The sky over the Velor estate was an unbroken expanse of pre-dawn indigo, cold and untouched by the rising sun.
I stood alone in the center of the estate's outer stone training courtyard, boots against the chilled Corellian slate. The mountain breeze whispered through the surrounding bamboo groves, carrying the damp scent of early morning dew and pine needles.
I reached down to my hip, unclipped my lightsaber, and ignited it.
With a deep, resonant snap-hiss, the plasma blade flared to life. It burned with a brilliant, celestial golden-yellow, bordered by it's known ethereal obsidian hue. The hum of the weapon was a heavy, low-frequency thrum that resonated cleanly in my chest, casting long, sharp amber and black shadows across the weathered stone flagstones.
I took a slow, centering breath, letting my thoughts sink into the rhythm of the blade, and began to move in my lightsaber forms.
I opened with Form I, Shii-Cho. My strikes started slow, deliberate, and wide, tracing horizontal sweeping vectors designed for broad crowd control and sweeping disarming arcs. I moved through the foundational target zones, letting the momentum of the blade warm my shoulders, establishing pure physical balance before picking up the pace.
Without breaking rhythm, I shifted my weight, narrowed my stance, and transitioned into Form II, Makashi.
My posture straightened into an tight fluid profile. The broad swings vanished, replaced by an elegant, hyper-efficient geometry of motion. My footwork traced a crisp, linear path across the stones as the golden-black blade flickered in tight, surgical thrusts and minimal parries. Every micro-movement was dialed into maximum precision with the absolute minimum expenditure of physical energy, and hyper extension, letting the tip of the blade dance like an extension of my body.
From Form II, I flowed seamlessly into the ironclad defense of Form III, Soresu.
My feet anchored into the slate, barely shifting an inch. The blade accelerated into a luminous blur, tracing tight, unbroken orbital spheres around my body. My elbows stayed tucked, my center of gravity low and immovable, weaving an impenetrable kinetic barrier of golden-black light that conserved every ounce of internal stamina while leaving no angle unguarded.
Then, with an explosive surge of energy from my legs, I vaulted into Form IV, Ataru.
I propelled myself high into the cool morning air, executing a tight aerial twirl that blurred the lightsaber against the dim Corellian stars. I touched down lightly on the balls of my feet with zero lost momentum, flowing instantly into an aggressive flurry of high-speed acrobatics, sudden angle changes, and rapid low-line strikes, testing the limits of my spatial awareness and agility.
Mid-spin, I snapped my left hand forward, inverted the hilt into a reverse grip, and locked down into Form V, channeling Shien and Djem So simultaneously.
In my mind's eye, the empty courtyard dissolved. I visualized myself standing between Anakin and Count Dooku at the same instant. I whipped the reverse-gripped blade around my flank to swat away phantom barrages of heavy blaster fire, immediately using the redirected momentum to step in and unleash bone-crushing, physically overwhelming Djem So overhead counters. Every strike carried the full, grounded weight of my hips and core, executed with uncompromising control over speed, power, and recovery.
Stepping out of the heavy Form V binds, I transitioned into Form VI, Niman.
The aggression smoothed out into a fluid, balanced synthesis. I wove telekinetic pushes and subtle air-current manipulations directly into the paths of my strikes, letting the Living Force flow uninterrupted through every slash and recovery. The air around the blade warped faintly with atmospheric displacement as the physical and esoteric aspects of combat merged into total harmony.
Finally, after a brief, pregnant pause, I let my guard drop a fraction of an inch, reached into the volatile tempest at the edge of my consciousness, and unleashed Form VII: Vaapad.
In an instant, the ambient temperature in the courtyard plummeted. The air around me violently warped as my lightsaber erupted into a ferocious, blinding tempest of speed and raw kinetic power. The golden blade and its dark hue traced continuous, overlapping ribbons of light through the twilight, filling the empty space with an intricate web of golden-black trajectories. As I channeled power into a continuous, self-sustaining loop through my body, refining the fury into diamond-hard focus.
With a final, thunderous slash, I snapped the lightsaber down into an angled low guard.
A sharp, concussive wave of displaced air kicked outward from the blade tip, sending a circular shockwave through the fallen leaves on the courtyard floor.
I held the stance for a long heartbeat, exhaled a plume of white vapor into the cold air, and deactivated the weapon. The golden-black glow vanished, leaving only the quiet whisper of the wind. I clipped the hilt back onto my belt.
I definitely need another lightsaber, I thought, rolling my right shoulder to ease the residual tension.
No matter how refined my single-blade forms became, my combat style always felt incomplete without a second hilt in hand. Jar'Kai suited the dualistic nature of my skills far better than standard orthodox doctrines. The sheer offensive versatility of dual-wielding elevated my Makashi feints, gave my Ataru transitions unpredictable off-hand coverage, reinforced my Djem So binds, and unlocked the true lethal potential of Vaapad.
Master Windu's words from our countless private sessions on Coruscant echoed clearly in my mind: "You are the eye of the storm, Cain. You do not drown in the darkness, nor do you deny its existence. You create a void at the center of the tempest, allowing the fury of your opponent to pass through you and rebound upon them."
Training alongside Depa Billaba on Tython, and ultimately surviving that brutal clash against Dooku in the jungle, had hammered that lesson into my bones. Vaapad wasn't just a combat form; it was a state of existence. By channeling the ambient malice and aggression around me without letting it take root in my heart, I could weaken my adversaries while drawing upon their own momentum. And when layered beneath my innate Shatterpoint perception, every structural, emotional, and physical flaw in an opponent became an illuminated fault line waiting to be shattered.
I raised a hand, running my fingertips over the black silk eyepatch resting against my left cheek.
Ever since Dooku's blade had scarred my face, the vision in my left eye had fundamentally altered. The Shatterpoint sight was no longer an active technique I had to consciously summon, it remained permanently awake, completely fused with my perception of Force-light. The eye saw through the veil of physical matter, perceiving the galaxy as a cosmic and living Force lines and colors interconnected with everything.
Master Plo had explained it best: because my connection to the Cosmic and Living Force was so unnaturally strong, the Force had simply filled the physical void left by the damaged eye.
During yesterday's four-hour duel with Zakan, I had felt that sight was refining even further. With both of my physical eyes closed, I didn't need to sink into a deep meditative trance to enter the void world just to perceive my immediate force light surroundings.
The physical space around me mapped itself directly into my consciousness with terrifying clarity. But if I wanted to project that sight across the stars, to locate distant fleets, track specific lifeforms, or peer into the deep currents of the cosmos, I still had to mentally cross the threshold and step into the void.
And that void always dragged me back to the horrific revelation from the World Between Worlds.
Abeloth.
The cold dread coiled tightly in my gut. How many thousands of times had she dragged my soul through this exact galactic cycle? How many times had an older, battle-hardened version of myself stood in the burning ruins of Tython, thinking he had finally found the path to salvation, only to be dismantled and reset like a piece on a game board?
Was the path I was walking right now genuinely my own? Or was I simply executing the exact same sequence of decisions that had led to the extinction of my past incarnations?
My mind drifted to Mother Talzin's warning on regarding my abnormal status as a living black hole in the Force. She had said that my presence unnaturally exerted a gravitational pull on the souls around me. That as I grew in power, those bound to me would be elevated alongside me, and in reverse. And they would serve me loyally, my thoughts would be their thoughts, my wants will be their wants, and so on.
I looked down at my calloused hands, watching the subtle tremor in my fingers.
What if I stopped holding back? The dark, seductive whisper slithered into the corners of my mind before I could stop it. What if I used this terrifying gravitational pull of my wound in the Force status to forcefully unify the galaxy under an absolute banner?
The historical blueprints from my past life flickered through my thoughts like forbidden holocrons. Valkorion had built the Eternal Empire of Zakuul into an invincible juggernaut by abandoning the dogmatic extremes of the Jedi and Sith, forging an empire powered by advanced automated armadas and warriors trained in both aspects of the Force. Revan had utilized the Star Forge to create an endless industrial war machine that nearly brought the Republic to its knees.
With my future knowledge, the possibilities were intoxicating endless. If I accessed the World Between Worlds again, I could possibly analyze every tactical failure of the past cycles and correct them. I could subject myself to Talzin's Water of Light ceremony to radically amplify our physical and esoteric limits. And use the valley of the Lost Jedi to further improve that.
I could also map the Unknown Regions, and locate the Lost Sith Tribe on Kesh decades ahead of schedule, break their leadership, and forge them into an elite shock vanguard under my rule. I could subjugate every warlord, cartel, and corrupt senator who refused to yield to our new order, creating a civilization so ultimatley fortified that not even Abeloth could tear it down....
I froze.
A cold shock of revulsion violently shattered the fantasy, slamming into my chest like a physical blow.
No. What the hell is wrong with me?
I pressed the heels of my hands against my temples, breathing heavily as I purged the toxic train of thought from my consciousness. That was the insidious trap of Vaapad and the dark side, the delusion that absolute control and forced compliance could ever lead to genuine peace.
If I stripped away the free will of the galaxy, if I forged an empire built on subjugation and psychic domination, I would be no different than the ancient tyrants who had paved the way for the galaxy's destruction. Worse, Seris, Anakin, Derren, and Barriss would never freely stand beside a monster like that. And if they did agree it would be solely because of my passive Force connection, it wouldn't be loyalty, it would be a horrific violation of everything they were.
I let out a long, ragged exhale, steadying my racing pulse. I need to be stronger than this. I have to master this sight and my own mind before I ever cross blades with Dooku again. Let alone confront Sidius.
"Credit for your thoughts."
A voice cut through the quiet courtyard.
I turned around. Standing several paces behind me near the stone archway, arms folded over his chest, was Anakin. His unruly sandy hair stirred in the morning breeze, his blue eyes studying me with an intensity that pierced straight through my exhaustion.
I forced a faint, dismissive smile, shaking my head as I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Nothing much. Just clearing my head before the day begins."
Anakin stepped forward, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. But he didn't smile.
"Cain," Anakin said quietly, stopping a few feet away. "You know that connection we share in the Force? That resonance you anchor between all of us since we were kids? It doesn't just flow outward from us to you. It works both ways."
I stiffened slightly, lowering my hands.
"I felt it the other day," Anakin continued, his tone deadly serious. "I felt something soul-crushing rip through you, and then, right after, I felt something joyous take root. I haven't pressed you on it because I know how much weight is resting on your shoulders. You're the one who has to stand before kings, senators, and matriarchs to convince them that this new order and government is the only way forward."
Anakin's expression softened with fierce, unwavering loyalty. "I haven't questioned your war on slavery. I didn't fight you when we took control of the Kaminoan clone contracts, or when you authorized the clone-hybrid program. Hell, I gave my own DNA to the project without hesitation when you asked because I trust your vision."
He took another step closer, his gaze burning into my single eye. "But as your friend, and as your brother... I won't stand by and watch you fall into the dark, Cain. I felt the thoughts that were just swirling through your mind. I felt that cold, suffocating shadow trying to take over."
My heart skipped a beat. A spike of pure panic flared in my chest. If Anakin felt that... then Seris, Derren, and Barriss must have caught the edges of it too.
Anakin held up a hand, cutting off the apology forming in my throat.
"Go ahead and have all the dark thoughts you want, Cain," Anakin said, his voice dropping into a solemn, unshakeable promise. "Be angry. Be terrified. Wrestle with whatever demons you're hiding. But the absolute second you think about crossing that line and giving in to that darkness... I will be there to stop you. I will drag you back to the light every single time, even if I have to beat you into the dirt to do it. You can count on that."
Before I could say a single word, Anakin gave me a brief, firm nod, turned on his heel, and walked back toward the main estate, disappearing down the corridor.
I stood frozen in the center of the courtyard, my chest heaving as a tidal wave of conflicting emotions washed over me.
I felt a sharp pang of acute anxiety and shame, shame that I had even momentarily contemplated stripping away the agency of others in the name of the what I believed to be the 'greater good.' But beneath the shame, a profound sense of warmth and relief settled into my spirit.
I wasn't alone. In my past life, Anakin Skywalker had fallen because he had no one to anchor him, no one to catch him when the dark closed in. When he was afraid of losing the only thing he had left to love. But in this life, the boy who was destined to bring balance to the Force was standing as my brother, promising to save me from myself if I ever lost my way.
Don't detach yourself, Master Plo's voice whispered in my memory. Acknowledge your flaws, accept your burdens, and let your bonds make you whole.
I closed my eye, centered my breathing, and bowed slightly in the direction Anakin had gone. Then, as the first rays of golden Corellian sunlight crested the horizon, I turned and walked back inside to prepare for the trial ahead.
Several hours later, the Velor family speeder descended through the bustling airspace of Coronet City.
Our destination was the Corellian Jedi Enclave, a sleek, state-of-the-art high-rise complex situated within the vibrant heart of the capital's central district. Locally known across the sector as "The Saber," the facility's architecture was striking. A colossal, spiraling ivory tower dominated the skyline, cutting gracefully into the clouds, flanked symmetrically on either side by two shorter, functional single-story wings.
Unlike the isolated, monastic Grand Temple on Coruscant, The Saber was completely integrated into the pulse of the metropolis. Sleek CorSec patrol gunships glided along regular flight vectors around the perimeter, their polished blue-and-gold hulls gleaming in the midday sun.
The repulsor-transport banked smoothly, touching down upon the enclave's private elevated landing platform with a quiet hiss of venting hydraulics.
As the boarding ramp extended, our delegation stepped out onto the polished permacrete. Walking alongside Zakan, Seronea, Sonya, and Master Fay were Seris, Anakin, Derren, Sheera, myself, and C-3PO, the latter completely concealed beneath the imposing, black-and-gold ceremonial battle armor of 'Lord Noctis,' his vocabulator calibrated to a deep, resonant baritone.
Awaiting us on the platform was a formidable reception committee.
Flanking the entrance were a dozen Corellian Jedi and senior officials clad in semi-formal, deep-green robes and structured tunics. Even without reaching out into the Force, I could spot the subtle bulges beneath their sashes where lightsabers were discreetly secured. Their presence in the Living Force was disciplined, sharp, and intensely alert.
Standing at the front of the gathering were three figures whose faces I recognized instantly from galactic history and political holovids.
On the left stood Senator Garm Bel Iblis. In the original timeline, Bel Iblis was one of the most brilliant, outspoken political visionaries of the Republic, a fierce critic of Palpatine's creeping authoritarianism who would eventually orchestrate Contemplanys Hermi, the constitutional decree that completely sealed Corellia's borders to protect its people from the horrors of the Clone Wars.
To his right stood Com Fordox, a seasoned, pragmatic Corellian diplomat who had navigated the complex waters of the Galactic Senate for decades, initially backing Corellian integration before the sector's aggressive pivot toward isolationism.
And standing between them was the Diktat Shyla Merricope.
As the ruling executive of the Corellian system, Merricope possessed absolute civilian authority alongside the planetary congress. She was a woman of fierce intellect and unyielding sovereignty, famously refusing to allow the Republic to draft the Corellian Security Force into foreign wars or quarter off-world military garrisons on Corellian soil.
If the Diktat is personally attending an informal reception, then this meeting carries far more weight than a standard diplomatic courtesy.
Diktat Merricope stepped forward, offering a graceful, measured bow. "Master Zakan, it is an honor to see you again.Matriarch Seronea, Lady Sonya, welcome."
The Velor family returned the bow with practiced elegance. "Diktat Merricope, Senator Bel Iblis, Senator Fordox," Seronea replied smoothly, her melodic voice commanding absolute respect. "We thank you for granting us your valuable time today."
Seronea gestured gracefully toward our group. "Allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Seris, and her cohort from the stars: Anakin Skywalker, Sheera, Derren Talvos, and Cain. And, of course, my sister, Master Fay."
Merricope inclined her head, her sharp eyes studying Seris with open admiration. "The resemblance between you and your grandmother is truly uncanny, Seris. It is a pleasure to meet you all." Her gaze then shifted to the armored figure standing beside me, her expression tightening with calculated intrigue. "And you must be the enigmatic Lord Noctis. Your name has stirred considerable ripples across the Core recently. We welcome you to Corellia."
"The honor is entirely mine, Diktat," 3PO replied through the vocal modulator, his deep tone reverberating with gravitas.
Before the politicians could lead the way, one of the robed Jedi stepped forward, bowing deeply to Master Fay and me. "Master Fay... your legendary deeds and nomadic wanderings have inspired our enclave for decades. It is a profound honor to stand in your presence."
Fay offered a warm, serene smile, dipping her head. "I am merely an instrument of the Living Force, my friend."
A tall, broad-shouldered human Jedi with sharp black hair, warm brown eyes, and an open, confident posture stepped toward me, extending a gloved hand.
"And you must be the young Cain that Master Plo Koon speaks so highly of," he said, a genuine smile touching his lips. "Master Plo spoke your strategic mind and your vision for a reformed path. My name is Nejaa Halcyon. It's a pleasure to meet you."
My heart jumped into my throat.
Nejaa Halcyon.
In the Legends continuity, Nejaa was an absolute titan, a master of telekinetic absorption who wielded a rare, brilliant silver lightsaber, an unorthodox hero who fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Anakin during the Clone Wars before giving his life to destroy the Dark Jedi Nikkos. He was the patriarch of the Halcyon bloodline, the father of Valin Halcyon, and the grandfather of Corran Horn.
I clasped his hand firmly, keeping my expression composed despite the thrill running through my veins. "The honor is entirely mine, Master Halcyon. I am honored to meet you."
Nejaa raised an eyebrow, amused by my reverence. "I assure you, Cain, I haven't accomplished anything legendary enough to warrant such formal praise."
"Perhaps not yet," I replied with a subtle, knowing smirk. "But the Force assures me that extraordinary things lie in your future."
Nejaa let out a rich chuckle. "I'll hold you to that, young man." He paused, his brown eyes narrowing with genuine curiosity. "You know... years ago, when you were first brought to the Coruscant Temple as a child, I experienced a powerful dream. It occurred on the exact day your Force signature supposedly flared like a miniature star during your first group meditation. I felt a distinct, undeniable pull in the Cosmic Force urging me to leave Coruscant and return to Corellia to anchor my family. I never fully understood why until today."
I masked my shock behind a polite nod, though internally my mind was racing. My very arrival in this galaxy altered Nejaa's timeline years before we even met.
Before I could dwell on it, a young woman stepped out from the enclave ranks. She possessed striking auburn-red hair, piercing violet eyes, and fair olive-toned skin, carrying herself with sharp, military poise.
"Hello, Cain," she said, her voice clear and resolute. "My name is Nisa Housian. Before we step into the council chambers, I wanted to say this plainly: there are many within our enclave who fully support your campaign against the Outer Rim slave networks. Whatever the Senate or Coruscant says, we respect your courage to walk away from a broken system to do what is right."
"Thank you, Nisa," I replied, genuinely touched. "That means more than you know."
Nisa Housian... The name rang a faint, distant bell from my past-life memories of old Corellian lore, though I couldn't immediately place her historical role.
"Come," Seronea announced smoothly, breaking the brief interlude. "Let us move to the council chambers. Our guests have much to discuss."
We followed the delegation through the enclave's polished corridors, with Seronea providing a detailed overview of the facility's layout.
She explained that the two single-story wings flanking the central spire were dedicated entirely to education and communal living. Unlike the dogmatic isolation enforced by Coruscant, the Corellian Jedi openly embraced marriage and family lineages. As a result, the wings featured classrooms equipped with advanced protocol tutors, holoposters of ancient Corellian Masters, and adjacent family apartments where bloodlines like the Halcyons lived together.
The central high-rise spire served as the administrative nerve center, housing private meditation offices for resident Masters and a massive, encrypted subspace communications array that maintained direct, albeit cautious, data links with the Coruscant High Council.
Halfway up the main tower, opposite the private hangar bays, we crossed an elevated, open-air garden terrace. The terrace was populated with native Corellian flora, vibrant purple blossoms, and stone water features, sitting directly outside the regional Jedi Court and Council Chamber.
Seronea pointed out the heavy, seamless blast doors securing the inner sanctums. "Every bulkhead within the administrative core utilizes Force-locked biometric latches," she noted. "They can only be opened through precise Force telekinetic manipulation, ensuring that even if CorSec or foreign Republic authorities ever attempted to breach the building, our archives and sanctums remain entirely secure."
The heavy stone-and-metal doors to the Grand Council Chamber slid open, and we filed inside.
The chamber was an impressive, circular amphitheater constructed from polished green granite and dark Corellian ironwood. Wide transparisteel viewports offered a panoramic vista of Coronet City's soaring ivory skyline.
Diktat Merricope, Senator Bel Iblis, and Senator Fordox took their seats at the central diplomatic curve, flanked by the senior Corellian Jedi Masters. Lord Noctis took a prominent seat across from them, with me standing directly behind his right shoulder. Seris positioned herself gracefully beside Master Fay and Sheera, while Anakin and Derren took up watchful positions near the rear entryway.
Seronea stepped to the center of the floor, raising her hands to command silence. "Before formal deliberations commence, let us clearly establish the parameters of this gathering to avoid any political ambiguity."
Sonya nodded in agreement, leaning forward slightly. "Lord Noctis and his newly organized faction have arrived to present a formal diplomatic proposal to the Corellian government. They seek to forge ties with sovereign star systems that are disillusioned with the Republic's stagnation, specifically the Senate's complete refusal to address the rampant exploitation and enslavement of the Outer Rim while siphoning resources to Core worlds. Is that an accurate summary, Lord Noctis?"
3PO adjusted his armored posture, resting his gauntlets flat against the ironwood table.
"It is an accurate summary, Lady Sonya," Noctis's modulated baritone boomed through the chamber. "However, let us be entirely precise. Our order is not a mere rogue sect. We are a sovereign Praxeum known as the Je'daii of the Eternal Dawn. Furthermore, due to pressing operational duties across our territories, Master Plo Koon cannot be present today. Therefore, Padawan Cain speaks with my full authority, and the authority of Master Plo. You may treat his words as our own."
The atmosphere in the council chamber shifted violently.
A heavy, charged silence descended upon the room. Skeptical glances were exchanged between the Jedi Masters and the Corellian senators. It was one thing to negotiate with a shadowy, wealthy warlord and a legendary Jedi Master; it was another entirely to have a barely sixteen-year-old Padawan designated as the primary voice of a rising galactic faction.
Seronea turned her gaze toward her sister, her sapphire eyes narrowing. "Fay... is what Noctis claims true? Do you genuinely trust this young man to speak for your entire order?"
Master Fay inclined her head, her serene presence radiating absolute conviction. "I do, sister. It was not Master Plo Koon who initiated this exodus from Coruscant. It was Cain. He conceived this path, laid its foundations, and appointed Plo Koon, myself, and another to govern our councils while he helps guide our ultimate destiny."
Confusion rippled through the gathered Corellian Jedi.
"Why would seasoned Jedi Masters follow the guidance of a Padawan?" one of the elder Corellian councilors asked, shaking his head. "And allow him to dictate leadership over an independent order?"
"Because this child possesses the clarity to see the galaxy as it truly is," Fay replied gently. "Just as you foresaw in your visions, Seronea, Cain is a catalyst for profound cosmic renewal. I have mentored him for years, and he has proven time and again that he is capable of reshaping the currents of the Living Force."
Diktat Merricope raised a hand, cutting through the philosophical debate with razor-sharp political pragmatism.
"Mystical Force visions aside, Jedi," Merricope said, her sharp eyes fixing directly upon the armored figure of Noctis. "I have several pressing questions for you, Lord Noctis, before we proceed any further."
"Proceed, Diktat," Noctis replied.
"Who, exactly, are you?" Merricope challenged, leaning forward. "Our intelligence networks have scrubbed every galactic database from Coruscant to the Outer Rim. No records exist of your lineage, your citizenship, or your true identity. You appeared out of absolute obscurity and immediately began orchestrating massive galactic disruption."
She began ticking off points on her fingers, her voice cold and analytical. "You executed a hostile corporate takeover of the Kaminoan cloning facilities, where you are currently commissioning an active military armada. You have established covert manufacturing contracts with shipyards across multiple neutral sectors. You have secured the covert backing of Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, a leader world-renowned for her uncompromising neutrality, as well as several influential Republic senators."
Merricope's eyes narrowed into slits. "You have openly declared your intent to wage an unprovoked, total war against every major slave syndicate in the galaxy, which means declaring war simultaneously against the Hutt Cartels, the Karazak Slavers Guild, the Thalassian cartels, Ryloth's corrupt syndicates, and the Zygerrian Slave Empire. And now you arrive on Corellia, flanked by rogue Jedi, telling us that a teenage Padawan speaks for your armada, expecting us to openly support and join your alliance?"
She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has authorized a massive bounty for any actionable intelligence regarding your leadership. The Hutt Cartels have placed a death mark on your head so colossal that half the bounty hunters in the galaxy are scouring the Outer Rim to claim it. I would not be surprised if an armada of mercenaries descends upon your sanctuary on Tython within the standard year. So tell me, Lord Noctis... why should Corellia risk its sovereignty, its fleets, and its peace to align with your crusade?"
The tension in the chamber became suffocating. Every eye turned toward the armored figure.
3PO slowly turned his helm toward the side of the table. "Seris... if you please."
Every gaze shifted in unison to Seris.
The platinum-haired girl stepped smoothly out from the ranks, clasping her hands behind her back. She looked regal, composed, and completely unintimidated by the political titans arrayed before her.
"Because of evolution, Diktat Merricope," Seris said, her voice clear and resonant.
Merricope raised an eyebrow. "Evolution?"
"Yes, Diktat," Seris continued with crisp, analytical precision. "The foundational law governing all sentient civilization is the imperative to evolve. But throughout galactic history, genuine evolution has never occurred during periods of comfortable stagnation. It is forged exclusively through conflict and crisis."
She took a slow step forward, her silver-gray eyes sweeping across the council. "For how many centuries have the Hutt Cartels been permitted to carve out an empire of misery across the Rim? For how many millennia has sentient trafficking been treated as an acceptable economic byproduct of galactic trade? How many times has the Galactic Republic decayed into corruption, collapsed under its own weight, and rebuilt itself without ever addressing the root of its rot?"
Seris shook her head. "History repeats itself in an endless, agonizing loop because the galaxy refuses to adapt. Evolution takes many forms. A species either sheds the destructive traits that hold it back, or it perishes. What our alliance proposes is not reckless warmongering, it is the surgical excision of the parasites that have crippled galactic progress for centuries. We intend to purge the slavers, the oligarchs who hoard vital planetary resources, the corrupt Core bureaucrats... and the Sith."
Nisa Housian blinked, her brow furrowing in disbelief. "The Sith? But the Sith were driven to absolute extinction over a thousand years ago at the Battle of Ruusan."
Seris met Nisa's gaze with chilling calm. "Did they truly go extinct, Master Housian? Or did they simply evolve? Did they realize that waging open warfare against the Jedi was inefficient, choosing instead to discard their armies, slip into the shadows, and poison the Republic from within the very halls of Coruscant?"
A collective intake of breath rippled through the chamber. The Corellian Jedi leaned forward, their expressions hardening with shock and skepticism.
Zakan turned his unseeing gaze toward his daughter, his baritone voice laced with profound gravity. "Are you claiming, Seris... that a Dark Lord of the Sith or multiple ones has actively infiltrated the Republic Senate?"
"Yes, Father, I am," Seris answered without a shred of hesitation. "A Sith Lord sits at the very heart of the Republic's executive apparatus. And if you grant Cain the floor, he will not only provide the strategic blueprint for how our alliance will dismantle the syndicates, but he will show you precisely how the Republic has been methodically poisoned over the past three decades."
Seris offered a respectful, formal bow to the chamber, took three measured steps backward, and returned to her place beside Master Fay.
The entire amphitheater fell into dead silence. Every senator, Jedi Master, and diplomat turned their eyes upon me.
Diktat Merricope studied me for several long heartbeats, the skepticism on her face giving way to an intense, calculated intrigue. She leaned forward, resting her chin upon her steepled fingers.
"Padawan Cain," the Diktat said, her voice cutting cleanly through the quiet room. "The floor is yours. Speak, and Corellia shall listen."
I took a half-step forward, feeling a sudden, radiant wave of warmth wash through the Force resonance bond I shared with Seris. Her unwavering faith anchored me, sweeping away the lingering exhaustion of the morning and sharpening my mind into a razor's edge.
The board was set. My task was to convince the Corellian leadership to break away from the Republic's decaying orbit without prematurely exposing Palpatine's true identity as Darth Sidious. I needed the Sith Lord right where I could see him, at the head of the Senate, blind to the true scope of our preparations on Tython. And if the apocalyptic visions my future self had shown me in the World Between Worlds held any truth... Palpatine's immense dark power might be an indispensable weapon when Abeloth finally broke her chains.
I drew in a slow, deep breath, centered my spirit in the Living Force, and exhaled smoothly.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Corellia, let me tell you a story."