Yoda's voice came quietly, but firm. "Quite well. A very relieving speech, Qui-Gon." The Grand Master looked across the courtyard, eyes moving over the gathered Masters and Knights. "Any others? This is a good time to speak. If Dooku can hear us—no matter where he is—peace, it may bring him."
And so they stepped forward. One by one. Jedi who trained beside Dooku. Jedi who argued with him. Jedi who admired him from afar. Each gave a memory, a lesson, a fragment of the man they knew.
Then Yaddle stepped forward. Her eyes shimmered with held tears, but her voice did not break.
"Dooku… if you want to know, I have made my decision. As I have spoken with Master Yoda, I have stepped down from the Council." She inhaled, slow, steady. "You were right all along. For me… for us. We have been shackled too much by the idea that the enemy is extinct. And we grew comfortable—too comfortable—under the Senate."
A tear finally slid down her cheek. She didn't wipe it.
"We were blind. You were not. And though darkness claimed you, the truth in your warnings remains. I hope… wherever your spirit rests… you know that I heard you."
Silence settled again—heavy, raw, shared.
Yoda's ears twitched. He felt the weight in Mace Windu's stance, the tension held too long in his shoulders. Yoda turned his head slightly. "Windu. Not a good thing, it is, to keep something in your heart. Release it here."
Windu's jaw moved once, tight. "It's not a speech, Master. It's just my devotion… and what battles might come."
Plo Koon stepped forward, voice steady. "Then we'll hear it. No matter how terrible or dangerous it sounds."
Yaddle nodded. "Quite right, Plo Koon. Whatever emotion you hold back—this is the place to release it."
Windu drew a slow breath, ready to speak.
A footstep cut through the courtyard. Heavy. Solid. Wrong. Instinct tightened in every Jedi present. Hands brushed hilts. Postures shifted. The air changed like a blade brushing skin.
The figure approached through the archway. Then tension broke. Relief washed the line.
Chancellor Palpatine stepped into view—draped in formal crimson and black, expression shaped into the perfect mask of sorrow. A sympathetic frown, a softened gaze, shoulders lowered in respectful mourning.
Obi-Wan exhaled. "It's the Chancellor… I didn't expect you here. Have you come to mourn your friend as well?"
Palpatine nodded slowly. "Yes. I have. Dooku was—if nothing else—one of my closest associates in the Senate. We disagreed often, but we shared the same frustrations. The same burdens."
He walked closer to the coffin, letting the weight of silence cling to him. But behind the softened expression, behind the lowered eyes, his thoughts flickered sharp.
He should have been my apprentice. The perfect replacement for Maul. Strong, elegant, political. Not possessed by some ancient relic like a fool.
Qui-Gon's gaze sharpened, sensing a discordant note in the Chancellor's presence. "Chancellor… forgive me for asking, but something troubles me. Your steps—they sounded… tense. As if you disliked this outcome. May I ask why?"
Palpatine didn't miss a beat. His transition into grief was smooth, practiced, convincing. "Because I despise that this is how my friend's life ended," he said, voice thick with crafted sorrow. "We often spoke of the burdens of the Republic. The Senate. Of corruption… of those who only think about filling their bellies while worlds suffer. To lose him like this—stolen by some evil force none of us foresaw—is a wound deeper than politics."
Yoda bowed his head slightly, accepting the words without suspicion. To him, Palpatine was a diligent chancellor, a stable presence in a wavering galaxy. He saw only sincerity.
"Grateful, we are," Yoda said. "Your presence here… soothes Dooku in the Force as well."
Palpatine offered a small nod. "And I am honored to stand with all of you."
He paused, just long enough for the moment to feel organic. Then—carefully, strategically—he leaned in slightly.
"May I ask… what exactly happened beneath the Temple? The reports were incomplete. And I fear… if a threat of this magnitude truly exists… I should understand it."
I need the details.If the shrine is damaged, I must move fast.,. if the Jedi learn what truly lies below… everything collapses. Plagueis will hold me responsible
Obi-Wan stepped forward, hands folded behind his back.
"The one we encountered called himself Naga Sadow," Obi-Wan said. "A Sith from ancient times. He claimed to have fused himself with Master Dooku's essence."
Palpatine's breath hitched—real, not acted..
Obi-Wan continued, unaware of the thoughts flickering beneath the politician's pleasant face.
"And from what we gathered… from witnesses beyond the Temple… he could brighten the sun."
Palpatine blinked. "Brighten… the sun? What does that mean?"
Windu stepped forward, voice low, steady. "It means solar flare. Sadow can trigger one. A massive burst. If he forces it repeatedly… a star could go unstable . Could go supernova."
Palpatine… felt ice slide under his skin. A solar-flare Sith. One who could erase the entire Outer Rim with a thought.
The Chancellor's heart pounded once—hard—before he forced his face back into calm lines.
"That , is… deeply troubling."
Yoda lowered his head again, grief settling into the small lines of his face. "Much more than troubling, it is. A threat unseen since ancient times—an era when the Sith still reigned, though what truly happened then, and how powerful they were, we do not fully know."
Windu exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. "And we let him escape."
Palpatine listened in silence, but his thoughts churned. The Jedi were shifting—reflective, shaken, uncertain. If they actually opened their eyes and saw how unpopular their rigid methods had become across the galaxy… If they rebuilt themselves into something the people loved… then executing Order 66 would not be simple. It would be dangerous. It would risk everything.
He needed a way to redirect their momentum. To keep them from becoming what the galaxy wanted them to be.
So he spoke, voice soft, respectful.
"Apologies, Master Jedi," Palpatine said. "But I have a suggestion. Perhaps… we could ask Jin-Woo to handle this threat instead."
Yoda didn't blink. He simply stared at Palpatine with a flat, unreadable expression—the kind that quietly asked, Are you stupid?
Silence stretched a moment too long.
Windu folded his arms. "Chancellor Palpatine, Jin-Woo's moral compass is unpredictable. He has already made it clear he doesn't like us or the Republic. Even if he agreed, he operates like a mercenary."
Obi-Wan raised a brow, adding dry humor into the tension. "And knowing him, Chancellor… he might ask for Coruscant as payment. As his home."
Some Jedi actually choked on their breath.
"That," Obi-Wan continued, "would be a very big problem for the Republic."
Palpatine pressed a hand over his chest, adopting concern like a second skin. "Surely there is something we can do. During Chancellor Valorum's era, emergency powers were enacted whenever the Jedi faced overwhelming threats. We all remember how we handled Joever Bideney. But this time… perhaps a full emergency authorization is required."
Windu's expression darkened. "Chancellor Palpatine, you forget—Joever Bideney is still out there. Most of us have never fought him head-on. The only one who ever did is Master Yoda."
Every Jedi eye shifted to the Grand Master.
Yoda's ears lowered. He leaned slightly on his cane, his breath slow. "Hmmm. Hard, the fight was. Ten years ago… here on Coruscant. A battle difficult, deep, and cold. Even though guardians of the galaxy we became for many decades… shame, we have brought."
The courtyard fell silent again, the weight of his words pressing against every pillar, every fracture in the stone.
Palpatine watched them closely—too closely. Inside, his thoughts spiraled sharp as talons. He masked the thought instantly behind a layer of grief. This is bad. They're shifting. Becoming something harder to manipulate.
Windu folded his arms, voice steady. "Chancellor, granting emergency powers now would shift responsibility to the Jedi at a time when we are weakened—physically and politically."
Obi-Wan nodded. "And Jin-Woo is not a tool to be pointed at a crisis. If we rely on him once, the Senate will rely on him twice. Then thrice."
Windu added, "And when his price inevitably comes, it will be a cost no Republic can afford."
Yoda's gaze turned to Palpatine—flat, unreadable. "Suggesting dangerous things, you are, Chancellor."
Palpatine bowed his head with perfect humility. "My apologies, Masters. Grief… pulls the mind toward desperate solutions."
Inside, the calculation continued. they become wiser… my time grows shorter.
This path must be corrected. Soon.
But outwardly, he only sighed and placed a gentle hand on Dooku's coffin.
"Let us honor him," he said, voice soft as mourning cloth. "Before decisions drive us apart."
The courtyard hushed again. Then the sound hit—heavy boots, marching in formation . The Jedi straightened at once, instincts snapping awake. A full detachment of Republic troops poured into the temple grounds, marked with the crest of the Strong Republic. And at the front—
its Chancellor Ranulph Tarkin , with his personal army .
Tyvokka's growl rumbled through the courtyard, sharp enough to slice stone. "What is the meaning of this, Tarkin?"
Tarkin didn't flinch. He stood with rigid posture, chin up, voice loud enough to command the entire plaza.
"It's Chancellor Tarkin, Master Jedi. And I am here to conscript several of you—along with a selection of younglings—into the Republic Peacekeeping Force."
The shock rippled instantly through the Jedi ranks. Even the air felt colder.
Palpatine's eyes narrowed for just a fraction—calculating—but outwardly he stepped forward with elegant concern. "My friend Tarkin… as co-chancellors, I must ask restraint. They are still mourning here. This is neither the time nor the place."
Tarkin snapped back, voice dripping with disdain. "Palpatine, you're a fool. This disaster happened because the Jedi have grown complacent. Lazy. Arrogant. Clinging to the false belief that the Sith are extinct."
He pointed sharply toward the ruined steps of the Temple.
"And after a full structural sweep, we confirmed it—there was a Sith shrine beneath your feet for centuries, and not a single Jedi detected it."
Mace Windu stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice controlled but edged. "Chancellor Tarkin. Even we did not know about that shrine. This tragedy is not the fault of the Jedi alone. It struck all of us."
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a brief look—both recognizing the danger. A fracture between the Republic and the Jedi wasn't just possible now.
It was forming. Tarkin lifted a hand, signaling his Strong Republic soldiers forward. Their boots thundered across the courtyard. Lightsaber ignited in response .
Jocasta Nu stepped out before anyone else, her hand already on her hilt . "I understand if you wish to conscript us. But the younglings? They are children with wonders ahead of them, with futures the galaxy has yet to shape."
Tarkin didn't flinch. His tone was cold iron. "And will the children under your watch become efficient guardians? The failure of your faction cost the Republic dearly. The Senate now sees the Jedi as complacent. Blind. The new generation of Force-users under my command will become a peacekeeping force that actually benefits the galaxy."
( ranulph tarkin image)