[Jedi Temple – High Council Chamber, Coruscant]
Sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Jedi Temple's Council chamber, casting long lines across the polished floor. Twelve seats formed a circle—some occupied by holograms, others by the physical presence of the Order's most powerful Masters. In the center stood Master Dooku and his Padawan, Khan Kage, flanked by stillness and scrutiny.
The conversation was already tense.
"The matter of Thalonis," Master Ki-Adi-Mundi began, "was not sanctioned by the Council. You departed based on intelligence not formally reviewed."
Dooku's tone was calm but firm. "And yet, action was necessary. We discovered a rot deep within the Republic—senators and rulers exploiting the very people they were sworn to protect. Would you have had us ignore their suffering?"
Mace Windu narrowed his eyes slightly, arms folded. "This time, the results were favorable. But next time, acting on unsanctioned intelligence could start a war. Jedi are peacekeepers, not enforcers of justice."
Dooku's voice grew colder. "And what peace is preserved when corruption festers beneath gilded words? When we sit idle while the Republic withers under greed?"
The chamber grew heavy with silence.
Then a familiar voice broke the tension.
"Understand your choice, I do," said Master Yoda, nodding slowly at his former Padawan. His ears drooped slightly in a gesture of sympathy. "Lives, you saved. Justice, you served. But careful we must be—not to cross lines that blur our path. Unintended consequences, even righteous actions can bring."
Dooku inclined his head respectfully, though the tension in his jaw remained.
Mace Windu pressed on. "The Code was written for a reason. We are not political players. We are the balance between order and chaos. If Jedi begin choosing sides based on emotion or personal judgment, the entire Republic could spiral."
The room simmered with restrained conflict until Yoda turned to Khan.
"And you, young one… what think you of this mission? Of your Master's actions?"
Khan, standing in the center of the room before some of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, met Yoda's gaze without hesitation.
"I believe…" he began, taking a breath, "we don't need to choose one extreme over another. As Jedi, we're taught to seek balance. Then why not act with balance? We shouldn't turn our backs on people who are suffering, but we also shouldn't rule from above."
He looked to the council—Master Windu, Master Plo Koon, Master Depa Billaba.
"There wasn't time for politics on Thalonis. The people were starving. Afraid. Forgotten. My Master and I did what we thought was right—not to play politics, but to help them when no one else would."
Silence followed. It was not the silence of judgment—but contemplation.
Then Yoda nodded, slowly, eyes half-lidded in thought.
"Spoken with clarity, you have. And with care." His gaze swept across the council. "Discuss further, the Council will. No consequence there shall be, for the mission's result. But learn from this, we must. Adapt, perhaps… a little, we should."
Khan bowed respectfully, but not out of fear. It was a gesture of humility—one that echoed older, nobler Jedi ways.
Dooku glanced sideways at his apprentice. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not pride exactly, but something deeper.
The boy stood firm, he thought. Among the giants of the Order. Calm. Wise. Unshaken.
It reminded him, for just a moment, of Qui-Gon.
[Jedi Temple Archives – A Week Later]
The soft hum of the archive terminals filled the cavernous chamber with a serene, constant rhythm. Towering shelves of holobooks and data-scrolls lined the marble corridors, bathed in pale light from Coruscant's high midday sun. Khan Kage sat cross-legged at a terminal near the back of the archives, the glow of his screen casting a soft light across his focused face.
Dozens of planetary profiles flickered in front of him—jungles of Felucia, ice cliffs of Orto Plutonia, deep oceans of Mon Cala. Lines of text scrolled quickly as he flipped through native species, geological threats, and historical settlements.
He muttered to himself, "...Terrazine-blooded varacts… not hostile unless provoked."
"Khan Kage," came a voice from behind, light and amused, "still hiding in the archives instead of training with the rest of us?"
Khan turned and grinned.
Standing there with his trademark easy smile and relaxed posture was a green-skinned Nautolan—Kit Fisto. A little older, a little taller, and always carrying a kind of energy that seemed to ripple off him like sunlight through water.
"Kit!" Khan stood up, turning off the terminal. "It's been weeks! When did you get back?"
"Last night," Kit replied, stepping forward and clasping Khan's forearm in a brief, familiar greeting. "Master Bnar and I were posted in the Outer Rim. Reports of criminal activity around the Sarka system."
Khan raised a brow. "Let me guess… you didn't find anything?"
"Nothing but smugglers and spice peddlers too scared to breathe wrong with Jedi around." Kit laughed. "We spent two weeks chasing shadows. Either the reports were wrong, or someone made sure we didn't find what we were supposed to."
Khan frowned slightly. "That sounds familiar."
Kit nodded. "I heard about Thalonis. You and Master Dooku caused quite a stir."
Khan shrugged modestly. "We just followed the Force where it led us. The people needed help."
Kit gave him a knowing look. "And you spoke in front of the Council?"
A sheepish smile tugged at Khan's lips. "Yeah… that happened."
"Well," Kit said, nudging him gently with his elbow, "I'm impressed. I'd still be sweating in front of Mace Windu."
"I was," Khan admitted. "I just didn't show it."
Both laughed softly, earning a quiet glare from a librarian droid floating by. They ducked their heads respectfully before walking together down the corridor.
"So what are you researching?" Kit asked.
"Planetary ecosystems, animal behaviors. Master Dooku says I need to broaden my practical knowledge."
Kit smirked. "Still the old-school method with Master Dooku, huh? Holobooks before lightsaber drills."
"I think he's trying to teach me discipline."
"Or patience."
They shared another grin as they walked.
[Jedi Temple – Sparring Grounds]
The sun was beginning to dip beyond the spires of Coruscant, casting golden rays across the wide, polished sparring arena. Marble colonnades encircled the space, and the distant hum of airspeeders echoed faintly from the city beyond.
Khan and Kit stepped into the ring, boots thudding softly against the smooth stone floor. Around them, a small crowd had gathered—Padawans and younglings alike whispering excitedly.
"Hope your saber skills haven't rusted in the library, bookworm," Kit said with a teasing grin, rolling his shoulders as he activated his emerald-bladed lightsaber with a familiar snap-hiss.
Khan smirked, drawing his own sapphire blade in a smooth, deliberate motion. "Then it'd be pretty embarrassing if you lost to me, wouldn't it?"
Kit laughed. "That's the spirit."
The air tightened with anticipation as both Jedi took their stances. Kit eased into Form I – Shii-Cho, his posture loose and flowing, ideal for raw, sweeping motions. Khan, in contrast, dropped into the elegant, duelist stance of Form II – Makashi. One foot angled slightly forward, saber held with precision—minimal movement, maximum efficiency.
They stood still for a moment, tension vibrating between them.
Then Kit surged forward.
His strikes came wide and fast—an aggressive barrage of angled swings meant to test defenses. Khan danced back, his blade a flickering line of blue light, redirecting each strike with practiced, graceful movements. Where Kit was power and rhythm, Khan was refinement and poise.
The crowd gasped as sparks flew from clashing blades.
Khan waited for openings. A low sweep—countered. A downward slash—parried. Then he pivoted, stepping inside Kit's reach and returning a sharp riposte, only to have Kit roll away and counter with a surprising feint of his own.
"You've improved," Khan admitted, circling.
"So have you," Kit replied, breathing a little harder now.
The duel continued—each testing the other, both pushing the limits of their forms. Kit's strength and unorthodox creativity clashed against Khan's discipline and control. But slowly, Khan's mastery of Makashi began to tilt the balance.
Then came the moment.
Kit lunged with a two-handed horizontal slash—fast and committed.
Khan stepped slightly aside, blade raised to parry. But at the last second, instead of blocking, he pivoted and ducked low, his saber flicking forward in a quick, circular motion. The maneuver was subtle—but precise.
Kit's lightsaber was twisted from his grip, flying end-over-end into the air before deactivating and landing at the edge of the sparring ring.
Silence fell over the courtyard. Then applause broke out from the gathered Padawans and younglings, a few clapping and cheering.
Kit blinked. Then smiled.
"Well," he said, raising both hands in mock surrender, "maybe I should hit the archives a bit more myself."
Khan stepped forward and offered his hand.
"You had me sweating for a minute there."
Kit clasped it and pulled him into a friendly shoulder bump. "One day soon, I'm taking that win back."
"Looking forward to it."
They stood in the fading light, two friends, two Jedi Padawans—rising stars in an Order on the edge of change.
Jedi Temple – Morning | Khan's Sleeping Quarters]
Sunlight spilled across the smooth stone of the Jedi Temple as Coruscant's endless hum filtered faintly through the walls. In the dormitory hall reserved for Padawans, Khan Kage was fastening his utility belt when his terminal lit up.
A holo transmission flickered to life, revealing the calm and noble face of his master, Count Dooku.
"Khan," Dooku said with his usual precision. "Come to my chambers immediately. There is something we must discuss."
The message ended, and Khan grabbed his robes without hesitation, slipping his lightsaber into place. Something important was brewing.
As he exited the Padawan quarters and turned down one of the wide Temple corridors, he spotted two familiar faces ahead.
"Kit! Aayla!" Khan called with a grin, slowing just enough to catch their attention.
Kit Fisto, with his ever-present smile and relaxed posture, gave a small wave. "Well, look who finally comes out of hiding. Studying the archives too hard, Khan?"
Aayla Secura, walking beside Kit with the same fluid grace that made her a natural duelist, smirked. "You've been off the sparring grounds for days. We thought the shelves might've swallowed you whole."
Khan chuckled. "I've been working. Some of us actually study what we're taught."
Kit gave a dramatic wince. "Harsh."
Aayla tilted her head, sensing his urgency. "Where are you rushing off to?"
"My master summoned me. Said it was important."
The playful energy in Kit faded a touch, replaced by curiosity. "Think it's another mission?"
"Could be," Khan replied. "He didn't say."
Aayla folded her arms. "Well, if you vanish for another week, you owe us a proper rematch when you return."
Khan smiled. "Deal. Just make sure Kit doesn't start bragging about that one time he beat me when I sneezed mid-swing."
Kit lifted a hand, mock-offended. "It was a very impressive sneeze."
The three laughed lightly, a brief but grounding moment of warmth.
"Alright, I'd better go before Master Dooku decides to lecture me on punctuality again," Khan said, taking a few steps back toward the hallway.
Aayla gave a small nod. "Be safe, Khan."
"May the Force be with you," Kit added.
Khan waved over his shoulder. "You too."
As he turned the next corner, the laughter faded behind him. Ahead lay whatever serious matter Dooku needed to discuss—and something in Khan's gut told him things were about to change.