Bail Organa's Personal Shuttle, Hyperspace | 19 BBY
I woke to the sound of my own breathing.
Not the ragged gasps of someone drowning. Not the sharp inhales of panic. Just breath. In and out. Mechanical. Steady. As if my body had decided to continue functioning despite the fact that everything else had stopped making sense.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. Clean white panels, soft lighting recessed into corners. Expensive. The kind of craftsmanship that screamed Core World wealth. My hand found the edge of whatever I was lying on and discovered it was a medical cot, the sheets crisp enough to cut transparisteel.
Memory returned in fragments. The Temple. Blaster fire. Master Shé's presence winking out like a candle in vacuum. Senator Organa's speeder banking hard through Coruscant traffic while gunships hunted us through the skylanes.
And the text. The impossible, inexplicable text that had overlaid my vision like some kind of broken tactical display.
I sat up too fast. Pain lanced through my shoulder where the bolt had grazed me and I hissed between my teeth, fingers finding clean bandages wrapped professionally around the wound. Someone had stripped me out of my blood-soaked tunic and dressed the injury while I'd been unconscious. The thought of being that vulnerable, that exposed, sent cold fingers walking down my spine.
The room was small. Functional. A personal cabin on what I assumed was Organa's shuttle based on the subtle vibration of hyperspace travel thrumming through the deck plates. My lightsaber sat on a table beside the cot, the metal cylinder looking almost innocent in the soft light. How many clones had I cut down with that weapon? How many good men who'd been following orders they couldn't resist?
Don't think about it. Not yet. Stay functional.
I swung my legs off the cot and immediately regretted it as the deck tilted beneath me. Not actually tilting. Just my inner ear protesting the sudden movement after however long I'd been out. I braced myself against the wall and waited for the vertigo to pass.
The text reappeared.
No warning. No buildup. Just there, hanging in space like a hologram only I could see.
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SYSTEM STATUS
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Name: Zett Jukassa
Level: 13
Class: Jedi Padawan
Title: Survivor of the Purge
STR: 18 | VIT: 22 | AGI: 24
INT: 16 | WIS: 14 | CHA: 13
LUK: 8 | SP: 340
HP: 1,043/1,200
FP: 548/650
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I stared at the display for ten full seconds, trying to will it away through sheer force of disbelief. It didn't budge. The numbers sat there with the kind of stubborn permanence that suggested they had no intention of leaving just because I found their existence philosophically offensive.
"What are you?" I asked the empty air.
The text shifted, rearranged itself into something new.
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SYSTEM DESIGNATION: Adaptive Personal Interface
Primary Function: Survival enhancement through quantifiable metrics and progressive development
Secondary Function: Skill acquisition and mastery tracking
Status: Fully operational
Query acknowledged. Would you like a full tutorial?
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I laughed. Couldn't help it. The sound came out harsh and broken, more bark than humor. A tutorial. The galaxy had just murdered every Jedi it could find, my Master was almost certainly dead, the Republic I'd sworn to serve had become something monstrous, and this impossible phantom in my head wanted to walk me through a tutorial.
"No," I said aloud. "I don't want a tutorial. I want you to explain what you are and why you're in my head."
The text didn't respond immediately. For a moment I thought maybe I'd broken it, that whatever Force-twisted hallucination this was would simply evaporate if I pushed back hard enough. Then new words appeared.
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Origin: Unknown
Integration Point: Moment of critical survival necessity
Purpose: Facilitate continued existence through enhanced awareness and capability development
Note: This system does not control host actions. It observes, quantifies, and rewards growth.
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"That's not an explanation," I muttered. "That's corporate double-talk."
The door to the cabin slid open before the text could respond again. Senator Organa stood in the doorway, his formal robes replaced with something more practical for travel. His eyes found me standing beside the cot and visible relief crossed his features.
"You're awake. Good. How do you feel?"
I considered the question. How did I feel? Exhausted. Furious. Terrified. Confused by the impossible text floating in my peripheral vision that he clearly couldn't see. Numb from watching my entire world burn.
"I've been better," I said.
Organa stepped into the cabin and the door hissed shut behind him. "Your shoulder will heal cleanly if you don't aggravate it. The bolt cauterized most of the damage." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "You've been unconscious for six hours. We're en route to Alderaan."
Six hours. The Temple had fallen six hours ago. In that time, how many more Jedi had died? How many younglings had been murdered in their beds? How many Masters had made last stands in the halls where they'd taught generations of students?
"What happened?" The question came out rougher than I intended. "At the Temple. After we left."
Organa's expression went carefully neutral. "I don't know specifics. Communications are restricted. But the official broadcasts..." He trailed off, then seemed to steel himself. "Chancellor Palpatine declared the Jedi Order traitors to the Republic. He's claiming you attempted to assassinate him."
The words should have shocked me. Should have sparked outrage or disbelief. Instead they just settled into my chest like cold stones, adding weight to the growing certainty that nothing would ever be the same.
"That's a lie," I said.
"I know."
"The clones turned on us. All of them. Simultaneously." I searched Organa's face for answers I knew he didn't have. "That's not possible without coordination. Without orders."
"I know," he said again, quieter this time.
The text pulsed gently in my vision, drawing attention without demanding it.
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NEW INFORMATION ACQUIRED
Republic Status: Reorganized into Galactic Empire
Supreme Chancellor Palpatine Status: Now Emperor Palpatine
Jedi Order Status: Declared enemies of the state
Current Threat Level: EXTREME
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I blinked and the text faded slightly, becoming translucent. Apparently the system had opinions about what constituted important information. The fact that it was right didn't make its presence any less disturbing.
"The Republic is gone," I said. Not a question. A statement of fact that tasted like ashes.
Organa nodded. "Palpatine has reorganized it into the first Galactic Empire. He's already consolidating power, appointing regional governors, expanding military production." He met my eyes. "Zett, you need to understand. I can offer you sanctuary on Alderaan, but it won't be safe indefinitely. If the Empire discovers I'm harboring a Jedi..."
"It would destroy you politically," I finished. "Maybe literally."
"I'm willing to take that risk. But you need to make a choice about what comes next."
What came next. The question hung between us like smoke. What did come next when your entire world had been incinerated? When the only life you'd ever known had been declared illegal? When the family that raised you had been systematically murdered?
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking slightly, a fine tremor I couldn't quite control. These hands had held a lightsaber for nearly a decade. Had trained in the seven forms under one of the greatest duelists the Order had ever produced. Had blocked blaster bolts and deflected strikes and moved with the kind of precision that came from ten thousand hours of practice.
They'd also killed clone troopers. Good men who'd had no choice in their betrayal.
"Were there any other survivors?" The question came out barely above a whisper.
Organa hesitated. That hesitation told me everything I needed to know, but he answered anyway. "I don't know. The Temple is under complete Imperial lockdown. No one gets in or out. But..." Another pause. "There were Jedi stationed across the galaxy. Not all of them were at the Temple when it happened."
Hope flickered in my chest, small and fragile. Not all of them had been at the Temple. Some might have survived. Masters on distant campaigns. Knights serving as generals. Padawans assigned to border outposts.
Ahsoka.
The thought hit me like a physical blow. Ahsoka Tano had left the Order months ago, walked away after the Council had failed her. I'd tried to stop her. Had snuck out of the Temple the night she left, found her on a landing platform in the lower levels, and spent two hours trying to convince her to stay.
She'd refused. At the time I'd been angry, hurt that she'd choose to abandon everything we'd trained for. Now her decision might have saved her life.
If she was even still alive.
The text shifted again, responding to my thoughts in a way that felt invasive.
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OPTIONAL QUEST AVAILABLE
Quest: Meditate on the Force
Difficulty: Simple
Description: Center yourself through meditation. Process recent trauma and reconnect with the Force.
Reward: +2 WIS, +50 FP, Mental clarity buff
Accept? Y/N
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I almost laughed again. The system wanted me to meditate. As if sitting cross-legged and emptying my mind would somehow make sense of the fact that the galaxy had gone insane.
But the suggestion wasn't entirely wrong. I could feel the Force around me, present but distant, like trying to hear a conversation through thick walls. The chaos of the Temple had left scars on my connection, jagged edges that needed smoothing before I could think clearly.
"I need time," I told Organa. "To process this. To figure out what I'm going to do."
He nodded slowly. "We'll arrive at Alderaan in approximately eight hours. My estate has secure facilities where you can stay while you decide your next move." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Zett, I'm sorry. For what happened. For what's been done to your Order."
"So am I," I said.
The door slid shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the impossible text hanging in my vision. I stared at the quest notification for a long moment, weighing options I didn't fully understand.
Finally, I thought yes as clearly as I could.
The text flashed.
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QUEST ACCEPTED: Meditate on the Force
Beginning meditation cycle. Estimated completion: 90 minutes
Note: Deep meditation recommended for optimal results
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I settled onto the deck plates, crossing my legs in the formal position Master Drallig had taught me years ago. My shoulder protested but I ignored it. Pain was just another sensation, another current in the river of the Force.
I closed my eyes and reached inward.
The Force responded slowly, cautiously, like a wounded animal approaching an offered hand. I felt its currents swirling around me, through me, connecting me to the vast web of life that spanned the galaxy. But something had changed. The web felt torn, ripped in places where bright presences had been snuffed out.
I counted the absences. Master Shé. Master Drallig. Master Koon. Master Fisto. Knights and Padawans whose names I'd known, whose presences had been as familiar as my own reflection. All gone. All extinguished in the span of hours.
Grief rose in my throat and I let it. Didn't push it away, didn't try to transmute it into something more palatable. The Jedi Code spoke of no emotion, but Master Drallig had taught me the truth behind that oversimplification. Not no emotion. Emotion without attachment. Feel the grief but don't let it consume you. Acknowledge the pain but don't let it control your actions.
I breathed. In and out. Let the Force flow through me like water through open fingers.
Somewhere in the meditation, I felt something shift. Not the Force itself but my perception of it. The jagged edges smoothed. The distance narrowed. And underneath the grief, underneath the trauma and confusion and fear, I found something unexpected.
Purpose.
The Jedi Order was gone. The Republic had fallen. Everything I'd known had been stripped away in fire and betrayal. But I was still here. Still breathing. Still connected to the Force.
That had to mean something.
The text appeared again, softer this time. Less intrusive.
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QUEST COMPLETE: Meditate on the Force
+2 WIS
+50 FP
BUFF ACQUIRED: [Mental Clarity] | Duration: 6 hours | +10% to all mental skill checks
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Current Stats:
WIS: 14 → 16
FP: 598/700
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I opened my eyes. The cabin looked the same but felt different, like I was seeing it through a cleaner viewport. My thoughts moved more smoothly, connections forming where before there'd only been static and confusion.
The system was real. However impossible, however inexplicable, it was responding to my actions and quantifying my growth. I could reject it, try to ignore its presence and hope it faded. Or I could accept it as another tool, another resource in a galaxy that had just become infinitely more hostile.
Master Drallig had taught me to never waste an advantage.
I stood, tested my shoulder with a few careful rotations. The pain had dulled to a manageable ache. My lightsaber called to me from the table and I picked it up, felt its familiar weight settle into my palm.
Somewhere out there, other Jedi might still be alive. Ahsoka might still be alive. And the Empire that had murdered my family, that had twisted good soldiers into executioners, was consolidating its power.