Ancient columns loomed around, like silent guardians of forgotten times. Kreia stood in the center of this dead grandeur, her figure appearing both real and spectral.
"We have obtained the crystals," Alex said, involuntarily lowering his voice. This place always made one speak more quietly.
"Two," Verena added boastfully, her lehkku twitching slightly. "I have two crystals. Alex has one."
Kreia nodded slowly, showing neither surprise nor approval.
"Then it is time for the next step," her voice sounded even, but a strange weariness could be felt in it. "Meditate. Immerse yourselves in the depths of yourselves. Seek not peace—seek certainty."
She took a step forward, and the starlight seemed to condense around her.
"That feeling when you know you are right. When you understand what you live for. Not for what—but for what. I don't know what it will be for each of you. But it will come. And when it comes—you will resonate with the crystal. Only then will it truly become yours. And then you will assemble your swords."
Verena wanted to ask something, but Kreia raised her hand.
"This is the last time we speak like this," there was no regret in her words, only a statement of fact. "You know all that you need. Now all that remains is to train. To deepen your understanding in meditation. To move forward."
Alex felt something clench in his chest.
"Why the last time?" it escaped him before he could think.
Kreia turned to him, and something almost human flickered in her eyes. Almost alive.
"Madness," she said simply. "I was creating this holocron already on the path to madness. I feel..." she paused for a moment, as if listening to something within herself. "I feel that it is close. And now... it is time to say goodbye."
She looked at them both again.
"Why?" Verena stepped forward, her voice trembling.
Kreia turned away.
"It is connected to what happened four thousand years ago."
"What happened then?" Alex asked insistently. "You promised to tell."
A long pause. A wind, which should not have been in the virtual space, rustled among the ruins.
"And I will tell," Kreia finally said, still not turning around. "Listen..."
She slowly turned to them, and in the dim starlight, her face seemed gaunt, as if she hadn't slept for a thousand years.
"Four thousand years ago, I was not just a Jedi Master," Kreia began, her voice even, but each word was given with effort. "I was a philosopher. The Chief Archivist of the Order. The keeper of knowledge that even most Jedi had never seen and should never have seen."
She raised her hand, and holographic images flickered in the air—ancient scrolls, memory crystals, artifacts of indescribable antiquity.
"I had access to the true archives. Not to the records that padawans study, and not even to those available to ordinary masters. To the real secrets—documents tens of thousands of years old. Eyewitness accounts of events that official history preferred to forget."
Kreia clenched her fist, and the images scattered into sparks.
"In those days, I believed I understood. That I saw further than others. That my knowledge made me wiser." A bitter smile distorted her face.
She began to walk slowly between the columns, and Alex and Verena involuntarily followed her with their gaze.
"In the archives, I learned the truth about our civilization. That all our technology, all our achievements rested on a foundation laid tens of thousands of years ago. Hyperdrives, energy cells, even the simplest droids—all worked on principles that we cannot replicate. More precisely, we could, but we shouldn't have. Rakatan technology was built on stabilized midi-chlorians, which they forcibly extracted from sentient beings. All our technologies contain components that cost hundreds of trillions of lives at some point in the past. And the supply of these components is finite."
She stopped at a broken column, ran her hand over the cold stone.
"I learned about the Sith. About an ancient mind virus that was passed down through generations, turning its carriers into puppets of another's will. A virus that caused a monstrous catastrophe a thousand years ago. I studied reports of encounters with infected individuals, dated from various eras. Jedi encountered this contagion again and again."
"And I learned about one major project of the Order. About a project that had been prepared for centuries. About the Mandalorians."
"Most in the galaxy considered Mandalorians savages," Kreia continued. "Barbarians from the fringes of civilized space. But I knew the truth. Their rise had been prepared for almost a thousand years. The Jedi—the very Jedi who preached peace and non-violence—secretly guided the development of their culture, shaped their traditions, their technologies. They created a cultural and technological machine."
She raised her hand, and an image of a warrior in characteristic armor appeared in the air.
"Mandalorians possessed two unique advantages. The first—their technological base did not depend on Rakatan heritage. They understood the principles of their machines, could improve them. Jedi sent millions of scientists and engineers to them, over thousands of years. The second—beskar, Mandalorian iron. This metal could shield the mind from the Force's influence, create a field impenetrable to mental intrusion."
Kreia clenched her fist, and the image disappeared.
"The plan was simple and brilliant. The Mandalorians were to conquer the galaxy and update its technological base. Replace the fading Rakatan technologies with their own. Create a civilization independent of ancient heritage and protected from ancient threats."
"But why war?" Verena couldn't hold back. "Why couldn't it be done peacefully?"
Kreia looked at her with something akin to pity.
"Because the inertia of society is insurmountable by peaceful means. Corporations that built their wealth on the monopoly of Rakatan technology would never have allowed new technologies to displace old ones. Governments whose power was based on control over ancient artifacts would not have allowed a redistribution of power."
She turned away.
"It could only be done by force. Quickly, decisively, leaving no time for the old elites to resist. Everything was calculated. The balance of forces. The duration of the campaign. Even the places where Republic troops were supposed to retreat or surrender. There were secret agreements. Guarantees. The plan was supposed to work with minimal casualties."
Kreia fell silent, and the silence pressed on their ears.
"But the Council did not account for one factor," her voice became almost a whisper. "It was not part of the plans of the parasite who managed to subjugate many Jedi, including my apprentice."
Kreia raised her hand, and a figure of a young man appeared in the air. Tall, with dark hair, burning eyes. Even in the holographic projection, incredible charisma emanated from him.
"Revan," Kreia said, and for the first time, genuine pain sounded in her voice. "My apprentice. Brilliant, charismatic, full of fire and life. He could ignite hope in people's hearts with a single glance. He could lead armies with the power of his persuasion."
She slowly walked around the holographic figure.
"I took him as my apprentice when I saw in him a potential rarely found even among Jedi. He grasped knowledge on the fly. Understood the most complex philosophical concepts that took others years to master. He wielded the Force with a ease unattainable by most gifted individuals. I trained him, brought him to the rank of Knight, and was something like his research supervisor."
Kreia touched the holographic image, and it scattered.
"But there was a... crack in him. A need to be the center of attention. A thirst for recognition. A desire to be a hero, a savior, someone who would be remembered for centuries. I saw it. I knew about it. And I thought I could direct this energy in the right direction."
She closed her eyes.
"I was wrong."
Kreia began to walk again, her steps echoing in the void.
"When the Mandalorian invasion began, the Council declared non-interference. For ordinary members of the Order, this was incomprehensible. The Republic was in danger. 'Savages' were advancing. Reports came of atrocities, of destroyed worlds, of millions of refugees.
She stopped.
"Most of these reports were exaggerated. Propaganda from a regime trying to force the Jedi to intervene. But many believed. And Revan believed. Or wanted to believe."
Images appeared in the air again—burning cities, crowds of refugees, destroyed ships.
"He began to secretly gather like-minded individuals among the young Jedi."
Kreia clenched her fists.
"Dozens joined him. Then hundreds. And all under the Council's nose. Young, idealistic, full of righteous anger. They saw him as the leader the galaxy deserved. A hero who wouldn't be afraid to act when the old and cowardly masters hid behind their dogmas. The Dark Side hid all this from the Council and from me."
She turned to Alex and Verena, her face contorted with pain.
"Even I... I didn't notice the changes in him. I didn't feel that someone was manipulating him... I was too engrossed in my research. Until I received a message."
Kreia raised her hand, and a holographic projection appeared in the air—a message recorded four thousand years ago.
Revan stood at full height, his face serious, determined. Behind him, the silhouettes of other Jedi—his followers—were visible.
"Master," he began, and even through millennia, his voice carried persuasive power. "I am recording this message, knowing it may be the last you hear from me. I bid you farewell. I can no longer remain part of an Order that has betrayed everything I thought we believed in."
Revan took a step forward, his eyes burning with righteous anger.
"How can you sit idly by? How can you meditate in your temples while the galaxy burns? Every day, reports come of new worlds falling to the Mandalorian onslaught. Every day, millions die, crying for help that does not come. And what does the Council do? It speaks of patience. Of non-interference. Of the Force having its own plans."
His voice grew harsher.
"What plans can justify betrayal? What wisdom can explain cowardice? You say that Jedi are protectors of peace and justice. But where is that protection when it is needed most? Where is justice for those who die waiting for salvation that will never come?"
Revan gestured around him.
"Hundreds of Jedi have joined me. Hundreds who still remember what it means to be a protector, not a philosopher in a tower. We are going to war. Not because we crave battle. Not because we seek glory. But because it is right. Because when evil triumphs, silence is complicity."
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice held bitterness.
"I am disappointed in the Order, Master. Disappointed in those I considered wise, disappointed in you. You speak of balance, of the long-term perspective, of not seeing the full picture. But I see enough. I see suffering. I see injustice. And I see those who have the power to stop it, but choose to do nothing."
Revan straightened up.
"Perhaps one day you will explain your reasons to me. Perhaps I will understand the wisdom that now seems like cowardice to me. But that day is not today. Today, I make a choice. The choice to act. The choice to be the Jedi I thought we all should be."
He paused, and his face softened.
"I am grateful to you for all you have taught me, Master. For the knowledge, for the wisdom, for the patience you showed towards my flaws. But now I must go my own way. A way that, I believe, is the right one."
Revan bowed.
"Farewell, Master. If the Force is favorable, we will meet again."
The hologram faded.
Kreia stood motionless, her face an impassive mask. But Alex could see her hands trembling.
"When I received this message," she said quietly, "I realized I had lost him. That my apprentice had gone where I could not follow. Not because I didn't want to. But because I knew the truth. I knew he was destroying a plan that had been prepared for centuries. I knew his interference would doom the galaxy to catastrophe."
She raised her head.
"But I didn't know one more thing. I didn't know that before leaving, Revan did something else."
Kreia turned to them, and a cold fire danced in her eyes.
"He infiltrated the deepest archives, using my access codes. Into the vaults accessible only to members of the High Council and the Chief Archivist. That is, me."
She clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles turned white.
"He stole data about the Rakata. Coordinates of forgotten worlds where ancient machines were still functioning. Knowledge about the Star Forge—an orbital station capable of producing a fleet of ships in a matter of days. Data on the reserve supply of components for our technological base."
Kreia began to walk faster, her movements becoming sharp, nervous.
She stopped, breathing heavily.
"And I didn't know. I didn't know until the very end. I thought he was just leading Jedi to war. That they would simply perish there without a fleet. Sad, but it was their choice. I had no idea he was planning something more."
Kreia fell silent, and when she spoke again, her voice was empty, devoid of emotion.
"The Council discovered evidence of the breach a year after Revan left Coruscant, when the war was already raging."
She raised her hand, and new images appeared around them. The Jedi Council chamber. A circle of masters sitting in chairs. And in the center—a lone figure in an archivist's robe.
"They summoned me. Their suspicions were strong, as after Revan's departure, many questions were already being asked of me," Kreia continued, looking at her past incarnation. "Twelve masters. The best minds of the Order. Keepers of wisdom and justice."
The voice of one of the masters sounded in the void:
"Master Kreia. You stand before the Council on charges of treason against the Order. Of stealing secret data and passing it to unauthorized persons. How do you answer these charges?"
The past Kreia stood straight, her face calm.
"I did not steal the data. I did not pass it to anyone."
"But the access was made using your codes," said another master. "Your biometrics. Your encryption keys."
"Revan was my apprentice," the past Kreia replied. "He had partial access to my systems. This is standard practice for senior padawans."
"A practice that requires supervision," the third master intervened. "You should have monitored his actions. You should have known what he was doing."
"I couldn't watch his every step," irritation sounded in the past Kreia's voice. "He was a Jedi Knight, not a child."
"A Knight who led hundreds of Jedi against the Council's will," the first master said coldly. "A Knight who stole secrets capable of changing the balance of power in the galaxy. And this happened under your supervision, Master Kreia."
The present Kreia, standing next to Alex and Verena, clenched her fists.
"They didn't believe me," she whispered. "They didn't want to believe. It looked like I was aware of it and had sanctioned it myself."
In the vision, the past Kreia stepped forward:
"You accuse me of my apprentice's crimes. But where is your fault? You, who created a situation where hundreds of Jedi preferred to leave rather than stay? You, who, with your inaction and information isolation, drove them to despair?"
"We are not discussing the Council's policies," one of the masters sharply interrupted her. "We are discussing your treason."
"What treason?" the past Kreia's voice became harsher. "I did not steal the data. I did not help Revan. I didn't even know about his plans until the last moment."
"Tell fairy tales to someone else," the oldest of the masters said, his voice full of disappointment.
The past Kreia fell silent. A long, heavy pause.
"You have shown disloyalty or incompetence. I don't even know which is worse," the master interrupted her. "And your actions will cost the galaxy billions of lives."
The First Master rose:
"The Jedi Council renders the following verdict. Master Kreia, you are stripped of your title as Chief Archivist. You are stripped of your right to train apprentices. You are expelled from the Jedi Order."
He paused, and his next words sounded like a death sentence:
"Furthermore. Given the severity of your crimes, the Council decrees you be severed from the Force. The procedure will be carried out immediately."
The circle of Masters closed in. The past Kreia recoiled as if struck.
"No," she whispered. "You can't..."
"We can, and we must," the Master said coldly. "You will serve as an example. A warning to those who dare betray the Order."
The true Kreia waved her hand, and the vision dissipated.
"Severed from the Force," she said, ancient fury in her voice. "Rendered an empty shell. A living corpse that breathes but does not live. They wanted to turn me into a warning. A scarecrow for the disobedient."
She turned to Alex and Verena.
"But I was too experienced a Master to let them do that."
Kreia raised her hand, and a new scene formed around them. In the center, the past Kreia, surrounded by a glowing Force field.
"They began the ritual," the true Kreia recounted. "An ancient technique developed millennia ago to deal with fallen Jedi. Twelve Masters, uniting their will, could sever any being's connection to the Force, extract the midi-chlorians from them."
In the vision, the glowing field began to shrink, pressing in on the past Kreia from all sides.
"It was..." Kreia fell silent, searching for words. "It was like being suffocated. As if invisible hands were squeezing not my throat, but my very soul. I felt the threads connecting me to the Force begin to snap, one by one."
The past Kreia fell to her knees, her face contorted in pain.
"But I studied the archives deeper than any of them," the true Kreia continued. "I knew secrets they didn't even suspect. Techniques developed by the ancient Masters. Methods of manipulating the Force that the Council considered too dangerous to explore."
In the vision, the past Kreia raised her head. Her eyes flashed.
"I didn't fight their power. I redirected it."
The glowing field around her suddenly exploded. The Masters were flung aside. The past Kreia rose to her feet, a vortex of energy raging around her.
"I used their own power against them," the true Kreia explained. "Turned the severing ritual into a weapon. Three Masters died. Two were wounded. The rest were too shocked to stop me."
In the vision, the past Kreia fled. The temple corridors. Surprised faces of Jedi. Flashes of lightsabers. Screams. Chaos.
"I didn't kill intentionally," the true Kreia said quietly. "Even then, I didn't want them dead. I stunned them. Knocked them back. Slowed them. But I didn't kill them."
The past Kreia ran out of the temple, leaped from the platform. Below, in the flow of air traffic, she commandeered a speeder.
"I knew I had minutes, perhaps hours, before they organized a pursuit," the true Kreia continued. "The entire Order would be looking for me. All the Republic's resources would be thrown into finding me."
The vision shifted. A spaceport. Cargo docks. The past Kreia, hooded, her face hidden, walked among the ships.
"I needed a ship. Fast, reliable, capable of jumping to hyperspace before they could lock down the system. But I had no credits. No papers. Nothing but the clothes on my back and the Force."
She stopped at a small cargo vessel.
"The owner was a merchant. An honest man, as much as one can be in his profession. He transported delicacies from the Outer Rim, supplying restaurants on Coruscant. Nothing illegal. Just normal business."
The past Kreia approached the ship. The merchant—a stout, middle-aged man with a good-natured face—turned, surprised.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked.
The past Kreia removed her hood.
"I need your ship," she said simply.
"What? Listen, I don't know who you are, but..."
The past Kreia raised her hand, and the merchant fell silent, his eyes glazing over.
"You will give me the ship," she said, using Force suggestion. "You will tell the authorities that your access codes were stolen while you were at a bar. You don't remember the thief's face. Now, you will go to the bar and get drunk."
"I will give you the ship," the merchant echoed. "I will tell the authorities it was stolen..."
The true Kreia waved her hand, and the vision went dark.
"I am not proud of it," she said quietly. "I stole an honest man's livelihood. Used the Force to manipulate an innocent. But I had no choice. Or, rather, that's what I told myself. Knights sometimes practiced something similar, if pressed. It wasn't approved, but it happened."
She turned away.
"I left Coruscant an hour before the system was locked down. Jumped into hyperspace. Knowing only that I had to get as far away as possible from the Order, from the Council, from those who wanted to make me an empty shell."
Kreia fell silent. A long, heavy silence hung in the air. Alex and Verena hesitated to break it.
Finally, Kreia spoke again, her voice quiet, almost brittle:
"I wanted to disappear. To hide in the outer reaches of the galaxy. Change my name, change my face, start a new life. I had the knowledge, the skills. I wanted to live. But the Force had other plans for me."
She closed her eyes.
"I flew, covering my tracks. But you know how hard that is, my last apprentice?" She pointed a finger at Alex. "Yes, you know..."