting.
Young trees had been planted in strategic locations, their branches still thin but already reaching toward the sky with the promise of future shade. A zen garden occupied one corner, its raked patterns of sand and carefully placed stones creating a sense of order and peace. A small pond fed by a narrow stream wound down from the hills above, the water clear and cold, reflecting the sky like a mirror.
Younglings and Padawans sat in clusters beneath the shade of the newly planted trees, their small forms arranged in meditation postures while a Jedi Knight watched quietly from nearby. The Knight's voice carried softly across the garden, gentle words guiding the students through their exercises in Force awareness and inner calm. The scene was peaceful, almost idyllic, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos that had marked recent days.
Cham took everything in with cautious awe, his eyes moving from the pond's shimmering surface to the ancient stone walls that surrounded the garden, from the meditating children to the carefully cultivated plants. I could feel through the Force his mixture of emotions: wonder at the beauty of the place, wariness about what it represented, hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be different from what his people had experienced before.
I stopped near the water, just far enough from the meditating students that our voices wouldn't carry and disturb their practice. The sound of the stream provided a gentle background, a natural white noise that would help mask our conversation from casual eavesdroppers.
For a moment, we both stood in silence, watching the water flow over smooth stones, listening to the whisper of wind through young leaves.
Then Cham spoke, his voice carrying a weight that belied his youth. "I will not lie, Master Jedi. I am very doubtful of the reasons why you Jedi want my people to migrate here and live under you and your rules."
His lekku moved with agitation, expressing the frustration and suspicion he felt. "My people's history speaks of how the last time we were on this planet, we were not wanted or protected because our settlement was deemed illegal by the Galactic Senate."
I opened my mouth to respond, but Cham wasn't finished. The words seemed to pour out of him, years of accumulated grievances and pain finding voice.
"Not to mention the Twi'leks have always been used as a slave force. While the Republic outlawed slavery, many Twi'lek slaves are held in the Outer Rim within sovereign territories, like in Hutt Space. But because the Jedi are tied to the Republic, who has no jurisdiction there, so they let it continue. Which still happens to this day." His eyes met mine, challenging, demanding honesty. "So how are you any different from the Jedi Order on Coruscant?"
I paused, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. The question deserved a thoughtful answer, not a defensive reaction. Cham wasn't wrong. The history he spoke of was real, the injustices undeniable. That was exactly what I was trying to correct, but words alone wouldn't convince him of that.
"First, Cham," I said carefully, "you are correct. Those things have happened, and they continue to happen. The Jedi Order has failed your people in fundamental ways, prioritizing political convenience over moral obligation. But we're not the Jedi you know."
Cham frowned, his lekku expressing skepticism. "What does that mean?"
I looked out over the pond, watching sunlight flicker between leaves, gathering my thoughts. "We have separated from the old Order. We are going to change in the coming years. We have to change, grow, and evolve. We're taking the lessons from the Jedi and Force orders of old, studying what worked and what failed, because we can't just be the Jedi of old. We cannot just be mystical monks who sometimes act as warriors or leaders. We cannot be tools for the rich and politicians, sent to enforce laws we had no part in making and may not even agree with. We have to become something more. Something closer to what the Jedi were meant to be before politics and compromise corrupted the vision."
Cham's brow furrowed deeper, his expression still guarded. "And what does that have to do with my people?"
I turned to face him fully, my hands folded behind my back, my voice calm but carrying an intensity that made him pay attention. "The Twi'leks have never had it easy. You've never had a place that was completely your own, free from outside interference. Before, it was slavers like the ancient Sith. Now it's the Hutts, among others, who exploit you. The corruption in the Republic, the way they look away from inconvenient truths. Even the Jedi... doing what they could, but never enough. If you could even call it that. And then they take your people who are strong in the Force, bringing them to the temple while ignoring the injustices that continue on your homeworld."
I paused, letting the truth of it settle between us. "And still, your people endure. You persevere. You survive things that would have broken other species, that have broken other species. That strength, that resilience, it's remarkable."
Cham's eyes hardened at the acknowledgment of his people's suffering. "We don't have a choice. If no one will save us or help us, then we have to help ourselves."
"That is very true," I said quietly, nodding in agreement. "Sometimes instead of asking for help, you have to learn how to stand on your own before letting others decide your fate. It's better to die free than to die a slave, in my opinion."
I met his gaze directly, letting him see the conviction in my eye. "Not having a choice but to evolve is what forges species across the galaxy into something stronger, or it destroys them, as nature and the Force decides. And your people have shown you are still growing, still adapting, and still fighting. Our alliance could use people like that. People who understand what it means to struggle, to survive, to refuse to give up even when the galaxy seems determined to crush you."
Cham didn't speak. He just watched me closely, his lekku moving with subtle shifts that indicated he was processing what I'd said, weighing my words against his experiences and his people's history. I could feel through the Force his hesitation, the war between hope and cynicism that raged within him. I needed to push just a little more, not with manipulation or Jedi mind tricks, but with the truth from the heart of my conviction.
I inhaled slowly, centering myself. "The Force has shown me visions. Not grand prophecies or dramatic revelations, though I suppose they could become that. More like... directions. Paths that could be taken, futures that might unfold if certain actions are taken or not taken. And it led me to people like you."
Cham blinked, surprise evident on his face. "The Force showed you... me?"
"Yes," I answered simply, letting the weight of that single word carry my certainty. "It showed me that you will become a great leader of your people. That you'll lead them through hard times that are coming to the galaxy, times that will test everyone's resolve and commitment. Times when having strong, principled leaders will mean the difference between survival and extinction."
Cham let out a breath that sounded half laugh, half disbelief. His lekku moved in a gesture that expressed his skepticism. "Why me? I'm not anyone special. I'm just a young man trying to help his people survive another day."
I stepped closer and placed a steady hand on Cham's shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles, the weight he already carried despite his youth. "Not everyone is born special, Cham. Some people answer the call and become special because they stand up when others won't. Because they see what needs to be done and do it, regardless of the cost or the danger."
I paused, then continued. "From what I hear, you're a prodigy among your people. Some of your fellow Twi'leks say you have the potential to be a great leader, that you see things others miss. That's why you're here, why the Force led me to you."
Cham's expression shifted, uncertainty flickering across his features. "But you... I've heard similar stories about you. They say you're a prodigy among the Jedi, that you were destined to be their chosen one before you left. That's why you're doing all this, building this new order."
I chuckled, the sound carrying genuine amusement and a touch of self-deprecation. "Cham, I am just slightly talented, but that doesn't mean I'm a god or infallible." I gestured to my eyepatch. "Look at this. I just got this a few hours ago. And my friend, the one who actually is the Chosen One, he lost an hand most of his upper forearm. I still have my doubts and worries like anyone else. I'm not doing this because I think I'm special or destined for greatness. I'm doing this because I care about saving the galaxy and I want to make sure slavery never exists again, at least not in my lifetime or my future children's lifetime. I want to make sure no one has to grow up like my friend did as a slave, ever."
Cham's eyes flickered, something shifting in them. Fear, responsibility, and hope all tangled together in a complex knot of emotion.
I withdrew my hand from his shoulder. "I'm not saying you have to bring your people here now. Tython is an option, not a mandate. A future refuge, but also a place where Twi'leks can build without chains around their throats. Make it your own, share your culture, and know your neighbors will help protect you while you protect them. We're planning on settling on many planets, establishing communities and temples across the galaxy. So you'll have options in the future, choices rather than desperate scrambles for survival."
Cham swallowed hard, his throat working. "What do you want from me, then?"
My mouth curved into a small smile, but my eye stayed serious, intense. "Soon, we'll be forming a new government with many of the planets from the Outer, Mid, and Inner Rim. And we'll be establishing a military as well. Something that will protect the people and fight to end the slave trade and criminal empires when the time comes."
Cham stiffened, alarm flashing across his face. "A new government, and a new military." His voice sharpened with concern. "You're planning on going to war against the crime organizations? That invites trouble from the entire dark corners of the galaxy, especially the Hutts. They'll work with the Pyke Syndicate, Black Sun, and the Zygerrian Empire. You'll have every criminal organization in the galaxy coming after you."
My fingers drifted to my eyepatch again, rubbing the edge of the scar beneath it as my mind flashed back to the memories of Star Wars history I knew from my past life. Then I remembered the void, that cold, eerie voice, and the flashes of visions I'd experienced. The whispering presence promising love like a threat, like a curse disguised as a blessing.
My voice lowered, becoming quieter but somehow more intense. "Danger is always going to come, whether we invite it or not." I looked Cham dead in the eyes, letting him see the determination there, the resolve that had been forged in pain and loss. "I just want to be ready when it tries to kick my door down... so I can protect the ones I love."
Cham stared for a long moment, his lekku moving in complex patterns that expressed the turmoil of his thoughts. Then slowly, he nodded. "That's... an admirable goal. A difficult one, maybe an impossible one, but admirable."
My smile softened, becoming more genuine. "I want you to be part of the first batch of officer candidates for the military. Trained in how to lead and protect others in our future battles. Trained in, combat, strategy, tactics, and logistics, everything you'll need to keep your people safe when the fighting starts."
Cham's eyes widened, genuine shock replacing the cautious skepticism. "Officer training... me? You want me to lead soldiers?"
"Yes, you," I said firmly, my voice carrying absolute conviction. "You have the spine for it, the will to do what's necessary. And more importantly, you have the heart. That combination is rare, Cham. Most people have one or the other, but not both. You have both, and that's what makes a true leader."
Cham looked away, his jaw tight with emotion. "I don't know. This is... a lot to process. And a lot more to consider."
"Of course," I said, understanding in my voice. "Take your time. We won't be truly ready to start for at least a year or two. There's still so much to build, so much to prepare. But I wanted you to know the opportunity is there, waiting for you when you're ready."
Cham turned back, and the two of us clasped hands in the traditional gesture of respect and agreement. His grip was firm, his skin warm against mine. For a moment, we stood there, two young men from different worlds, different species, united united by a shared vision of something better for our people.
Then we went our separate ways. As I watched Cham walk back toward the temple's main corridors, I felt a surge of confidence through the Force. He would come around. He would see things my way. The seeds had been planted, and now they just needed time to grow.
I decided to stop by my quarters to grab something for Anakin before heading back to the medbay. A gift, something to occupy his mind during the long hours of recovery and adjustment.
Later, I walked into the medbay, the sterile smell of bacta and medical equipment filling my nostrils. The lighting was bright and clinical, designed to help medical personnel see clearly but somehow managing to feel cold despite the warmth of the air.
Anakin sat in a chair near one of the medical beds, his posture stiff but trying to look relaxed, like he was forcing himself not to show how uncomfortable he was. His right sleeve was rolled up, revealing the bandaged stump where his hand used to be, the wrappings clean and white and somehow more disturbing than if they'd been bloodstained. His eyes tracked every movement of the person working in front of him, watching with an intensity that spoke of both fascination and anxiety.
And there was Josa, sitting on a low stool, her body hunched over her work surface with the kind of focus that shut out the rest of the world. She wore round goggles over her eyes, the lenses magnifying her vision as she worked on the intricate mechanisms of the prosthetic. Her tongue stuck out slightly in concentration, a childlike gesture that contrasted with the sophisticated technology she was manipulating. Her lekku hung down her back, occasionally twitching with unconscious movements that expressed her emotional state as she worked.
For once, she wasn't talking. That alone told me how serious the job was, how much concentration it required. Josa was many things, brilliant, irreverent, flirtatious, but when she worked on something that truly mattered, she became a different person. Focused. Precise. Almost reverent in her attention to detail.
Anakin noticed me first, his eyes flicking up from watching Josa's hands. "Welcome back. What's that in your hand?"
He looked at the holopad I was carrying, curiosity evident in his expression.
"It's a gift for you," I said, walking closer and handing it over. "How's the surgery going?"
Anakin shrugged with his left shoulder, the gesture awkward and unbalanced without his right arm to mirror it. "Padmé left to go get my mom. You missed her reaction." His expression tightened, pain flickering across his features. "She was crying and worrying like crazy, and then she gave me a real earful about being reckless and stupid and not thinking about how my actions affect the people who love me."
He paused, swallowing hard. "After that, Padmé took her back home. Then she said she had to go back to Coruscant for a while. Too many senators missing at the same time as the conclave happened would look suspicious, draw the wrong kind of attention. I told her how I felt about her, really told her, and she asked for time to think about it." His voice dropped lower. "But I don't want to put her or my mom through that again. Obi-Wan was right about the dangers, about how my choices affect everyone around me."
My smile faded into something steadier, more serious. "Then we'll get a lot stronger and wiser. We'll train harder, think more carefully, plan better. So we come back in one piece every time. That way your mom and Padmé won't have anything to worry about."
Anakin nodded once, slow and deliberate. "Agreed. I owe them that much. Just like you owe all all of the others that much."
He looked down at the holopad in his hand, studying it. "By the way, is this a book? You know I'm not a big reader. That's more Seris's thing. Even though your first Dune book was pretty good, it got a little too high-concept later on for me. All that philosophy and politics."
I smirked, unable to help myself. "I know that's not usually your style. That's why this one I wrote specially for you. Trust me, you'll love it. And it comes in an audiobook version, so you can listen while you're doing other things."
By "wrote," I meant plagiarized from my previous life's memories, but Anakin didn't need to know that particular detail.
Anakin looked at the title displayed on the holopad's screen. "Red Rising?"
"Read the first line," I encouraged. "That first quote will hook you."
Anakin raised an eyebrow skeptically but did as I suggested. His eyes scanned the opening words, and I watched as they widened with interest. "'I would have lived in peace. But my enemies brought me war.'"
I could see the hook sink in, the way those words resonated with Anakin's own experiences, his own struggles. Perfect.
I glanced at the half-finished prosthetic arm on Josa's work surface, the black and gold components gleaming under the medical lights. "How'd the talk with Cham go?" Anakin asked, his attention divided between the book and our conversation.
I leaned against the wall near Josa's workstation. "Fine. Better than expected, actually. Cham will let his people know about the opportunity. Now we just need to keep track of everyone coming to the planet and make sure we can support them all."
I paused, thinking about the logistics. "And we need an orbital watch station eventually. Something to monitor traffic, provide early warning of threats, coordinate defense if necessary."
Anakin's eyebrows rose. "That sounds expensive. Like, really expensive."
I nodded grimly. "Hundreds of thousands to millions of credits, depending on the specifications. And it'll take at least two to three years to build, maybe longer if we run into complications. So far our funds are at 3.5 million credits, which sounds like a lot until you start listing everything we need to spend it on. We're still repairing the temple and making upgrades to bring it up to modern standards. We need to help with the development of the temple's defenses and the nearby town that's forming. Not to mention the huge influx of AgriCorps Jedi who are still coming, all of whom need housing, food, training materials."
Anakin nodded, his expression growing more serious as he considered the scope of what we were attempting. "Don't forget the starships and equipment. We need ships for transport, for defense, for exploration. And lightsaber components, training equipment, kyber crystals for everyone who needs them."
I sighed, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on my shoulders. "Yup, all of that too. Hopefully the rest of the Krayt dragon pearls and other materials sell quickly. That was supposed to bring in an estimate of 10 million credits, which we desperately need. But the market for that kind of thing is limited, and we can't flood it or the prices will drop."
Josa suddenly sat upright, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead with a dramatic flourish that made her lekku bounce. "Ta-daa! My masterpiece is completed!" she announced, her voice carrying pride and satisfaction.
Then she looked up and seemed to notice me for the first time, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh... little Sephi boy! When did you get here?"
I smirked, unable to help myself. "I've been here for a while, Josa. You were just too focused to notice."
Josa gestured proudly to Anakin's cybernetic hand, which now lay complete on her work surface. "You asked and paid, and now I've delivered. Behold!"
The prosthetic was a work of art, there was no other way to describe it. The design was sleek and elegant, with a black-and-gold finish that caught the light in mesmerizing ways. The joint seams were hidden cleanly, the engineering so precise that it was almost impossible to see where one component ended and another began. Subtle reinforced ridges ran along the upper forearm, providing structural support without adding bulk, stopping at the bicep where Anakin's organic arm began. The overall effect was of armor plating without the weight or clumsiness, form and function merged into something beautiful.
Anakin stared at it like a kid seeing a new starship for the first time, his eyes wide with wonder and excitement. "It looks... incredible. Better than I imagined."
Josa puffed her cheeks with pride, clearly pleased with his reaction. "Of course it does. I designed it, didn't I? I used a small mixture of phrik and high-grade cortosis, some of the most expensive and rare materials in the galaxy. I made sure to balance the weight perfectly so it doesn't feel like you're dragging a durasteel pipe around when you use a lightsaber. The servos are top-of-the-line, responsive enough to handle fine manipulation but strong enough for combat. And the finish?" She tapped the plating with one finger, producing a soft metallic sound. "Black and gold color scheme. Stylish, intimidating, perfect for a Jedi. I can add synthetic skin if you want, make it look more natural, but honestly?" She grinned. "This looks way cooler."
She made exaggerated lightsaber sounds, swinging an imaginary blade. "And the best part? No lightsaber is cutting this baby off without short-circuiting first. The cortosis will cause any blade that touches it to temporarily deactivate, and the phrik provides additional resistance. You'd have to hit it with sustained fire to do any real damage."
Anakin's eyes widened even further. "Cortosis and phrik? That's..."
"...expensive," I finished dryly, sighing as I rubbed the bridge of my nose. The cost was already making my head hurt.
Josa pointed a tool at me, her expression playful but with an edge of seriousness. "Don't start, Sephi boy. You agreed to my prices, and you specified the materials needed. This is exactly what you asked for, delivered on time and to specifications."
She paused, then added, "By the way, he'll need adjustments throughout the years as he grows. His arm will get longer, his muscles will develop differently, the neural interface will need recalibration. So either bring me the materials or pay for me to buy them. This is a long-term investment, not a one-time purchase."
Her eyes focused on my eyepatch, and her grin turned mischievous. "Speaking of which, what happened to your eye? Poke it out with a lightsaber? Let me guess, you want a replacement? I could design something amazing. Cybernetic eye with enhanced vision, maybe some built-in scanning capabilities, night vision, thermal imaging..."
"No, I'm good," I said quickly, cutting off that line of thought before it could go any further. "The eye is fine. It's... complicated, but it's fine."
God, I swear this girl will bankrupt me before the hybrid clone army even gets here, I thought, feeling a headache building behind my remaining good eye.
Anakin flexed his shoulder slightly, testing the range of motion, his expression tense with anticipation. "So... what now?"
Josa looked at me, her expression becoming more serious. "Mind helping me implant it? This is delicate work, and I could use an extra pair of steady hands."
I nodded without hesitation. "Let's do it."
For the next thirty minutes, the medbay was filled with the sounds and sensations of precise medical work. Sterile instruments clinked against metal trays. The low hum of medical technology provided a constant background drone. The smell of antiseptic and ozone filled the air as connections were made and tested.
The careful calibration of nerve interfaces was the most delicate part, requiring absolute precision to ensure the prosthetic would respond to Anakin's thoughts as naturally as his original hand had. Josa worked with intense focus, her hands steady as a surgeon's, her movements economical and precise.
Anakin gritted his teeth through the connection process, his jaw locked tight as the prosthetic's internal systems synced with his nervous system. The sensation was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst, as artificial nerves interfaced with organic ones, teaching his brain to recognize and control the new limb.
To distract himself from the discomfort, he listened to the audiobook version of Red Rising, the narrator's voice that had a Scottish like accent filling his ears through small speakers. I could see his expression shift as he listened, engagement replacing pain, interest overriding discomfort.
Josa worked like a woman possessed, her lekku tucked behind her back to keep them out of the way, her movements sharp and confident. Her eyes blazed with focus behind her goggles, and I could see why she commanded such high prices for her work. She wasn't just good at what she did. She was exceptional, perhaps one of the best in the galaxy.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was only thirty minutes, she leaned back, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. "All done," she declared, satisfaction evident in her voice. "Now this Twi'lek girl could use a drink. Please tell me that town nearby has a cantina."
I nodded, feeling exhaustion settling into my bones. "First drink's on me. I also need to talk to you about some other projects I want to hire you for. Long-term contracts, if you're interested."
Josa's grin turned sly, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something else. "Hey, as long as you've got the credits, I'm your lady....I mean builder." She paused, then added with a wink, "Turn twenty-one, then we can talk about other stuff."
Anakin made a gagging noise, his face contorting with exaggerated disgust. "Please don't. I don't need those mental images."
I rolled my one visible eye, fighting back a smile. "Moving on."
Elsewhere in the temple, in a quiet reading room with comfortable chairs and soft lighting, Seris sat with a book in hand. She was reading the physical version of God Emperor of Dune, one of the limited edition physical copies Cain had printed. The pages were pristine, the ink fresh, and the smell of new paper filled her nose with each turn of the page.
Her posture was composed and serene, her back straight, her breathing even and controlled even as she read. She looked like the perfect image of a Jedi elf princess at peace, as if she hadn't smacked two boys in the head earlier that day, as if the galaxy wasn't teetering on the edge of war.
Then her long, pointed ears twitched, a subtle movement that indicated something had caught her attention. She felt a strange sensation wash over her, a disturbance in the Force that made her skin prickle with awareness.
She looked up slowly from her book, her silver eyes narrowing as she tried to identify the source of the feeling. "I feel a disturbance," she murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper.
Back in the medbay corridor, I sighed with a faint smile as I stepped out with Anakin and Josa. The three of us made an odd picture: me with my eyepatch and bandaged torso, Anakin with his gleaming new prosthetic arm, and Josa with her tools and goggles still hanging around her neck.
"Fine," I said, giving in to the inevitable. "Let's get your drink."
Anakin lifted an eyebrow, flexing his new fingers experimentally. "Mind if I join? I could use something to take the edge off."
Josa waved him in enthusiastically. "Come on! The more the merrier. Besides, you're buying, right Cain?"
I sighed again, but there was no real annoyance in it. "Yeah, I'm buying."
The three of us walked down the corridor together, an odd trio united by recent trauma and uncertain futures. I limped slightly, still recovering from the wounds Dooku had given me. Anakin moved carefully, adjusting to the weight and feel of his new prosthetic arm, learning how to balance himself with the unfamiliar addition. Josa walked between us, already talking about what she'd charge for future "miracles," her voice filling the corridor with energy and life.
Behind us, unseen by all three, a small spy droid remained perched near a window that looked out over the treeline. Its photoreceptor glowed faintly in the shadows, a tiny red light that would have been invisible to anyone not specifically looking for it. The device recorded every step we took, every word we spoke, transmitting the data across vast distances to its master.
On Coruscant, in an office deep within the Senate building, Palpatine sat in his chair and watched the transmitted feed with his hands pressed together in a gesture that looked contemplative but was actually predatory. A smile played at his lips, cold and calculating, as he observed the three young people walking together, laughing despite their injuries, finding hope despite the darkness that surrounded them.
A plan began to form in his mind, pieces moving on a board only he could see, strategies within strategies, traps within traps.
"Good," he murmured to himself, his voice carrying satisfaction and dark amusement. "Keep building. Keep gathering your allies and your resources. It will be much more entertaining to rip it all away from you when the time comes."
His smile widened, becoming something terrible and hungry. "I do wonder how much more they can lose before I break them completely. How many friends must die? How many dreams must shatter and be ripped away? How much pain can they endure before they finally understand that hope itself is the cruelest illusion of all?"
The spy droid continued its surveillance, and Palpatine continued to watch, patient as a spider in its web, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.