Chapter 12 — Part 1: The Council's Dilemma
The cavernous chamber of the Jedi Council hummed with quiet urgency. High above Coruscant's bustling cityscape, the ancient domed room was bathed in the soft glow of holoprojectors flickering with star maps and coded transmissions. Around the circular table sat the galaxy's greatest Force wielders — guardians of peace, arbiters of balance, and bearers of heavy responsibility.
Master Yoda, his small frame steady and eyes calm, sat near the center, flanked by Masters Mace Windu and Shaak Ti. Others, seasoned and younger alike, adjusted their robes or exchanged looks thick with concern. A holoprojector showed a list of Jedi — their faces and names, some marked "unaccounted for."
Master Taron, a veteran of many battles, was the first to speak. His deep voice resonated against the marble walls.
"We have received disturbing reports. Over the past cycle, several Jedi have not answered the Council's calls. Their last transmissions were lost or never sent. In some cases, their patrols vanished without trace."
Master Taron's gaze swept the room. "We cannot ignore the possibility that these disappearances are linked to the growing unrest in the Outer Rim. If true, it means the conflict spreads faster and deeper than our intelligence had warned."
Master Jalen, a younger but sharp-eyed member, leaned forward, voice edged with skepticism.
"Are we certain this is not simply poor communication? The Outer Rim is vast, and with the tension escalating, delays are expected. Should we not consider that some Jedi are simply delayed?"
Master Shaak Ti responded, voice measured but firm. "Delays do not explain the complete silence in some cases, Jalen. It is unlike to abandon contact unless something grave has occurred."
Master Mace Windu folded his hands on the table, his eyes narrowing. "There are whispers of shadowy forces moving in the dark. Hidden agents, perhaps, working to undermine the Order. We cannot dismiss the possibility that these disappearances are the work of a growing, unseen threat."
Yoda raised a gnarled finger for silence. When he spoke, the chamber quieted immediately.
"Strong, the disturbance is. Felt throughout the Force, it is. But cautious we must be. To panic too quickly leads to rash decisions. Patience and wisdom, our guides remain."
Master Taron nodded slowly. "Master Yoda is right. We must not act on panic. Yet, the longer we wait, the greater the risk that more Jedi may fall."
A subtle murmur spread through the room. Master Liora, a tactician known for her pragmatism, cleared her throat. "With respect, Masters, the Council must consider sending an investigative contingent. A small team of trusted Jedi to the Outer Rim sectors where these disappearances began."
"Risky," muttered Master Jalen, shaking his head. "Sending more Jedi could worsen the losses.
"Or," said Master Shaak Ti, "we send fewer, but stronger — Jedi skilled in concealment and stealth. To uncover the threat without drawing attention."
The Council fell silent again, weighing the options. It was clear the situation demanded action but how to act without exposing the Order's hand remained the dilemma.
Yoda's gaze swept the faces of his fellow Masters. "Listen to the Force we must. Trust in its guidance, we shall. But heed the shadows, we will."
Master Mace Windu stood, voice commanding. "We will convene soon to decide the team and mission parameters. In the meantime, all Jedi are urged to increase vigilance, and report any anomalies or disturbances immediately."
He looked directly at the holoprojector's list. "May the Force be with those missing — and with those who seek to find them."
As the meeting concluded, the chamber's heavy doors opened, letting in the muted hum of Coruscant's city below. The Council members rose, exchanging quiet words of resolve and worry.
Among the departing Masters, Yoda lingered a moment, his eyes closing as if to listen to some distant, whispering call beyond sight and sound.
The Force was stirring. The galaxy was shifting beneath its delicate balance.
And somewhere, hidden from all eyes, Kade Sorn listened too — the echo of ancient power within him stirring anew, preparing for the trials to come in.
Chapter 12: Part 2 — Sorn Watches the World Change
Sorn did not return to the Temple.
He vanished back into the veins of Coruscant — into shadow and motion, where the Force hummed like a distant current under durasteel. No summons had followed him, no request for further meeting. And that suited him. He wasn't ready to be pulled into their light. Or their war.
Still, he felt it coming.
The galaxy had begun to shift. Even in the lowest levels — far from the pristine towers of the Senate — the war echoed in footfalls and freighters. Republic banners were raised in places that hadn't seen a government agent in years. Public terminals ran recruitment messages on loops.
There was no more hiding what the Republic was becoming. The shape of the future was armored and armed.
And the Jedi, he knew, were now at the center of it.
Sorn stood still as a shadow under a fractured bridge beam, eyes on a plaza below. His hood was drawn, presence dimmed — not hidden, not entirely, but folded in on itself. Like breath before a storm. A thousand lives moved below him, unaware. A thousand ripples in the Force. One of them… trembled.
He descended before thought could form. Not with speed, but certainty — a single step becoming five meters, his body light as falling dust. Force Step. A technique he'd crafted in silence. Not learned, not taught — discovered through motion, failure, and instinct.
Down below, a figure stumbled. Human, mid-thirties, wearing formal robes stained with soot. Not from here. Eyes wild, off-world. She was being followed.
Two men and one woman — not locals either. Clean coats. Coordinated movements. Military posture, disguised poorly as civilian swagger. One reached under his coat. The other scanned the street like he was painting a map in his mind.
Sorn moved.
He didn't draw attention. He walked the edge of the street until the wind bent away from him. The diplomat — for that's what she was — nearly collided with him as she rounded a pillar. Her breath hitched, but he didn't speak. His hand touched her shoulder. And with a ripple in the Force, her footsteps ceased to echo. Her heartbeat steadied. She blinked — confused — but he nodded once.
Then stepped forward.
The three pursuers didn't see him until he was close enough to breathe on them.
The first tried to speak. Sorn answered with movement. A single pivot — hips low, arm snapping forward — and the man was airborne. Spinning. Colliding with a column and dropping hard.
The second reached for a hidden weapon. Sorn turned his shoulder, tapped the Force through his knuckles — Armament Force — and shattered the weapon's frame before the trigger could tighten. The woman fired anyway — a wild shot. It hissed into the wall behind him. His second step brought him inside her guard.
The air thickened.
He struck her open-palmed across the collarbone. Not to kill — but to silence. Her eyes rolled back as she folded.
The third man ran.
Sorn let him.
By the time the diplomat gathered herself, the wind was shifting again. She turned to speak — but he was already moving. Already gone.
---
Hours later, her story made it into an encrypted report filed to Republic intelligence. It was quickly flagged and passed along to Jedi channels. The description was vague — "a tall man, cloaked in black, with no visible weapon." But the words that stood out were simple:
"He moved like no one I've ever seen. Like he wasn't there, and then was. Like the air bent around him. And when it ended, I felt safe. Not because he was kind. But because… I could tell he chose not to kill them."
The Jedi Council read the transcript in silence. A few masters exchanged knowing glances. Yoda only closed his eyes.
"He remains," the Grand Master said softly.
---
Elsewhere, in the darkness above the Core Worlds, a different transmission arrived.
Not an official report. Not intelligence. Just a whisper. A passing murmur between spies. The Sith dealt in shadows. And one such whisper now reached the ear of Darth Sidious.
A warrior in black. No name. No trace.
Sidious didn't respond immediately. He sat alone, hands steeped under his chin, gaze unfocused. He had long suspected another presence in the Force. Something old. Careful. Dangerous.
He had felt the disturbance when Sorn entered the Temple.
And now… confirmation.
He turned in his seat.
"Lord Tyranus," he said into the dark.
A projection shimmered. Count Dooku's face flickered to life. Stern. Regal. Patient.
"Yes, my master?"
"There is a ripple in the deep," Sidious said. "One that slipped even past your apprentice's reach."
Dooku's brow furrowed. "Another Jedi?"
Sidious shook his head. "No. Not quite."
He leaned forward, eyes glittering.
"A shadow that walks with purpose. One that should not exist. Find him."
Chapter 12: Part 3 — The Quiet Before the Storm
That night, the city above never slept — but below it, silence reigned.
Sorn sat alone in the forgotten chamber beneath Coruscant's steel arteries. Old stone, older than the Republic itself, cradled him in silence. Like a warrior before battle. Or a monk before judgment.
The Force moved around him, but not gently.
It tugged. Whispered. Pressed against the edges of his thoughts with the weight of something vast. Not darkness. Not light. Just wound.
A rupture.
Like a deep fissure had already formed in the body of the galaxy, and every moment, it widened.
He closed his eyes. Let his breath slow. Let his mind return to the rhythm carved into his bones.
There is breath in all things.
There is stillness in the turning.
Life feeds death. Death births life.
This is the cycle. This is the rhythm.
But something was different tonight.
The words did not settle like they used to.
He heard the turning — but it did not feel balanced. He heard the breath — but there was strain beneath it. And when he reached deeper, into the quiet of the Force, he heard something else.
A tear.
Like fabric being pulled apart. Not in the future. Not in theory. But now. Already happening.
Sorn opened his eyes.
Maybe the wound wasn't coming.
Maybe the wound was already here.
---
"Marbs," he said, quietly.
The recon droid blinked to life on the table near him. It had kept watch in his silence, optic sensors twitching now toward his voice.
"You've updated the safe house logs?"
Marbs gave a low affirmative trill. On its shoulder, a small holomap displayed the last known locations of neutral safe zones scattered across the mid-rim.
"The woman and her child — they reached the outpost?"
Another beep. Yes. They were logged. Transported. Secured under new IDs with a neutral trade guild. No trace.
"Good." He looked at the map a moment longer, then dimmed the display. "No more attachments."
The droid paused. Its optic blinked, expressionless. But something in its stillness lingered — like it wanted to say more.
Sorn stood.
"I can't protect pieces of the world," he said softly. "Not anymore. I have to face what's coming."
Marbs lowered its head.
---
He didn't wake Lera. The girl was curled into her nest of old cushions and scraps in the side alcove, breathing softly. She had trained hard the last few weeks, her body bruised from Force-augmented strikes and silent movement drills. She still couldn't mask her presence perfectly — but she was learning.
She needed rest.
And she needed safety.
He wouldn't risk either tonight.
Sorn moved through the chamber without a word. Each item he lifted was chosen not for offense, but for endurance. A reinforced coat of armored weave — dark gray with brush-resistant fibers. A set of field rations and medpacs. Coil hooks. Two modified energy blades hidden in his boots — not lightsabers, not even plasma-based. Just hardened tools that worked in silence and shadows.
His final addition was a thin, flat band — forged from phrik composite, etched with ancient script he found in the vault long ago. It wasn't Jedi or Sith. It simply was — like him.
He slid it over his wrist.
His breathing calmed.
Marbs hovered silently at his side.
Sorn looked up at the stairwell that led to the surface. The city pulsed faintly beyond it. And something else, too — like a tide shifting direction.
He didn't know what the Jedi would do. He didn't know what the Sith had planned.
But he knew this: the cycle was off.
War is not the cycle.
War ends what should turn.
War is the wound.
And I am the scar that closes it.
Sorn exhaled slowly.
"I won't run this time," he told Marbs. "The war is here. And if I must be seen…"
He stepped toward the stairs, cloak folding behind him like a shadow reborn.
"…then let them see me."