(C97) The Hanged Man's Epilogue

“There is a darkness at the centre of the galaxy.” 

“It is a darkness nesting, growing, and feeding on the rot and slow decay of our once-great Republic. It is entirely driven by one man’s insatiable ambition. We have borne witness to its corruption, its betrayal of justice, and its descent into tyranny. We have pleaded for reason, for restraint, for a return to the ideals upon which our Republic was built. And we have been ignored time and time again.”

“And now the darkness is borne from its egg, and now it is here. And it seeks nothing less than to extend its terrible tendrils across all the galaxy, from the depths of the Deep Core to the spiral arms of the Outer Rim.”

“And now our Republic tells us this is not autocracy, but democracy? That this is our salvation? Just how blatant and shameless can one man’s lies be? Does Palpatine believe we will simply lay down as his oppressive Grand Army crush us to dust? Does Palpatine believe we will obediently offer our wrists in chains as his cloned soldiers take our peoples hostage? Does Palpatine believe we will so easily surrender our freedoms and rights so that he can continue tearing this galaxy apart in his endless bid for power?”

“People of the galaxy, I speak to you from Chandrila. Coruscant is no longer the shining capital of our Republic, the home of democracy as we know it. It is now a den of criminals and traitors and leeches, sucking the life from our galaxy, one civilised right revoked at a time. For so long, we have bent and bowed to their every whim and demand while they lined their pockets with riches and power. Today, we can finally say: no more!”

“At this moment, a document is being broadcasted over the hyperwaves, across the galaxy. It is a roar for freedom. A freedom that does not discriminate, that every single one of us–rich or poor, Loyalist or Separatist, human or not–have every right to. It is a call to all who have suffered under the yoke of tyranny, all who have felt the weight of oppression pressing down upon them. It is the Gallian Manifesto, a document written in truth, signed in courage, and carried forth by those who refuse to let their liberties die in silence!”

“This publication lays bare the truth that many have suspected but feared to speak. It is a testament to the crimes that have been committed against the Republic in the name of ambition. It was written by those who have seen the fall with their own eyes; by senators, by scholars, by soldiers, and by Jedi. It is an unflinching account of how our democracy was dismantled piece by piece. How the Jedi, once the defenders of peace, were turned into pawns of war and then cast aside as traitors when they were no longer useful. How the Senate was silenced. How the people were deceived.”

“Palpatine’s ‘Republic’ is a lie. It is no Republic at all, but an empire in all but name. It is a hollow thing, ruled by fear and maintained by force. We do not recognize its authority. We do not acknowledge its legitimacy. We will not bow to a dictator. We will not cower before corruption. We will not forget the principles of liberty and justice.”

“Today, we will reclaim the dream that was stolen from us.”

“This is a declaration of rebellion, and it is a declaration of restoration. The restoration of a Republic that was stolen from us. The restoration of liberty, of justice, of the fundamental rights that have been stripped away, while the Senate sat in complacency and fear.”

“And I tell you this: fear is the tool of the oppressor. It is the weapon of the corrupt, of the weak, of those who would rather rule than serve. Palpatine’s Republic–the so-called ‘Loyalist’ Republic–is built on fear. It is maintained by deception. It survives only because good people have been made to believe they are powerless to resist it. But today, that lie ends.”

“Because we are not powerless.”

“Alderaan stands with us. Humbarine stands with us. Corellia stands with us. Duro, Hosnian Prime, Caamas, and thousands more free worlds stand with us. The warfleets of Procopia, the strength of Mandalore, and all the might and power of the free galaxy stands with us. We are not alone. We are not a handful of dissidents, whispering in the dark; we are the light of a new Republic. A Restorationist Republic. And we will not be silent.”

To those who still believe in the Republic as it should be, we say: stand with us. To those who have suffered beneath the yoke of oppression, we say: rise with us. To those still trapped under the shadow of Palpatine’s regime, know this: we have not abandoned you. We see you. We hear you. And we will not stop until every world, every system, every citizen of the galaxy is free once more.”

“And to those Jedi who have been betrayed by the very Republic you swore to defend, we say this; you are not alone, and you are not forgotten. The lies told about you do not erase the truth of who you are. If you still live, if you still fight, if you still hold to the values of peace and justice, then we will give you refuge. You are welcome here, as are all who have the bravery and courage to rebuke Palpatine’s tyranny. The Old Republic may have failed you–but we will not.”

“But let me be clear: freedom will not be given to us. We have already failed it once, and it will not so easily return to our hands. We must fight for it. We must bleed for it. We must prove we have the right and strength to be free! The road ahead will be long, and it will be hard. Sheev Palpatine and Sev’rance Tann have carved the galaxy between them, and we are trapped between an authoritarian dictator and an ambitious warlord. We face a galaxy that stands for everything we fight against. But if we surrender to despair now, if we accept this empire of lies as the price of peace, then we will have already lost.”

“Do not for one moment believe that you can so easily sit back and hope for normalcy to return. Hope is not given, not something that comes to you on its own. It is not a force of nature, and it is not a law of the universe. Hope is something we make real, it is something we fight into existence, it is something we build from nothing; until we can see its golden light dawning on us from a new tomorrow.”

“And today, if you are still here, and if you are still willing, we can begin.”

“So lift the flag of rebellion!”

“So raise high the banner of the true Republic, and roar!”

“Roar! So that you will not stay silent as the galaxy falls around us!”

“Roar for your freedom, liberty, and justice for all!”

“Roar for the brighter tomorrow!”

⁂

Coruscant, Coruscant System
Corusca Sector

The turbolift descended in a silent rush. Inside, Jedi Knight Bode Akuna stood between his two escorts, wrists secured in stuncuffs, still wearing his Republic Intelligence uniform. The air in the confined space was thick with uncertainty. The guards had their orders, that the Jedi were traitors and fugitives, to be captured or killed, but they had also just been talking with the man between not an hour before. Bode Akuna was, after all, also a Republic Intelligence operative, being assigned there by the Jedi High Council.

For the guards, they had more or less been ordered to arrest their superior officer. It was even worse that Bode Akuna did not even attempt to resist–if he had fought back, at least they could be sure the Executive Directive had been correct, right? They silently glanced at each other, inwardly hoping something or someone would come to relieve them of this mountingly awkward situation. 

To their luck, their prayers were answered the moment the turbolift doors slid open.

The guards snapped to attention. Standing in their path was Commander Lank Denvik, his Intelligence uniform pristine, his expression unreadable. He studied the three of them with a gaze that gave nothing away.

“You summon me to attend you,” the Intelligence Commander started, “Only for me to find you in chains.”

One of the guards winced, “Unfortunate timing, sir. We’ve just received an order from up top–”

“I know what the order is,” Commander Denvik snapped, “Unfortunately, Akuna is not just any Jedi–he was also one of us. And I can’t hand him over to the Grand Army to get killed without so much as a proper debrief first, understand? He knows something critical to our operations–which I presume is why you called for me at this terrible hour in the first place.”

The guards exchanged hesitant looks. Denvik scowled even further.

“Look, the both of you can wash your hands of this affair and return to your posts,” he snapped his fingers, “When all is said and done, I’ll take this man to Director Isard myself if I have to. I just need to know what he knows.”

That did it. The lead guard keyed in a sequence on his datapad, and the cuffs clicked open, falling away from Bode’s wrists. The Jedi did not move, though his gaze flickered between the guards and Denvik. His body remained taut, coiled with unspoken tension.

“Now go,” Denvik ordered. The guards flinched, pushed Bode out of the turbolift, then keyed in the floor again.

Denvik exhaled, then met Bode’s eyes, “Walk with me.”

Bode rubbed his wrists, and finally spoke, “You have a wonderful sense of timing, sir.”

Commander Denvik grunted, “Don’t draw attention.”

Bode flexed his fingers, his pulse still elevated, but he fell into step beside the commander as they moved through the compound’s labyrinthine halls. The sound of their boots echoed softly. Surveillance cameras appeared to track their movement. The footsteps of other operatives and staff members were few and far between on this floor, away from the operational levels beneath them.

They reached Lank Denvik’s office, the door hissing shut behind them. The Commander moved to his desk, but did not sit. Instead, he leaned against its edge, arms folded. The silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.

“I would say you were lucky I intercepted the transfer,” he paused, then continued in an accusatory tone, “But you planned this all out, didn’t you?”

Bode exhaled, shaking his head, “Luck didn’t have anything to do with it, sir.”

“...Damn you, Akuna,” the Commander’s expression darkened, “You better start talking before I actually ship you to Isard myself.”

Bode lifted both his hands up in surrender, “I want to cut a deal with you–nothing more, nothing less. Beneficial for both sides, of course.”

He had worked with Commander Denvik for years, and Bode knew Denvik was the ladder-climbing type. Denvik wouldn’t let their previous relationship get in the way of a promotion if all it took was handing him in to the Grand Army… but so was the same the other way around. If Bode played his cards right, this would be a simple affair.

“I assume your cut will be the faking of your death, and protection from the Grand Army?” Denvik folded his arms, “That’s a tall ask. What makes you say I won’t receive as much from just handing you in?”

“The satellite attack a year ago, the denial of service attack, the comms blackout happening right now,” Bode urged, almost frenzied, “Don’t you think they’re connected somehow?”

Commander Denvik froze, and narrowed his eyes. Republic Intelligence had been stumped by the satellite attack for a year, and to this day it remains the largest and most severe unresolved breach of security they’ve ever suffered. A price they were paying for now tenfold. If Denvik could provide a fresh lead, daresay even answers–oh, the promotions he could get. Bode Akuna didn’t need to be an empath like Barriss to read his thoughts.

“...Alright then,” Lank Denvik allowed, but Bode could tell he was invested behind his composure, “Tell me what you know.”

Bode raised a single eyebrow in response.

The Intelligence Commander threw his hands in an exasperated breath, “Fine! I’ll prepare the documentation of your ‘death’ ready.”

First, Bode told the truth; “You’re looking for a Jedi spy.”

Then, Bode lied through his teeth; “Their codename is PRIESTESS.”

Denvik stared at him blankly. Bode took it as a cue to continue.

“But here’s the thing; they’re a Separatist Jedi spy.”

His singular audience raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “So, one of Count Dooku’s so-called acolytes?”

Bode shook his head, “No, a Jedi from the Jedi Temple that is also a Separatist spy.”

Denvik pursed his lips, “Your claims seem to match… the terrorists entered the comsat via a lightsaber-cut portal. And the document they inserted into the comsat’s broadcast system was a Separatist speech. Our best bet right now is that they were attempting to kickstart a Separatist uprising here on Coruscant.”

“That’s the part where the investigation missed,” Bode pressed, “The speech was a false flag. What they actually inserted was a virus; a sleeper agent of some sort that would activate when certain conditions are met.”

“Bode,” Denvik pushed himself off the table, “Listen. We grounded that satellite after the attack. We scrubbed it down, we tore it down to the bolts in the bulkheads. You think we didn’t consider a virus? We found no virus at all.”

“Well then you clearly missed something,” he shrugged, “Otherwise Republic Intelligence wouldn’t be floundering right now.”

“–Alright, let’s presume you are correct, and that there is a virus in our comsat network,” Lank Denvik prodded his chest with a finger, “What is your source, exactly? That this is a virus; that the lead agent of the attack was a Jedi spy; that their codename is PRIESTESS?”

“...When the spy infected the comsat, they made a backdoor channel to communicate between the Temple and Separatist space,” Bode told him, “I found that channel, and partial fragments of the transcripts they weren’t able to wipe.”

“Are you telling me you alone found what a year’s worth of Intelligence manhours couldn’t? You. Alone.”

“Well, I had a lead, sir.”

“Indeed?”

“While I don’t know PRIESTESS’ face or name, I do know they and I share a mutual friend; Jedi Master Adi Gallia. I presume you recognise the name?”

Commander Denvik scowled, “Of course I do. I had to deal with that woman whenever we shared intel with the Temple. She’s the Jedi spymaster, and your liaison. Does Gallia also know about PRIESTESS’ Separatist allegiances?”

“I couldn’t presume, sir.”

“...Kriff, Gallia is a Councilmember. You’re telling me the Jedi could have actually had Separatist connections?”

“Only one way to find out, Denvik.”

The Commander’s head snapped to him.

Bode stared back unflinchingly, “Our deal?”

Denvik ground his teeth for a moment, then– “Help me hunt down this PRIESTESS, and continue working for me covertly–even if it means hunting down other Jedi–and I will keep you hidden from the Grand Army and whoever else in the Republic that might seek your death.”

“Done.”

“That was fast.”

“I’m a decisive man.”

“I suppose you are.”

With this, I have not only diverted attention from what PRIESTESS truly is, but have also secured myself an inside on Republic Intelligence. Palpatine’s Republic had betrayed the Jedi Order; with Adi Gallia dead, Bode didn’t know what would be the future of their little shadow squad. But he did know he will do everything in his capability to tear down this rotten structure that Master Gallia gave her life trying to dismantle. If it meant working with the Restorationists, so be it. If it meant working with the Separatists, he would do that too.

The price? Someone would have to be his scapegoat.

“So?” Denvik questioned, “PRIESTESS?”

“They are in the Jedi Temple as we speak,” Bode said, “And I believe they just used their backdoor to call for help from Separatist space.”

“...Show me.”

“The operations room–” Bode couldn’t even finish his sentence before Denvik dragged him out the door and marched him back down the hallway, “–I was compiling the data before I was seized. It should still all be on the console.”

Commander Lank Denvik was already speaking into his comlink, “This is Commander Denvik; get me a line to Homeworld Security now!”

All Bode could think was–sorry, Barriss, but you’re the only one I can trust to be ‘PRIESTESS.’ First, because she knew the real PRIESTESS better than anybody in Republic space. And second, because like him, she wasn’t about to die before the Republic did. Anything Republic Intelligence threw at her, she would surely escape it–especially if Bode could help her from behind the scenes–

Commander Denvik slammed his palm into Bode’s back, knocking him out of that line of thought.

“Don’t do that,” Denvik scowled, “You’re not a Jedi anymore. You’re an Intelligence operative now. Act like one.”

⁂

500 Republica reeked of death. 

Jedi Knight Iskat Akaris flicked her fingers, flinging drops of blood from them. She was unsure to whom they belonged; herself, or the dozens of bodies littered on the floor of the turbolift lobby. If she was injured, she did not feel it, nor did she see it, for the blood was the very same pigment of her skin.

Her chest heaved as she stood among the slaughter, the back of her mind still scarcely believing she was capable of such wrought death. But she was, and Iskat imagined she would have learnt by now. Geonosis, Thule, that comsat above Coruscant… the moment she let herself go, killing followed in her wake. But now, her job is done. Right?

Master Yoda and Master Shaak Ti should have cut down the Sith Lord by now.

The continuous clashing of lightsabers coming from behind her bid differently.

Iskat swore beneath her breath, swivelled on her heels, and dashed back into the blood-reeked apartment. The velvet carpet was muddy and soaked through, and it was there at the end of the drawing room that she skidded to a halt, breath burning in her throat, her boots slick with something–not all of it clone, not all of it Jedi. 

She watched it happen, watched Master Shaak Ti’s body sail through the shattered permaglass, red leaking from cuts in her skin, montrals whipping in the wind as she plummeted. A split second–their eyes met–and then she was gone. Just like that.  

And the one who had done it–the Supreme Chancellor, the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious–was there robes billowing in the wind, his skeletal fingers still outstretched from the killing blow that sent the Jedi Master plummeting into the abyss below. But he was already turning back, already in motion, faster than Iskat could blink, red blade hissing as it crashed against the blinding green of Master Yoda’s, saving himself just in time from a lopped off head.

The Force howled between them, unseen but felt in every crack of the marble floor, every flickering light, every breath of unnatural wind that swirled through the penthouse. Red crashed against green again, and Yoda was like a ball of emerald fire, bouncing off the walls, the floor, the columns and the ruined furniture. Iskat’s heart seized; she saw the height of the Jedi Order in action, and she saw the Dark Lord of the Sith parrying each and every stroke with ease. Could she, a mere Jedi Knight, really intervene in a fight between two forces of nature?

What an elaborate scheme for committing suicide. 

She took in the apartment; and it was carnage, the rich reds and golds of Palpatine’s decor smeared with soot and char and blood. Bodies slumped against the walls. Clones, Jedi, their differences meaningless now. Master Adi Gallia lay still, eyes open, head tendrils gray and limp, her comlink clutched in a hand that would never move again.

And the Force came rushing back to Iskat Akaris like a joyful river, like a happy hound greeting a master kept too long from home. It coursed through her like adrenaline, unbridled, burning hot, coiling tight, propelling her forward before she could even think twice.

She leapt. Over the bodies, over the ruin, twin sabers–one green, one gold–igniting mid-air.

Iskat landed hard, saber crashing down on Darth Sidious’ crimson blade. The impact sent a jolt through her arms, but she pushed, she pressed, her strength folding into Master Yoda’s, who took the opportunity to lunge for the Sith’s head with a blinding flash of light. The Sith Lord backpedalled quickly, disengaging from her and knocking Yoda out of the air. Sidious’ lips curled into a snarl, free hand shooting out–and calling to himself a small metal object from elsewhere in the room.

A second red lightsaber burst to life.

Iskat Akaris deflated, breathing out slowly as she fell into a stance that answered the Sith Lord’s own.

Master Yoda glanced at her, but did not speak. And yet, an entire conversation passed between them. 

Iskat could not match Yoda’s speed and pace, not in seven-hundred years. She would be a hindrance, and more likely to get both of them killed. But Yoda could match her pace, and strike most opportunely at the Sith Lord. All Iskat had to do was hold her own, and stay alive for that long. 

The only issue? It meant Iskat would be the primary fighter. Against the first Dark Lord of the Sith in a thousand years. Darth Sidious didn’t hide himself in the Force; he let her feel his might, a heavy and smoldering malevolent energy that was reaching out to discover her weaknesses.

I’m going to get killed.

That was fear.

Jedi Knight Iskat Akaris barked out a laugh, and let the Force flow freely. 

I’m not going to get killed.

That was anger.

Jedi Knight Iskat Akaris knew what came next. It was the same tune, the same song, the same dance.

I’m going to kill him.

That was rage.

Iskat Akaris struck first, slashing with one lightsaber and then with the next. Master Yoda’s presence fell behind her; both physically and in her mind. She slammed into the Sith Lord, but he easily fought off both her blades with his red ones. He was stronger, both physically and in the Force, and she became acutely aware that he was playing with her. A sliver of fear shivered down her spine as he sharply parried every strike with the same ease and care she’d take teaching a youngling. 

She converted that fear into anger.

And she converted that anger into rage.

And the rage built in her chest, a fire craving something to burn, and she opened herself to the Force, to the depths that were always there like a loyal hound to be called upon in times of trouble. Thunder filled her veins as her onslaught built to a crescendo. Slash, parry, twirl, roll, jab, hack, slash!

The same rhythm, the same deadly tempo, the same exultation flooding her veins, burning away thought and fear, leaving only instinct. The Force was a drug, an intoxicant, and as long as she kept moving, kept fighting, it would never let her die. She broke into a grin as she drove the Sith Lord back. He faltered–just for a second, just enough to see it. The way his balance shifted, the way his expression flickered, the way something real flashed behind that mask of pale and sickly skin.

And then he smiled. A sly, curling thing, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just found something interesting buried inside her.

“Is that the best you have, dear?” his voice dripped with mockery, smooth as poisoned silk. “Come now. I know you can do… better.”

Iskat didn’t have the excess breath to spit a retort. Her focus was on the fight, on the twin streaks of her sabers, spinning, flashing, forcing him back.

Sidious only grinned wider– “There is still much–”

She didn’t let him finish. A twitch of her fingers, a pull of the Force, and she wrenched him forward. His body snapped toward her, red sabers flashing out to carve her in half–

But she was already moving, already ducking into a tight roll as he soared over her. And Yoda was there behind her, already waiting. The green blade stabbed up, a lightning-fast strike at the exposed flesh between the Sith Lord’s ribs.

Darth Sidious twisted, barely catching the blow on his crimson sabers–

Only for Iskat to pivot and strike at his back.

A hiss of surprise, a flick of his wrist, and one saber lifted behind him, catching her blade before it could cut deep. He shoved back, the Force rippled in response, and both Jedi flew backwards, boots scraping across the floor as the Sith Lord straightened, shaking out his robes. He was laughing madly.

She barely had time to react as he leapt through the air, spinning toward her, the fight continuing in earnest. Her body took over, reacting on instinct, flowing through the Force as if she were swimming with a current. The battle churned through the penthouse, a storm of clashing sabers and twisting shadows, a dance of three bodies moving too fast for the eye to follow. Iskat was alive in it, alight with the Force, burning with the thrill of the fight. 

Darth Sidious flowed like liquid darkness, red blades snapping, slashing, seeking gaps in their defenses. And he was smiling. Always smiling. Like this was all a game, like he had already won and was merely playing with them.

Master Yoda was relentless, small and swift and tireless, battering at the Sith Lord’s defenses with precise, whirling strikes. Iskat hardly noticed his tiny form weaving between their strikes, jabbing at perceived vulnerabilities and lunging at moments where she faltered, keeping the Sith Lord’s attention off her just long enough for her to return. She rebounded, all fire and motion and twin blades sweeping, spinning, striking together–but her cheeks burned all the same. Iskat felt it in every flick of Sidious’ wrist, every deliberate feint, every mocking sidestep that let her think she had an opening–only for him to twist away, grinning like this was all some grand, private joke.

Darth Sidious was faster than her. Stronger. Worse.

The Dark Lord of the Sith honed in on her, cackling, just like he did to Adi Gallia, just like he did to Shaak Ti, aiming for the weakest between her and Master Yoda. He moved like a shadow, his blades carving red streaks through the smoke-thick air, each swing forcing Iskat back, back, back–

Until she was too focused keeping herself alive to realise where her boots were carrying her.

She slid on shattered glass.

A hundred emotions flew across her face. Anger, at herself for such a foolish blunder. Shame, for letting down Master Yoda again. Rage, against the Sith Lord for putting her in this position. Fear, at the sensation of onrushing death.

Her stomach lurched as she realized where she had stepped–too close to the gaping hole where the window had been, the yawning abyss of Coruscant’s skyline stretching out beneath her, the wind howling past her ears.

Sidious saw it.

She barely had time to snarl, to throw herself back into a guard stance, before an invisible hand slammed into her chest.

The Force blast hurled her backwards, feet leaving the ground, the edge of the window frame whipping past her vision–and suddenly, she was falling.

Wind rushed past her face, a shriek of air and gravity and impending death, a thousand stories of air yawning open to swallow her whole. The cityscape stretched below, an endless sea of lights, the speeder traffic a four-thousand metres down little more than flickering embers in the dark. The wind roared in her ears, her breath caught in her throat–

And then she stopped.

A sudden, impossible stillness. A pressure wrapped around her, unseen but solid, holding her midair. She was floating.

“Master Yoda!”

Iskat gasped, her limbs flailing for purchase as the reality of it crashed in. MAster Yoda stood at the edge of the broken window, one clawed hand outstretched, his small form braced, ears back, hand outstretched. Holding her steady, keeping her from plummeting to her death. His other hand still held his lightsaber aloft, the green glow illuminating his face.

Darth Sidious took one look at the sight, threw back his head and laughed a bone-deep, echoing cackle.

“Oh, Master Jedi,” he crooned, voice thick with venomous delight, “Look at you, trying to save her! But can you? You couldn’t save Adi Gallia, and you couldn’t save Shaak Ti–so what makes you think you can save her!?.”

A snap of his fingers–

And the air turned to fire.

A crackling bolt of lightning exploded from his fingers, arcing through the air with a shriek of raw power. Yoda barely had time to shift his blade into position. The lightning crashed against the green plasma, sending blue-white energy scattering in wild, flickering strands. His face tightened in concentration, the Force bending around him as he struggled to maintain both the block and his hold on Iskat.

Iskat could see it clearly, how his clawed hand keeping her aloft was shaking, shivering.

Darth Sidious could see it too.

“Let her go! Why don’t you!?” he cackled cheerfully, fingers still wreathed in writhing arcs of lightning, “You cannot fight and save her, can you? You must choose. Let her go. Let her die–and you can still stop what all I will do…!”

The lightning surged, pressing harder against Yoda’s blade, crackling tendrils lashing out to scorch the floor and ceiling. The Jedi Master gritted his teeth, straining to pull her back up. Their eyes met.

Iskat screamed at him– 

“What are you doing!?” she shouted, as if she was not a mere Knight and he was the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, “Let me go! You can still win!”

Master Yoda smiled sadly, “The Jedi way, that is not, young Akaris.”

Iskat wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. Who cares about what is and what is not the Jedi way anymore!? All that matters is that they win! Because if Sidious wins, then there won’t be any Jedi left to care in the first place! But she no longer had the breath to do so.

Master Yoda must have seen something on her face, because he shook his head and turned back to the Sith Lord. And Iskat Akaris heard him say;

“Victorious yet, you are not,” as if preaching to a child and not the avatar of evil, “Tempted by you, I will not be. Ready to sacrifice all, I am ready to do.”

Then, Yoda sheathed his lightsaber, hooked it to his belt, turned to Iskat, and readied both hands to pull her up.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

Iskat could scarcely imagine it. Sidious, taken aback at first, immediately struck as soon as he realised what Yoda was doing. The Force erupted from his fingertips, a cascade of lightning slamming into the Grand Master’s small form. The impact cracked through the air, blinding white light illuminating the wreckage-strewn penthouse. Yoda’s body seized as electricity coursed through him, sparks dancing along his robes, skeleton illuminated underneath his skin, his hands still stretched toward Iskat, his face twisted in sheer concentration.

She felt herself lurch upwards. The pressure tightened around her, the Force pulling her inch by inch closer to the ledge, to safety, to solid ground. The pain, the exhaustion, the overwhelming helplessness–it all melted away beneath a single, desperate focus. Get up. Get up now!

Another blast of lightning struck Yoda square in the back. The tiny alien trembled, holding back a scream behind clenched teeth, and the strain on his face deepened. But he did not let go.

Almost there–!

With a final heave, Yoda pulled.

Iskat’s fingers scraped against the edge. Then her elbows. Then she threw herself forward, collapsing onto the floor of the penthouse, the solid ground slamming against her ribs, the breath rushing from her lungs.

She gasped. Dazed. Sprawled across the carpeted floor.

The Dark Lord of the Sith barely afforded her a passing glance. He struck at Yoda’s exhausted form with a blur, his tattered Chancellor’s robes billowing as he surged forward. A single, brutal wave of his hand sent Yoda hurtling backward, the impact slamming him against a broken column. The crack of stone and durasteel filled the room as the Jedi Master’s small body hit the ground, rolling, skidding–until his fingers caught the very edge of the deck, bloodied by a hundred cuts from shattered permaglass.

He dangled there, one tiny, clawed hand clinging to the ledge, his feet kicking into nothingness.

Coruscant yawned below.

NO–!

Iskat scrambled forward, heart hammering, every muscle screaming in protest. She reached his hand, head over the ledge to see Yoda looked up at her imploringly–

Sidious kicked her aside.

The force of it sent her tumbling, her shoulder slamming into marble, her head snapping back against the ruined floor. Stars burst across her vision, her limbs sluggish, her fingers twitching, too slow, too weak–too late.

She could only watch through blurred lens as Darth Sidious stepped toward the dangling Grand Master, flaming eyes alight with triumph.

“Ah,” the Sith Lord sighed, lifting one hand, letting the lightning curl between his fingers, slow, deliberate. “So much effort. So much struggle.”

He tilted his head. Smirked knowingly.

“You should have let her fall.”

Lightning slammed into Yoda’s small form, crackling, hissing, the raw, unnatural power of the Dark Side rippling through him. The Jedi Master shuddered, his fingers tightening around the ledge–and let go. Iskat felt his presence disappear from the Force, a sharp pinch like a candle’s flame going out.

Summoning strength unknown to her, Iskat stumbled to her feet, mindlessly attempting to strike at the Dark Lord of the Sith–only for the pressure that once saved her to slam her to the ground again, forcing her into a kneeling position.

“Iskat Akaris… was it?” Darth Sidious murmured, “You are talented, and yet you could be so much more.”

That drew a self-mocking laugh from her. It came out more like a wet cough.

“Look at this,” the Sith Lord gestured around him, “Three Masters of the Jedi Council, and this was all they could do. Don’t you question their wisdom, how powerful they claim themselves to be, how powerful they really are?”

She did. She has for a long time. But she did not admit it.

“Your style of fighting… I imagine they have always taught you to repress. That it was not the Jedi way–” Iskat could barely breath as the voice paused. More seductively, it continued, “Don’t you wish to embrace the talents the Force have gifted you? The passions the Jedi deemed unseemly and dangerous? Don’t you wish to be free?”

“...If you’re trying to fish for a new disciple, there are Jedi more powerful than I,” Iskat grunted.

“There are,” Sidious admitted, “But they are not here. And they have not fought me. You have. And I see potential.”

“Potential to kill you?” she challenged.

“That’s the only potential I deem worthy, my dear.”

In the next moment, a sharp, shuddering pain racked Iskat’s body and mind, stealing her breath and making her hearts stutter. She looked at Master Gallia’s body, slumped over in the mess left behind by their fight. Why did Master Yoda choose to save me? For what purpose? Stupid. Foolish. Dumbass!

She felt the galaxy around her, absent of the Jedi who had raised her and guided her. She reached inside to the jagged emptiness within, the profound loneliness she’d known all her life, even while surrounded by those who claimed to be her family. 

She felt that tug in her soul, the one that had been nudging her, urging her to follow her passions and curiosities despite her Jedi guidance. That part of her that yearned to be free and untethered and unashamed. It beckoned to her, welcomed her.

She felt a new sense of fathomless potential, a new fount from which to draw her strength. There were darkly swirling eddies there, shadowy places she’d never delved and already, she felt more powerful, more certain. The only path was forward, the Force seemed to say. 

Iskat Akaris stared up at the devil in all of his hideous form, “One day, I’m going to put a sword through your skull.”

And it will be that day I avenge them. I let the words of a curse be my deliverance.

The devil grinned back down at her, “I will look forward to that day gladly, young Akaris.”