Act I: Dathomir
Year: 32 bby (7 years earlier)
The stars stretched into white lines as Tein's ship tore free of hyperspace.
The transition was violent only for an instant—space collapsing inward, then releasing him into real space with a muted shudder through the hull. Tein did not brace. He never did. His hands remained steady on the controls, posture unchanged, as if hyperspace were merely another state of quiet.
Rhen Var vanished behind him—an endless grave of ice and memory. The planet had surrendered its secrets reluctantly, as ancient tombs always did, but Tein had long since learned that persistence mattered more than reverence.
The dead did not deserve comfort.
Only understanding.
He set a steady course for Coruscant.
The cockpit lights remained dim. Frost from Rhen Var still clung to the landing struts, crystallized into jagged white scars as vacuum leeched away what little warmth remained. The ship carried the planet with it—cold sunk into the metal, into the air recyclers, into the quiet hum beneath his boots. Tein removed his gloves with deliberate care and rested his hands on the controls, feeling the faint vibration of the engines through the yoke.
Silence followed him.
It always did.
Not the absence of sound, but the absence of interruption. No chatter. No alert tones. No presence pressing back against his awareness. Just space, the ship, and the Force stretched thin across light-years.
He reached out with the Force—not to search, but to listen. The hum of the engines. The fading turbulence of hyperspace re-entry. The distant glow of life scattered across the galaxy like embers—worlds burning quietly, unaware of one another.
And beneath it—
Something hollow.
Tein's gaze drifted briefly toward the secured compartment behind the cockpit.
The artifact lay sealed within a layered containment field of his own design. No fluctuations. No pressure. No hunger. Nothing that would alarm a Jedi accustomed to Sith relics.
That was the problem.
It did not feel dark.
It felt absent.
As though a shape had been removed from the Force and left an outline behind—something missing that the surrounding currents refused to fill. The Force bent around it without resistance, the way water slid past a void.
Tein adjusted the containment parameters by a fraction.
Nothing changed.
The tomb on Rhen Var had been ancient beyond classification. Its inscriptions deliberately shattered. Its history erased by intent, not time. Whoever had sealed the artifact had not wanted it studied.
They had wanted it forgotten.
Tein had respected that instinct.
And ignored it.
The summons from the High Council had been immediate. Formal. Calm.
Which meant the Council was curious, not afraid.
The Sith, to them, remained history. Qui-Gon Jinn's warning months earlier had unsettled doctrine, but certainty had reasserted itself in the absence of proof. The galaxy had not ended. The Order had endured. Therefore, the threat—whatever it was—had passed.
Tein did not share that confidence.
He adjusted his course and entered Coruscant's orbital traffic flow—then peeled away from it.
Civilian lanes glimmered below like rivers of light, speed-regulated and predictable. Tein's vector cut above them, climbing rather than descending, slipping into a band of airspace most pilots never noticed existed. The city-world unfolded beneath him in layers of motion and illumination, but he bypassed the main Temple approach entirely.
Instead, he guided the ship toward a narrow gap between ancient spires near the planet's upper strata.
The Force shifted.
Not alarm.
Recognition.
Hidden deep within the Temple's foundations was an auxiliary landing shaft—older than the current Order, sealed to most, invisible to the public. Clearance codes changed daily. Few Masters even knew it existed.
Tein's codes were accepted without delay.
Stone irised open.
His ship slipped inside.
The shaft sealed behind him, cutting off Coruscant's noise and light in an instant. The transition was absolute—one moment endless city, the next enclosed stone and shadow. The platform within was dim, unmarked, and empty—bare stone reinforced with alloy, untouched by ceremony or welcome.
Tein powered down and disembarked.
No guards waited.
No Temple aides.
No witnesses.
A single corridor extended from the platform, unlit until his presence triggered faint guide-lights along the floor. The air smelled of old stone and quiet—layers of history compacted into something sterile and restrained.
This was how a Jedi Shadow returned home.
He moved through the hidden passages without escort, ascending through levels unseen. The Temple above bustled with initiates, Knights, and Masters—but none crossed his path. The architecture itself seemed to bend, routing him through forgotten arteries and sealed stairwells designed for discretion rather than reverence.
By the time he reached the Council antechamber, only the Force acknowledged his arrival.
The doors opened.
Light washed across the chamber—not bright, not warm, but perfectly balanced, descending from unseen sources high above. Pale stone curved upward into shadow, the ceiling lost to scale rather than darkness. The air was cool, still, deliberately neutral.
Twelve figures sat in a circle of stone.
Not a throne room.
A containment structure.
Their presence in the Force was layered and disciplined—calm not because they were untroubled, but because disturbance was something they believed could always be identified, categorized, and resolved.
They regarded Tein with interest.
Not suspicion.
"Jedi Shadow Tein," Master Windu said. His voice carried without effort, each word measured. "You returned sooner than projected."
"As ordered," Tein replied, inclining his head.
"You were dispatched to Rhen Var," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, leaning forward slightly. "An inhospitable system. Remote. Unstable. What warranted investigation?"
"A tomb," Tein said. "Buried beneath glacial collapse. Its builders erased their own records. Whatever they sealed was meant to disappear."
A pause followed.
Not surprise.
Attention.
"And yet," Shaak Ti said calmly, "you retrieved something."
"Yes," Tein said. "An artifact."
The word settled into the chamber like a weight placed carefully on a scale.
"Of Sith origin?" Plo Koon asked, his voice filtered but intent unmistakable.
"It shares similarities with Sith construction," Tein replied. "But it does not behave as Sith artifacts typically do."
Ki-Adi-Mundi's brow furrowed. "Explain."
"Most Sith relics exert pressure," Tein said. "They tempt. They announce intent. This object does none of that."
"Inert relics are rarely harmless," Ki-Adi-Mundi said sharply. "Recovering a potential Sith artifact without Council sanction skirts dangerously close to the very path you are meant to guard against."
The chamber did not react.
Which was its answer.
"That is one interpretation," Windu said evenly.
"And not one shared by this Council," Shaak Ti added.
"You are tasked with understanding the dark," Plo Koon said. "Not collecting it."
"I did not collect it," Tein replied. "I prevented it from being found by someone else."
A subtle shift rippled through the Force at that.
Measured consideration.
"Sense corruption, you do not," Yoda said at last.
"No," Tein replied. "I sense absence."
That earned him several looks.
"Absence?" Ki-Adi-Mundi repeated.
"A void in the Force," Tein said. "Not a presence pushing outward, but something the Force moves around. As though a shape has been removed and the currents refuse to fill it."
Silence followed.
Longer this time.
"Dangerous, such a thing may be," Yoda said quietly. "Not because it calls… but because it waits."
Tein said nothing.
"Where is this artifact now?" Shaak Ti asked.
"Contained aboard my ship," Tein replied. "Layered shielding. Stable parameters."
"And sense no threat, you do?" Windu asked.
"No immediate one," Tein said.
True.
Incomplete.
Yoda's ears twitched faintly.
"The Sith are extinct," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, folding his hands. "Whatever this object is, it is a remnant at best. A curiosity."
"Remnants shape history," Plo Koon said. "Often more subtly than armies."
"The galaxy is not in crisis," Ki-Adi-Mundi replied. "The Republic stands. The Order stands."
"Confidence," Windu said, "is not the same as certainty."
Yoda's gaze shifted between them.
"Agree, we do," he said slowly. "On this much: watched, the galaxy must be. But stirred, it must not be."
Windu inclined his head. "Which brings us to our second matter."
The holoprojector ignited.
Red light spilled across the stone floor.
A world turned slowly in the air.
Before the name was spoken, Tein felt it—not fear, not warning, but weight. A familiar pressure, subtle and unmistakable. Recognition without memory.
"Dathomir," Windu said.
"The Nightsisters," Shaak Ti added. "Ritualized Force practitioners operating outside Jedi and Sith traditions."
"Persistent," Plo Koon said. "Organized. Unafraid of visibility within their own domain."
"Magick shaped communally," Shaak Ti continued. "Power reinforced by shared belief rather than hierarchy."
"Unstable, that is," Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "Belief without doctrine invites excess."
"Or resilience," Windu countered.
Yoda tapped his cane lightly against the stone.
"Seen, they must be," he said. "But touched, they must not."
"Observe only," Ki-Adi-Mundi said. "No engagement. No interference."
"No judgments," Shaak Ti added. "No conclusions drawn prematurely."
Tein inclined his head once. "Understood."
"Careful, you must be," Yoda said softly. "Different, their ways are. Easy, it is, to mistake difference for threat."
"And easier still," Windu said, "to overlook a threat because it does not fit expectation."
Yoda's gaze settled on Tein.
"Chosen, you were," he said. "Because disturb, you do not."
Tein met his eyes.
"That's the point."
A faint, unreadable expression crossed Yoda's face.
"Go, then," he said. "Watch. Learn."
"And return," Windu added, "with information—not interpretation."
Tein bowed.
The doors closed behind him.
⸻
The chamber did not empty all at once.
Masters departed in ones and twos, their presences peeling away from the Force until only two remained. The doors sealed again, soundless.
Silence lingered.
Mace Windu did not turn.
"He withheld something," Windu said.
Yoda's eyes remained half-lidded. "From Rhen Var, you believe."
"Yes," Windu said. "He spoke truth. Not the whole of it."
"Way of a Shadow, that is," Yoda replied. "Separate knowledge, even from those who ask."
"That separation concerns me," Windu said. "He studies the dark without fear—but fear is not the only danger."
"See the Force as spectrum, he does," Yoda said quietly. "Not light. Not dark. But movement between."
"And belief shapes action," Windu said. "If he decides which boundaries matter, we may not see the moment he crosses one."
Yoda exhaled slowly. "Lost, he is not."
"Not yet," Windu agreed. "But prolonged exposure changes perspective."
Yoda opened his eyes fully.
"Watch him, then, we must."
Windu nodded once.
"Closely."
⸻
Hours later, hyperspace claimed Tein's ship again.
Dathomir awaited.
And deep within the hull, the artifact remained silent.
Listening.