Every eye in the circular council chamber was the sharp, with a calculating gaze of Diktat Merricope to the quiet, ancient eyes of Master Fay, remained locked onto me. The soft ambient hum of the Coronet City skyline beyond the viewports seemed to fade into absolute silence as I stepped into the center of the green granite floor.
I did not begin with grandiose proclamations or fiery rhetoric. I kept my posture relaxed, my voice measured and calm, letting the weight of my words carry their own gravity.
"For over a thousand years, the Galactic Republic has operated under the comforting delusion that the Sith were wiped out at the Battle of Ruusan," I began, my gaze sweeping across the Corellian senators and Green Jedi Masters. "The Republic believed peace was permanent, maintained by treaties, bureaucratic diplomacy, and the vigil of the Jedi Order. But true evil does not vanish simply because it loses an army. It evolves. It retreats into the shadows, learns the weaknesses of its enemy, and bides its time growing stronger while its enemy grows fatter and slower from victory. Until they were ready to exact their revenge."
I raised one finger.
"Phase One began decades ago. By using infiltration and cultivating influence."
I paced slowly across the polished floors, letting my presence in the Force expand and settle into a steady, rhythmic cadence. "In the Mid Rim lies a peaceful, cultured world known as Naboo. Decades past, a scion of one of its aristocratic political houses entered the public arena. To the galaxy, this individual presented themself as a modest, unassuming public servant, a humble patriot dedicated to the welfare of their people. But behind that carefully manufactured facade, this individual was secretly inducted into the ancient lineage of the Sith, studying the dark arts under the tutelage of a shadowy Sith Master known as Darth Plagueis."
I paused, watching the subtle narrowing of eyes across the diplomatic curve. Garm Bel Iblis leaned forward, his sharp features tightening with intense concentration.
"Operating under thieir newly bestowed Sith title, Darth Sidious, this figure methodically set the board," I continued. "They manipulated the Trade Federation, preying upon their greed and resentment over Republic taxation laws, and directed them to enforce a total blockade and military invasion of their very own homeworld. It was a manufactured humanitarian catastrophe. Sidious used the invasion of Naboo to expose the profound weakness, stagnation, and bureaucratic paralysis of then-Supreme Chancellor Finis Valorum. They then subtly manipulated Naboo's young monarch, Queen Amidala, into standing before the Galactic Senate and issuing a Vote of No Confidence."
A quiet rustle of fabric echoed through the chamber as Com Fordox and Diktat Merricope exchanged a swift, uneasy glance.
"The final move of Phase One was ruthless in its simplicity," I said softly. "Exploiting the massive, galaxy-wide wave of sympathy for the invaded people of Naboo, this modest representative secured the political backing of both the Core and the Rim. And help Palpatine win the election with overwhelming support and ascended to the seat of Supreme Chancellor."
The silence in the amphitheater grew heavier. The Corellian Jedi remained motionless, processing the terrifying architectural precision of a political coup executed in broad daylight without a single drop of blood spilled on Coruscant.
I raised a second finger.
"Phase Two was orchestrating the Galactic Schism."
I continued my measured pace. "Following the blockade of Naboo, Darth Sidious lost his first Sith apprentice and assassin, Darth Maul, who was struck down during the conflict by Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Deprived of an enforcer, Sidious reached outward for an instrument with far greater political and martial pedigree. He targeted a highly respected, deeply disillusioned Jedi Master who had recently walked away from the Coruscant High Council in disgust over Senate corruption: Count Dooku."
I looked directly at the Corellian delegation. "Sidious seduced Dooku to the dark side, christened him Darth Tyranus, and positioned him as the charismatic political figurehead of an anti-Republic separatist movement."
Senator Com Fordox suddenly leaned forward, resting his palms flat against the ironwood table. "Hold on, young man. Are you genuinely claiming that Count Dooku, a former Jedi Master of illustrious renown, is actively serving a hidden Sith Lord to manufacture a civil war across the Republic?"
"I am, Senator Fordox," I replied with chilling serenity. "And more than that: Count Dooku has already started that civil war. The first shot simply hasn't been fired yet."
A tense murmur rippled through the ranks of the Green Jedi. Diktat Merricope raised her hand, silencing the chamber with an authoritative snap of her fingers.
"Please continue, Cain," Merricope commanded, her violet eyes gleaming with fierce intrigue. "I wish to hear the full breadth of this account."
I dipped my head respectfully. "The next step of Phase Two was creating a manufactured enemy. Under Sidious's direct instructions, Dooku stoked anti-Republic sentiment among galactic mega-corporations, the Techno Union, the Commerce Guild, the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and the Trade Federation, unifying their private droid security armadas under a single banner: the Confederacy of Independent Systems."
I reached into my tunic, pulled out a sleek cylindrical data drive, and placed it onto the central holoprojector plate.
With a soft chime, the device flared to life. Brilliant sapphire holograms bloomed in the center of the amphitheater, displaying complex logistical data maps, corporate supply chains, starship schematics, and bio-engineering readouts.
"Simultaneously, the Sith hijacked a covert initiative originally conceived by the late Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas," I explained, gesturing toward the floating blue holos of oceanic cloning facilities. "Using vast, untraceable black-market wealth, Dooku commissioned a massive, fully militarized clone army on the oceanic world of Kamino under the guise of an official Republic contract. That army was designed to serve as the Grand Army of the Republic. Well until I along with my group seized the facility and got the scientist to see reason. Furthermore, the Sith ensured that every single clone grown in those vats was secretly implanted with an organic bio-chip during gestation, a chip programmed with hidden command protocols, most notably a directive designated as Order 66."
Nejaa Halcyon's brow furrowed sharply. "Cain... what is Order 66?"
I held up a hand. "Bear with me for a moment, Master Halcyon. I will explain its purpose shortly."
I deactivated the holographic display and drew a steady breath. "That concluded Phase Two. Phase Three is where the trap snaps shut across the galaxy. Mind you, much of what I am about to tell you comes from extensive visions of the future revealed through the Living Force and validated by Noctis's intelligence networks. But as I lay out these facts, I ask you to connect the dots."
I held up three fingers.
"Phase Three: The Clone Wars Deception."
"When the tensions between the Republic and the Separatists reach a boiling point, the Sith will manipulate a well-meaning representative from Naboo into standing before the Senate to propose granting the Chancellor Emergency Powers. Those powers will allow the executive office to bypass standard constitutional debate and officially authorize the Grand Army of the Republic. The moment that decree is signed, total galactic war will be unleashed."
I swept my gaze across the assembled masters. "As the Clone Wars rage, Darth Sidious will secretly dictate the military strategies of both the Republic Jedi and Clone Forces and the Separatist droid armadas. He will ensure the conflict drags out for three agonizing years, escalating across hundreds of star systems, draining planetary treasuries, and eroding civil liberties until the galaxy is desperate for security at any cost. With every manufactured crisis, the Senate will eagerly vote to extend the Chancellor's term far past democratic term limits, legalizing his ever-expanding dictatorial authority."
I paused, turning slightly to gesture toward Anakin, who stood quietly near the rear entrance.
"And while the galaxy bleeds, the Sith will spend those three years grooming a specific individual," I said, my voice softening with deep gravity. "A child born of unusual circumstances, recognized by prophecy as the Chosen One, blessed with a raw Force power and potential higher than anyone in galactic history, higher even than my own."
Anakin crossed his arms, rolling his eyes with a faint, embarrassed scoff, but he remained silent, his jaw clenched tight.
"The Sith in disguise will intentionally position himself as a warm mentor figure to this young Jedi," I continued, "subtly whispering poison into his ear, stoking his fears of loss, and sewing deep, irreparable seeds of distrust between him and the Jedi High Council."
Across the table, Zakan's sightless eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. Beside him, Master Fay's serene expression hardened into deep, somber melancholy.
"And then," I said, holding up four fingers, "comes Phase Four: The Final Checkmate."
"At the climax of the war, the Sith will orchestrate his own kidnapping during a massive Separatist assault over Coruscant. He will arrange for the young Jedi to rescue him and manipulate the boy into executing Count Dooku in cold blood, stripping away his moral boundaries and driving him toward the dark side. Soon after, the Sith will deliberately reveal his true dark identity to the boy, knowing full well the young Jedi will report the truth to the Jedi High Council."
I looked at Nejaa Halcyon, then at Nisa Housian. "The Masters of the Coruscant Council will assemble an elite strike team and march into the Chancellor's private chambers to execute an extrajudicial arrest. The Sith will engage them, cut down the masters, and frame the entire confrontation to the public as an illegal, treasonous Jedi assassination attempt and coup d'état."
A collective shiver seemed to pass through the Green Jedi.
"The young Jedi, desperate to save the ones he loves, will intervene to protect the Sith," I said quietly. "In that moment of absolute compromise, the Sith will christen him with a new Darth title. Immediately after, the Sith will broadcast the command code into the comms of every clone commander across the stars: Execute Order 66."
The room went dead silent.
"The bio-chips will activate," I explained, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The clone troopers, who fought shoulder-to-shoulder with their Jedi generals for three years, will turn their blasters on their commanders in unison. Thousands of Jedi across the galaxy will be exterminated in a matter of minutes. Citing the 'Jedi Rebellion' and the sheer devastation of the war, the Chancellor will address a cheering Senate, dissolve the thousand-year democracy, and universally reorganize the Galactic Republic into the First Galactic Empire... to thunderous applause."
I lowered my hand, clasping my fingers behind my back.
"That is my story."
For nearly twenty seconds, nobody in the amphitheater breathed.
Senator Bel Iblis looked as though he had been struck across the face with a heavy stone. Diktat Merricope sat frozen, her steepled fingers pressing tightly against her lips. The Corellian Jedi Masters stared at me in stunned, horrified disbelief.
Sonya Velor was the first to break the suffocating silence. She leaned forward, her sharp blue eyes boring into mine. "Cain... how much of what you just described is prophetic vision, and how much of it is confirmed, present-day reality?"
"Everything prior to the outbreak of the Clone Wars has already occurred," I replied evenly.
I reached out with the Force and tapped a secondary control on the data drive.
A second holographic projection flickered into being above the granite table. It was an encrypted, authentic combat recording recovered from the sensor logs of our outpost on Tython.
The Corellian Jedi leaned forward with rapt, breathless intensity.
The holo depicted a violent, high-speed lightsaber duel amidst the dense canopy of Tython's ancient forests. There was Count Dooku, moving with lethal, aristocratic fencing perfection as his crimson blade sliced through the shadows. The recording showed Anakin lunging forward with explosive Ataru acrobatics, his indigo blade humming fiercely, while I fought beside him, wielding my distinct golden-yellow lightsaber with its obsidian hue. The footage captured the brutal reality of our clash, the blinding speed of Dooku's Dun Makashi, our desperate coordination, and our narrow, battered survival before the Count withdrew.
Nejaa Halcyon stared at Dooku's crimson plasma blade, his voice barely a breath. "A Sith blade... Dooku truly has fallen."
Diktat Merricope lowered her hands, her expression sharp and intensely analytical. "Cain... who is this hidden Sith Lord? Why have you pointedly avoided naming them throughout this entire account? And if this Sith possesses such immense influence, why go through decades of elaborate backdoor manipulation to elevate Palpatine into absolute power? Why not simply claim the Supreme Chancellorship themselves?"
Before I could answer, Seronea Velor's cool, melodious voice cut cleanly through the room.
"Cain..." Seronea said, her sapphire eyes narrowing with frightening clarity. "Is Supreme Chancellor Palpatine the Sith Lord?"
A sudden, sharp wave of murmurs erupted across the amphitheater. Several Corellian senators gasped, while the Green Jedi exchanged alarmed, heated glances.
Before the room could spiral into chaos, Lord Noctis moved.
"Senators! Jedi Masters! Silence!"
The room instantly snapped to attention, the sheer presence of the armored warlord commanding absolute deference.
"Padawan Cain has laid bare profound wisdom and strategic foresight before this assembly," Noctis said, sweeping his armored gaze across the politicians. "Your speculation is entirely understandable. Yet consider how deeply telling it is that neither the esteemed Coruscant High Council nor your own political intelligence networks have detected a Sith Lord operating within the highest echelons of galactic power. It should not surprise you. For millennia, Force-sensitives have proven to be the most lethal covert operatives and sleeper agents in history. When a master of the dark side chooses to mask their presence behind an unassuming political persona, standard perception is utterly blind."
The chamber settled into absolute, chastened quiet.
I offered a respectful nod toward the armored figure. "Thank you, Lord Noctis."
Noctis inclined his helm and smoothly resumed his seat.
"Lord Noctis maintains an extensive, highly compartmentalized intelligence network spanning every major trade lane from the Deep Core to Wild Space," I explained, stepping back to the center of the floor. "If Lord Noctis confirms, and if I state, that a Sith Lord orchestrates events from Coruscant alongside Count Dooku, then you may treat it as absolute galactic reality."
Com Fordox raised a hand, looking troubled. "Then why keep this individual's identity shrouded, Cain? Why not provide us with actionable evidence right now, march an armed coalition into Coruscant, arrest the conspirators, and remove Palpatine from office if he is compromised? That would instantly decapitate the Separatist crisis and prevent a galactic civil war entirely."
"Because premature action is guaranteed suicide, Senator Fordox," I replied bluntly. "My strategy requires knowing precisely where the Sith Lord and his political pawns are located at every hour of the standard day. That allows us to anticipate their moves and ensure unforeseen variables are kept to an absolute minimum."
I held out my open palm. "Consider it like a deadly pathogen that was thought to be extinct for centuries, only to resurface in a secure laboratory. If you understand the virus's genome and its exact containment perimeter, you study it, isolate its pathways, and systematically develop a cure by the book. But if you rush in recklessly with blasters blazing to smash the vial, all you accomplish is shattering the containment field, unleashing an uncontrollable, hyper-aggressive airborne strain that infects the entire galaxy before you have the cure to stop it."
Nisa leaned forward, her violet eyes flashing with concern. "So you are asking Corellia to simply sit idly by and do nothing about a Sith Lord operating in the Core?"
"No, Master Housian," I said firmly. "I am asking Corellia to keep a sharp, discreet eye on the Chancellor's executive decrees, but never confront him openly or antagonistically. The Sith will eventually overreach and expose their flank. In the meantime, I need people, starships, and industrial resources to wage our primary campaign: the total war against the Outer Rim slave networks."
I gestured broadly. "When those enslaved worlds are systematically liberated and their trade routes secured under our established protection, critical resources will flow unimpeded. The galactic economy will experience a massive economic boom, primarily benefiting the Outer Rim and Mid Rim sectors that have been neglected by the Republic for centuries."
Senator Garm Bel Iblis studied me intently, a faint, calculating smirk forming on his lips. "You have laid out a breathtakingly ambitious galactic chessboard, young man. So tell us plainly: what, specifically, do you want from Corellia?"
"Two things, Senator," I answered without hesitation. "Volunteers and industrial manufacturing."
I tapped the data drive once more. The hologram shifted, replacing the tactical galaxy map with a detailed engineering blueprint of a massive, star-shaped orbital installation.
"I need volunteers who are willing to fight, learn, and build a truly equitable order," I said, pointing to the rotating blueprint. "And I need the renowned Corellian shipyards to assist us in constructing these: Deep-Space Star Platforms."
Bel Iblis tilted his head, examining the schematics. "Orbital satellite fortresses?"
"Precisely," I said. "These stations serve as sovereign forward operating bases. They are engineered for high-volume space combat training, rapid fleet mobilization, automated repair logistics, and acting as the immediate first-response defense network against planetary invasions and pirate incursions. If Corellia agrees to manufacture the structural hulls and modular power cores for these platforms, our alliance will provide the security and economic reciprocity to ensure this sector thrives independently of Republic tariffs."
Diktat Merricope leaned back in her high-backed chair, exhaling a long, thoughtful breath. "You have provided this council with an extraordinary amount of intelligence, Cain... yet you hold your deepest secrets extraordinarily close to your chest. And in exchange, you ask Corellia to commit vast industrial resources to your sovereign crusade."
I offered a faint, knowing smile. "I am aware of the weight of my request, Diktat. But that is everything I came here to say."
I reached into my pocket, withdrew five encrypted holo-frequency data cards, and set them neatly upon the ironwood table.
"Should any senator or Jedi within this enclave wish to reach out, review our intelligence logs, or formally join our cause on Tython, these secure subspace channels connect directly to my personal terminal."
I turned back toward my cohort. "Let's go, everyone," I announced. "We have work to do."
As our delegation turned to make our way toward the heavy blast doors, my gaze caught Master Zakan Velor standing near the side archway. The memory of our grueling four-hour duel from yesterday flashed vividly through my mind.
I paused mid-stride, stepping over toward the blind Lightsaber master.
"Master Zakan," I asked softly, genuinely curious. "Before we depart... I wanted to ask you something. Yesterday, during our spar, the principles of the lightsaber forms you used felt completely unorthodox. They were unmistakably the classic forms, yet stripped of all excess and executed with extraordinary precision. How did you develop such a style?"
Zakan's weathered face broke into a broad, fond smile.
"I was born with a vanishingly weak connection to the Force, as well as my poor sight Cain," Zakan explained. "Because I could not rely on telekinetic bursts or Force-enhanced physical augmentation, I spent my entire youth deconstructing the seven traditional forms and rebuilding them through the principles of Echani martial arts. I wanted to create a combat doctrine that any non-Force-sensitive soldier could master, while offering Force-sensitives a far more refined, polished foundation."
He's not wrong, the saber forms are very old but still need a lot of refinement and considering the Jedi aren't in constant combat like they usually are in history. They won't be able to push their saber abilities to their zeniths. Well not yet. But with someone like him, maybe the Jedi can gain that edge back.
"It is breathtakingly brilliant, I would be deeply honored if you would consider traveling to Tython to teach your methods to our initiates at the Tython Praxeum."
Zakan chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I would be honored, Cain, but my synthesis remains incomplete. For years, I have longed to study Master Mace Windu's Form VII, Vaapad. I have heard rumors of its terrifying efficacy, but I never had the opportunity to observe it firsthand."
I let out a soft laugh. "Well... as it happens, I know Vaapad."
Zakan froze, his posture straightening in surprise. "You do?"
"Yes," I replied with a subtle grin. "Master Windu recognized my natural affinity for Shatterpoint and personally took me under his wing to train me in Vaapad. And because I favor Jar'Kai dual-wielding, he believed I was the ideal candidate to push the style into its next evolutionary stage."
A fresh ripple of murmurs broke out among the surrounding Green Jedi.
Zakan tilted his head, his sightless eyes wide with sudden realization. "Wait... you possess Shatterpoint perception and you have trained in Vaapad? Why on Corellia didn't you unleash either of them during our duel yesterday?"
"Because we were dueling with single practice blades," I answered honestly, running a finger lightly over my eyepatch. "And because I was using our bout to train the new perception I'm getting use that is awakening in my damaged left eye. "
Zakan stared at me for a long heartbeat, and then a rich, booming laugh rumbled from his chest.
"I see," Zakan said warmly, reaching out to clap a firm, heavy hand against my shoulder. "You are truly a remarkable young man, Cain. Know this: when we first crossed blades yesterday, your spirit was fractured, burdened by terrifying doubts and shadows from afar. But as our ironwood spoke, our battle became a conversation, and I came to understand the purity of your resolve."
He squeezed my shoulder, his expression turning deeply earnest. "Keep moving forward, Cain. Even if it is only by one single step at a time. The Force will guide you to where you must be. You need only have the courage to walk the path and let go of your lingering doubts."
I felt a profound warmth settle into my chest. I bowed deeply from the waist. "Thank you, Master Velor."
Zakan snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "Stop with the formal titles, boy. Just call me father."
My breath caught in my throat. I snapped upright, my single eye widening in sheer panic.
Beside me, Seris's entire face flushed an incandescent shade of crimson. Her long, pointed ears twitched violently in mortification as she stared at her father with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Father!" Seris hissed, her analytical composure completely disintegrating.
From across the room, Sonya crossed her arms, her lips curving into a wicked, teasing smirk. "Listen to your father, Cain. Next time you two grace our estate, you had better be formally engaged, and I fully expect some grandbabies on the way after!"
Seronea nodded in airy agreement. "A new generation of Velor heirs would do wonders for the household."
"Grandmother! Mother!" Seris protested, her voice rising an octave as she covered her burning face with her hands. "We are barely sixteen standard years old!"
Sheera slipped past Derren, leaning over Seris's shoulder with a bright, mischievous grin. "Don't you worry, Matriarch! I will personally ensure that both you and Lady Sonya receive VIP invitations to the wedding and the nursery ward!"
"Sheera, you are not helping!" Seris and I barked simultaneously, our faces burning equally bright.
Derren and Anakin erupted into boisterous laughter, their teasing echoes bouncing off the high stone archways as we finally made our hurried exit through the enclave blast doors.
I let out a long, ragged exhale, mentally shielding my thoughts from the cohort's teasing.
May the Force have mercy on my soul, I thought desperately. I really hope Barriss is having a much calmer day on Kamino than I am right now.
Tipoca City, Kamino
The medical bay within the southern spire of the Kaminoan cloning facility was bathed in sterile, cool-white luminescence. Outside the the eternal torrential storms of Kamino battered against the sleek dome, sending endless sheets of rain cascading down the exterior hull.
In the center of the private rehabilitation chamber, Barriss Offee sat in a silent, kneeling meditative posture on a pillow upon the polished permacrete floor.
Directly in front of her stood a colossal, pressurized cylindrical bacta tank. Suspended weightlessly within the bubbling, pale-blue chemical suspension was the heavily sedated form of Maul.
The former Sith apprentice looked unrecognizable from the shattered, feral monster they had dragged out of the junk heaps of Lotho Minor. His ragged, decayed cybernetic spider-legs were gone. Through the miraculous, advanced bio-engineering of the Kaminoan cloners, Maul's entire lower torso, hips, and muscular Zabrak legs had been completely regrown and grafted at the cellular level, flawlessly integrated into his original anatomy.
The hydraulic doors behind Barriss slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss.
A tall, elegant Kaminoan chief medical officer stepped into the room, her long, graceful neck arching smoothly as her large, piercing blue eyes settled upon the young Mirialan healer.
"Greetings, Padawan Offee," the doctor said, her melodious, synthesized tone carrying the clinical neutrality characteristic of her species. "How progress your studies today?"
Barriss opened her dark blue eyes, rising smoothly to her feet with practiced Jedi grace. She offered a polite, respectful bow.
"They progress very well, Doctor," Barriss replied softly, her voice carrying a serene, grounding warmth. "I have just concluded reviewing your facility's comprehensive medical archives, cross-referencing your advanced medical protocols with the traditional healing arts of the Jedi Order. It has been extraordinarily illuminating comparing classical healing techniques with the sophisticated medicine your people have pioneered."
The Kaminoan doctor tilted her head slightly, her large eyes blinking with genuine scientific curiosity. "In all our decades fulfilling contracts for off-world clients, I have never observed a Jedi of your disposition. To grasp complex medicine mapping and synthesis across multiple alien physiologies in a matter of standard days is highly unusual."
A faint, fond smile touched Barriss's lips. "My dear friend Cain always reminds us that while the Force is boundless, it cannot be treated as a substitute for practical science. The Force provides the intention and the spiritual flow, but medicine provides the structure."
Barriss turned her gaze back toward the bubbling tank, her expression turning somber. "Take Maul, for instance. His connection to the Force was rejecting cellular healing by cloning. We had to utilize the Ysalamiri pods to temporarily suppress his Force connection entirely. That allowed your scientist team to successfully clone and graft his lower body without any problems such as rapid genetic decay, severe mental instability, or physical deformities tearing the new tissues apart at the molecular level."
"A highly effective procedure Cain found out ," the doctor concurred, glancing at her datapad. "Speaking of the subject: his final diagnostic toxicology reports have cleared. He received multiple broad-spectrum antimicrobial injections to purge the aggressive scrap-world pathogens contracted on Lotho Minor. His Dathomirian Zabrak physiology demonstrates an extraordinarily high biological threshold for pain and toxic resistance. He has been deemed fully stable. We are authorized to begin the chemical revival sequence and wake him tomorrow morning."
Barriss drew in a slow, centering breath, nodding gently. "Good. I will remain here to welcome him back and guide him through the awakening."
She looked at the sleeping Zabrak, her Force senses brushing against the turbulent perimeter of his consciousness. "Even through the heavy sedatives, I can feel the state of his spirit. His mind is trapped in an endless storm of agony, and blinding fury."
The Kaminoan doctor tapped her datapad. "When we disengage the sedatives, I shall have a full squad of elite clone shock troopers on tactical standby outside the bulkhead to ensure your personal safety."
"Thank you, Doctor," Barriss said gently, shaking her head. "But that will not be necessary. I will not need the troopers."
The Kaminoan paused, her brow furrowing with clinical skepticism. "Are you entirely certain, Padawan Offee? According to the threat assessments provided by Cain, this individual was trained as a lethal Sith assassin. If he awakens in a state of psychotic mania, he represents a severe physical hazard."
Barriss stepped closer to the base of the tank. She raised her slender, gloved hand, gently pressing her palm flat against the chilled glass surface.
"I know what he was," Barriss murmured softly, her dark blue eyes filled with boundless, unconditional compassion. "He was stolen as a child, molded into a weapon, discarded when he failed, and left to rot in the dark for over a decade. He is not a monster, Doctor... he is a wounded, broken soul. And I intend to heal him."
Barriss closed her eyes and reached deep into the currents of the Living Force.
In an instant, a soft, radiant emerald aura ignited around her body. The gentle green light pulsed outward in rhythmic, soothing waves, washing over the surface of the bacta tank and seeping directly into the suspension fluid.
Within the tank, the violent micro-twitches running along Maul's facial tattoos began to ease. The deep, agonizing lines of tension carved into his brow smoothed out, his rapid pulse slowing into a calm, steady rhythm as Barriss's healing presence wrapped around his fractured consciousness like a warm, protective mantle.
Barriss smiled faintly, her voice a soft, sacred whisper against the glass.
"It's okay, Maul. You're not alone. Not anymore."