—Elsewhere— On Jedi Temple Entrance
A crackle of frost. A breath of ancient cold.
Depa Billaba's saber hissed to life—blue and steady.
Across from her, Anastasia stepped forward. Dressed in white green . No emotion . Just the cursed chill she carried with her—and the shadowy mass behind her… Viy.
The puppet Noble Phantasm loomed—its skeletal arms twitching beneath layers of torn lace and frozen cloth. Snow followed it like plague.
Depa narrowed her eyes. "You—your aura feels like a Sith relic. Dark. Cold. Why are you here?"
Anastasia didn't answer. But a small slipspace flickered to her left, twisting soundlessly—and a whisper crept through it like breath on glass.
"Anastasia," said the heavy voice of Ivan the Terrible, distorted from the other side.
"If she proves too strong, switch with me. I'll crush her."
Anastasia's lips barely moved. "Don't, my Tsar . If you kill her, balance must be paid. You heard what Jin-Woo said—if a Jedi dies, someone on our side has to die. And it won't be menor you ."
There was a low chuckle. "Hmph… then I will wait. But if you need it, I'll send my Oprichniki through. We'll make her kneel—together."
Anastasia stepped forward again, frost curling beneath her heels.
—Elsewhere—
Yarael Poof moved like vapor, tall and serpentine, a faint smile playing across his elongated face. The icy walls that had once encased him cracked and shattered with a simple wave of his hand. Controlled, elegant.
He didn't run. He walked. Calm. Measured. Unbothered.
Until he saw the trio waiting for him.
Qin Shi Huang stood tall in his artificial Zhen Ren body, cloaked in radiant gold and weaving micro-circuits. His presence mechanical, his confidence imperial.
Beside him, Hinako Akuta had already shed her Crypter persona. Now—she was fully Consort Yu.
Her black dress shimmered with flame-etched ends. Twin Chinese blades burned in each hand, a dance of precision and rage. Her eyes had no doubt—only sorrow, buried deep.
Behind her, like a living monument, Xiang Yu towered. Machine. Beast. Husband. His arms flexed around a massive spear, and beside him, silent and poised, stood Prince Lanling, his saber drawn, face half-hidden by a porcelain mask.
Qin raised his hand and greeted with pride, "Greetings. I am Emperor of China. Qin—"
"Shut up, you extroverted emperor," Hinako snapped.
"Let's just get this job done and smack this flamingo-headed freak."
Yarael Poof didn't react. He only tilted his head once—and without warning, the Force surged.
Lanling froze. Then trembled. Then dropped to one knee.
Eyes wide, filled with invisible panic.
"Mind trick," Yarael said
"Would you rather explain your objective… or should I tear it from your mind myself?"
Hinako gulped, visibly tense.
Qin's gaze sharpened. His voice lost all warmth. "Tactician, I see. A strategist with mental acumen… just like me. But still younger. Still learning."
Yarael Poof's eyes flickered, glowing faintly. "Then teach me some—" BOOM.
A deafening explosion tore through a nearby structure—shards of durasteel raining down as two figures burst out from the smoke. Ashwatthama came crashing through first, spinning like a storm, locked in a brutal duel with none other than Mace Windu.
"C'mon!" Ashwatthama roared, blades clashing. "Give me the warrior's fighting spirit!"
Windu parried, backstepped, and gave a faint smirk. "When was the last time I felt like this?" He blocked another blow. "Feels like youth again."
Another blur shot down the adjacent wall—Peperoncino, sprinting at high velocity, robes fluttering from the wind pressure as his feet sparked against duracrete. He activated Jinsokutsū—a high-speed magecraft technique. Not Servant-tier. . But fast enough to be dangerous.
Windu caught the incoming blaster shot from Pepe with his saber, deflecting it upward, the light tracing across the smoke-lit sky.
"You sure you want in on this?" Windu snapped.
"You're his Master, right? Your energy being siphoned every second this Archer-class lunatic swings."
Pepe just grinned. "Dancing with Death is supposed to be done as a duo, no?"
Ashwatthama leapt into the air, mounted atop his spinning chakram, and dove again like a predator, streaking down the skyline.
"Hey, Master of the Jedi Order!" he roared.
"You should be more worried that a primitive warrior about to beat your ass!"
"If you fall here, no more speeches. No more dignity in front of your comrades."
Windu caught him mid-air. The clash sent another ripple through the already-damaged towers.
"That," Windu grunted, "was supposed to be my line."
Another explosion burst behind them, a collapsed building scattering flaming debris across the sky.
Back below—Yarael Poof blinked at the distant madness.
He turned to Qin. "…That your friend?"
Qin raised his hands like a stage performer, smiling as his artificial cloak fluttered in the wind.
"Yes. They all are. To the Eternal Empire."
Yarael didn't even blink. "I figured."
--------------------------
Meanwhile outside the ice barrier
Oppo Rancisis stood motionless, his coiled tail unmoving as his robes fluttered with the wind. Behind him, nearly a hundred Jedi Knights waited in disciplined silence—blades unlit, tension rising.
We have the Senate's resources, the galaxy's trust…
And yet we allowed ourselves to be trapped.
On our own world. In our own temple.
One of the Jedi stepped forward. "Master Oppo… Grandmaster Yoda hasn't been located."
Oppo's narrow eyes didn't waver. "Then he is where he needs to be. If he walks alone, it means he seeks the core."
His saber ignited with a clean snap-hiss—green light cutting through the battlefield dusk.
That was when the air changed.
A swirling blue portal opened with a thunderous hum—not of the Force, but of something alien. Something far more advanced.
Through the slipspace stepped a towering figure: pale white skin, long wild hair and beard, crackling with subdued lightning beneath a golden artificial frame.
The avatar of Zeus. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck like a war veteran stepping onto familiar ground.
"This slipspace technology is handy," he said with amused arrogance.
"One day… that red-eyed construct he'll serve under me."
Zeus eyes narrowed. "That is, assuming the Shadow Monarch disappears."
Oppo deactivated his lightsaber.
Zeus tilted his head. "Shouldn't you be fighting, Jedi Master?"
"I know my enemy's capabilities," Oppo replied. "And you didn't come to fight. Not yet. You came to talk."
Zeus smirked. "So… this is Oppo Rancisis. The shadow monarch machine construct—said you were a general. A true battlefield mind."
"I'll make it plain. Leave this Order. Serve Olympus instead. You'll have war, glory, and an empire that isn't rotting from the inside."
Oppo didn't hesitate. "I refuse. The Jedi serve justice. Peace. Not you."
Zeus stared at him. Then—quietly, to himself—he muttered:
"Naive… just like the Shadow Monarch said. You Jedi really are naive to a fault."
Then Oppo Rancisis spoke, "This 'Shadow Monarch'… is he the one behind this revolution?"
Zeus tilted his head—eyes still forward, but the corner of his mouth twitched in the faintest grin. That guy…Jin-Woo. Always in the shadows. Never reveals himself. Not even to the galaxy he own . Typical.
He thought briefly about how Offensive Bias might've dropped a hint. Or maybe not. That construct knew how to keep secrets.
Instead of replying directly, Zeus turned and raised a hand. With a snap of his fingers, a tall throne made of luminous starlight and compact storm clouds formed behind him. The structure fully manifested. Then, he snapped again—a second throne, identical, forged from layered wind and quiet lightning, appeared beside it.
"Sit," Zeus offered casually. "Let's make this interesting."
Oppo Rancisis blinked once. Slowly. "A wager?"
Zeus nodded, finally settling into the first throne with regal flair. "Yes. If my forces win—if Olympus and the Lostbelt warriors dominate your precious Jedi…"
He leaned slightly forward. "Then you work under me."
Oppo narrowed his eyes, intrigued. "And if they fall?"
Zeus shrugged as if the outcome didn't concern him. "Then I'll tell you everything. Including the identity of the one they call 'Shadow Monarch.'"
Oppo slowly walked to the second chair. Sat down without a word.
"Agreed," he said, his voice calm, but his eyes locked onto the flames and frost of the chaos below.
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Senator Building – Coruscant
Within the towering spires of the Galactic Senate, the Senatorial Rotunda lay quiet… too quiet. The usual chorus of diplomats, aides, and protocol droids was absent. It was early evening, and most of the legislative floor had long since cleared. Only one man remained.
Palpatine.
The Senator from Naboo sat alone in a private observation chamber overlooking the vast central chasm of the Senate. In his hand, he held a card—small, ancient, and worn by time. Written on it were only three words:
"Senator Rotunda. Today."
He had been waiting for six hours.
Eyes calm, breath steady, he sensed something in the air. Not a ripple in the Force—no, something deeper. Something unknown. His fingers tapped against the marble tabletop, thoughtful. Just then, a flicker of light appeared on the embedded holocom.
Darth Maul's holographic figure crackled into existence, kneeling.
"Master," Maul said in a low tone, "shall I flush out the one you're waiting for? The rotunda's security grid is already mapped. I can finish it quickly."
Palpatine didn't move. His expression never shifted. "No. Stay in position. Do not reveal yourself. I feel… he's already here."
And then He turned his head. Slowly. Footsteps echoed from behind.
Palpatine's eyes narrowed—not in surprise, but in acknowledgement. The figure that approached wasn't cloaked, wasn't hiding behind a veil of shadows anymore.
It was him. Daybit Sem Void.
He looked like a young man, no older than thirty. Blonde hair falling loosely to his neck. Black cargo pants tucked into sturdy, laced boots. A black dress shirt, fitted and buttoned up with a dark tie under a striped vest. Over it all, a long leather coat that caught the light in jagged reflections with every step he took. He didn't walk like a man with power—he walked like power was nothing to him.
Palpatine's expression remained unreadable. But internally— He suddenly appeared… No arrival. No presence. Even the Force didn't whisper him in.How did he bypass security…?
Around the room, the red-plated Senate Guards reacted quickly, weapons raised as they stepped forward with authority.
"Halt! This is a secure sector of the Senate Building. Identify yourself or we'll—"
"—Stand down," Palpatine said .
All eyes turned to him. Palpatine stepped forward, composed and smiling as he always did when playing the part of the politician.
"This man is my guest."
The guards hesitated, but then lowered their weapons in unison. "…Of course, Senator Palpatine."
Palpatine approached Daybit slowly and extended his hand with practiced diplomacy. "Senator Palpatine. Just a humble representative of Naboo."
Daybit said nothing. He didn't shake the hand. He didn't even acknowledge it.
Palpatine's smile remained, though his eyes subtly narrowed. "May I guide you to the balcony?"
Daybit gave only a small, wordless nod.
"Let me lead the way," Palpatine offered, pivoting smoothly as he motioned toward the arched doorway that led out into the private terrace overlooking Coruscant's skyline.
They walked in silence—Palpatine composed as ever, but his mind swirled beneath the calm exterior.
He walks like he owns the place… Who is this man?
As they stepped onto the balcony, the artificial wind of the upper city gently tousled Daybit's coat. Lights from the Senate district below shimmered like a sea of gold and silver, stretching endlessly into the horizon.
Palpatine's eyes flicked toward his wrist device. A hidden command. A channel.
Maul's voice crackled through the concealed holocom—distorted and sharp.
"Master. This man is not registered in any planetary system. Not Core. Not Mid. Not Outer Rim. He doesn't exist."
Palpatine's voice remained smooth, but there was now steel underneath it. "May I know your name, Mr…?"
Daybit turned his head slightly, gaze steady.
"Daybit Sem Void."
Palpatine raised an eyebrow, voice touched with mock curiosity. "What a strange name, Mr. Daybit. Are you from below Coruscant then? Perhaps one of the forgotten citizens… those who live in the underworld, beyond the system's care?"
Daybit's voice came low, dry, and stripped of any flourish.
"I'm just a worker. That's all."
Palpatine's smile faltered—barely. His eyes scanned the young man's face again.
Strange…
Why doesn't he react? My silver tongue—the same charm that's unraveled senators, calmed warlords, seduced entire delegations—has no effect. . This man… is unreadable.
Without waiting for an invitation, Daybit moved past him and sat down. No hesitation. No courtesy.
He simply pulled out a chair on the terrace and sat—coolly, casually—like he owned the entire skyline. In the rules of Senate etiquette, it was the senator who took the first seat. A guest, especially a nobody, was meant to wait. But Daybit didn't care.
Palpatine composed himself and took the seat opposite, folding his hands calmly on the marble table between them.
"You walk into the heart of the Republic's power structure without an army, without a title, without even a name the HoloNet recognizes…" He leaned slightly forward, voice smooth but probing. "Either you're brave—or foolish. But I understand. I was once a nobody too. A poor man… just a worker, crawling my way to the top."
Daybit tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed ahead. "No. I just know you can't act yet. Not you. Not your faction master. Not while the opposing side is already taking root."
Palpatine froze. It was a subtle thing—a pause in his breath, a slight twitch at the corner of his eye. He swallowed, just once. Does he know…? Does he know I'm a Sith? Is this a Jedi operative? No… he's not dressed like one. Doesn't talk like one. Then what is he…?
Before he could ponder further,
Daybit spoke again. "Don't worry. I'm not a vagabond… or some hidden blade. I'm just… someone. Read an online course yesterday on how to talk to powerful people. So I'm trying it out."
Palpatine blinked.
For a moment, he didn't know whether it was sarcasm or sincerity. He almost laughed—almost. But instead, he gave a faint chuckle, a politician's reflex.
He sat there, staring at Daybit Sem Void, and for the first time in years, felt like the one not in control of the conversation.
Palpatine leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into a slower, more measured tone. "I know you're not the type to care about fame… wealth… or even those superstitious Jedi and their parlor tricks."
"But I also know something else. You're the one who escalated this event—drew attention to Coruscant. I've seen it. Outer Rim whispers. Core Worlds pilgrims. The entire galaxy has begun to look this way."
Daybit gave a small nod, indifferent. "Yeah. That's me. I'm a very good worker."
Palpatine gave an awkward chuckle—just once. He admits it. He fucking admits it.
A man like this… casually confesses to moving the galaxy's spotlight. And not to a friend. Not to an ally. To me. Either he's a fool… or he knows exactly what I am.
Still, Palpatine saw opportunity.
"Well," he said slowly, "that's a very… impressive skill you have. With your help, I can refine certain plans of mine. And if you're truly interested… I can offer you a path. Something beyond politics. A way to learn the Force—similar to—"
"You're a very good liar," Daybit cut in calmly.
Palpatine shocked .
Daybit's voice was casual. Plain. Flat. "But if you're going to lie… make it realistic. Force sensitivity isn't something you learn. It's inherited. Born. Not manufactured."
Palpatine's mask slipped—just slightly. His smile stiffened, the warmth behind his voice now fading into cold calculation. The tone between them shifted.
"I assure you," Palpatine said carefully, "I'm not a liar. You see… I have what some would call a unique affinity. I can manipulate midic—"
But Daybit didn't listen. He suddenly smiled.
He simply turned his gaze east—toward the Jedi Temple. His eyes focused, his smile sharpening.
In the far distance, a voice echoed through the Force—a chant carried like wind through stone and memory.
"O power that is tied to my name.
Answer me and open the gates.
Come, my castle… my castle of shadows."
Then came the crack—like the splitting of sky.
"Gate of Skye."
From the heavens above the ruined temple, a colossal structure descended—wrought of ancient shadow, half-fortress, half-myth. The Fortress of Shadows manifested like a god's throne, casting its massive silhouette across the fractured skyline of Coruscant. Within its perimeter, a miracle unfolded: luck, strength, blessings—all bestowed to Skadi's allies within the radius. The tide had turned.
Daybit let out a low, amused breath. "Normally I wouldn't say this,"
he said without looking at Palpatine, "but I'll make an exception."
He tilted his head. "Thank you, Sidious. Without you… the gateway wouldn't have opened."
Palpatine's entire body tensed.
He knows. He just said it. Sidious.
And more than that… he just thanked me. As if the Yinchorri raid—my ploy to pressure the Jedi—was nothing more than a stepping stone in a greater plan. Whose plan? Mine… or his?