I kneel in the meditation nook aboard Fulcrum's Dawn, the durasteel cool beneath me. My lekku rest still against my shoulders, slate-grey robes pooling around me. I have been attuned to the ship's rhythm for hours now. The hyperdrive pulses through the hull, a steady heartbeat I synced my breathing to. Togruta runes etched into the walls catch the glow of a shard of Shili sunstone embedded overhead, a piece of home I have carried since the galaxy stopped making sense. The nook is tight, curved like the rest of my shuttle, but it is mine. A refuge carved from decades of running, fighting, and finding my way back.
A chirp breaks the silence, barely a scuff behind a panel. My montrals twitch, mapping the vibration before my conscious mind catches up. Nothing. Just the ship settling. Fulcrum's Dawn is old, patched together from Lothal ruins and Huyang's tinkering. I rise, stretching joints that creak more than they used to. Seventy-eight is not young, even for a Togruta, but the Force keeps me sharp. I step into the narrow passage, brushing past the holocron vault, its pale blue radiance a comfort I have known since my Rebel days. This ship is home. A constant in a life of wandering.
The cockpit is not far, and I find Korrin and Tayra exactly as I expect. Bickering as always. Korrin, all Chiss angles and red eyes, sits in the pilot's chair, blue hands tight on the controls. Tayra, her orange-red skin stark against short, scarred montrals, leans over the sensor console, jabbing a finger at him. Huyang stands between them, optics whirring as he monitors the readouts.
"Jump-by-jump means precision, Korrin. Not your 'instincts.' One wrong lane, and we're paste in a gravity well."
Korrin smirks without looking up.
"Relax, sis. I've got my instincts. Unknown Regions don't scare me."
Tayra's voice goes taut.
"Your gut won't save us when we fly right into a supernova."
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed.
"If you two crash my ship, I'm spacing you both if we live, and I'll enjoy it."
They go quiet. Korrin's smirk fades. Tayra's amber eyes dart to me. Huyang turns, gears whirring.
"Master Ahsoka, they've been at this since hyperspace entry. I calculate a 73% chance their debate is irrelevant."
"Told you I have this."
Korrin's voice rings triumphant.
Tayra huffs, and it pulls a quiet smile out of me. Those two have come so far.
I remember Korrin at only three years of age, pulled from the wreck of a Chiss ship adrift in the Unknown Regions. His small hands knotted in his dying mother's robes, red eyes blazing defiance even as the cold of the breached hull crept over them both. Now, at sixteen, he has a pilot's focus, bravado tempered by Jedi discipline. I am proud of the protector he has become, even if his mouth still runs ahead of his brain. And Tayra. Ryloth, 27 ABY. She clutched her only possessions in a slaver's hold, her tiny frame trembling but unbowed as my blades set her free. At fifteen, she has grown into an investigator's mindset, quick and precise with her hands. Her stubborn curiosity makes me proud, even when it clashes with Korrin's recklessness.
"Enough."
I step between them.
"Korrin, trust Tayra's analysis. Tayra, let him fly. We're a team."
They nod. Korrin grudgingly. Tayra with a hint of a smile. I settle into the co-pilot's seat, gazing out the curved viewport as hyperspace streaks blue. Cal stays behind. I trust him to hold it together there. Focus matters now.
The ship shudders. Hyperspace peels away to reveal Lehon.
Jungle sprawls below, green tangling with turquoise oceans, black spires breaking the skyline, old Rakata bones. No orbital stations ping our sensors. Just silence. My montrals read the planet before the instruments do. A deep, layered weight, old as bone, vibrating at frequencies I cannot name. Korrin adjusts course, jungle rushing closer.
"Looks too quiet for something that's supposed to be awakening. What's the play, Master?"
I stare at the planet, feeling its Force presence. Old. Layered. Unreadable.
"We investigate. That's why we're here."
We descend toward the foothills, the jungle canopy brushing close, when a crisp voice crackles through the comm.
"Unidentified craft, this is Prime Echo Relay traffic control. State your designation and intent."
Korrin's red eyes flick to me. A question. I tilt my head. Keep it tight.
He taps the comm, voice cool.
"No designation to give. We're scouting. Got a problem with that?"
I nudge his shoulder. A quiet Manners under my breath. He smirks but holds his tongue as the static stretches. A beat too short for real scrutiny.
"Understood. Scouting clearance granted. Proceed to Bay Three. Vector's on your console."
Tayra's montrals twitch, her frown deepening as she scans the readouts.
"They didn't push for an ident."
Korrin's bravado goes flat and stays there.
"That's either sloppy or it's bait."
"Or they're too confident to care."
The unease sits low in my belly, old and familiar. It feels like one of Hondo's deals. Smiles up front, vibroblades in the back.
"Take us in, Korrin. Steady."
Fulcrum's Dawn angles toward the signal. Prime Echo Relay comes into focus, and it is not the crumbling Rakata spires I braced for. It is nothing of the kind.
It rises from the jungle. Pale, shimmering alloys cradled beneath a grand waterfall, its roar shaking the air. The cascade splits the canopy, mist swirling where water crashes against moss-covered architecture, softening edges that gleam too precisely for this wild place. Towers of unfamiliar metal curve upward, their surfaces etched with thin, pulsing lines. Circuits, maybe. Alive with a vibration I feel in my sternum. Below, the facility burrows into the earth, dark openings framed by angular supports, their depths flickering with a cold, steady light.
My first instinct is not wonder. It is the count. Two visible entry points. No gun emplacements, but those towers could conceal anything. No fleet presence, which means either supremacy or secrecy. I have seen both, and neither is comforting.
I lean forward in the co-pilot's seat, lekku twitching.
"That's not a Rakata ruin."
Beside me, Korrin's hands freeze on the controls, red eyes wide. Tayra presses closer to the viewport, breath catching.
"It's alive. Those lines. They cycle like a kyber resonance, but the wavelength is wrong. Almost tighter. More controlled."
Korrin's fingers tap the console. Not in awe but calibration.
"No docking clamps visible. No patrol craft. Either they don't expect trouble or they don't need to."
Good. He is learning.
Huyang's optics whir, scanning.
"Advanced metallurgy, Master Ahsoka. Energy signatures suggest integrated systems, possibly autonomous. This exceeds Rakata craftsmanship by millennia."
The docking bay stretches into view, and I feel myself brace. I expected a weathered platform, maybe a rusty clamp or two. Anything familiar. Instead, a lattice of slender alloy arms extends from the facility's flank, hovering mid-air over the gorge. They shimmer with a pale blue haze, crackling softly, live with a charge I can't name. No landing pad. No clamps grinding into place. Just these strange, elegant limbs poised to catch us.
A voice, synthetic, too polished, cuts through the comm, overlapping the controller's earlier words.
"Approach vector confirmed. Element zero fields engaged. Stand by."
"Element zero fields?"
Korrin's bravado cracks.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Before I can answer, Fulcrum's Dawn jolts. Not the thud of a landing but a pull, like the ship is snared by invisible hands. The viewport flares as the arms adjust, their radiance intensifying, and we slide into place, suspended above the jungle floor. A low vibration rolls through the hull, foreign and steady, holding us firm.
Tayra's montrals flare, fingers brushing her saber staff.
"Those aren't repulsors. It's holding us. How?"
I grip the console, peering out. Some kind of gravity manipulation. Tractor-beam principle but far more refined than anything the Rebellion's tech crews ever fielded.
"Not something we've seen before. Stay alert."
A corridor unfurls from the bay, a seamless tube of pale metal, its walls threaded with thin, moving light as it extends toward us. It seals to our hatch with a hiss, precise and silent. No clank of docking clamps or groan of servos.
Huyang's tone carries a rare edge of unease.
"This technology suggests artificial oversight, perhaps an intelligence beyond droid protocols."
I nod, white sabers heavy at my belt. The awe lingers somewhere underneath the operational calculus. We have stumbled into something vast that dwarfs the Rakata relics we came looking for. But the warning along my montrals doesn't ease. Whatever Prime Echo Relay really is, it is not just some ancient ruin waiting to be picked over.
I ease out of the co-pilot's seat, white sabers brushing my hips, and stretch with a slight smile.
"Let's go take a look. Can't sit here guessing all day."
Tayra is already up, eyes bright with that hunger for the unknown I have always loved.
"The precision out there is unreal. Those arms, the way they caught us. It's like the tech adapts in real time."
Korrin follows, rolling his red eyes as we slip into the narrow passage. A smirk tugs his lips.
"Tayra when she finds a new toy. Heard it a million times."
He glances out the viewport, though, at the lattice still burning blue, and his scoff softens, quieter.
"This one's certainly a little weirder, I'll give you that."
I chuckle, brushing past the holocron vault's pale light.
"Huyang, mind the ship? Might need a quick getaway if this goes sideways."
Huyang's bronze frame shifts, optics glinting.
"Agreed. I'd prefer to guard our exit, Master Ahsoka."
The hatch hisses open, allowing the humid air to roll in. Wet earth, and an edge of charged metal that tingles across my lekku. We step onto the docking bridge, a translucent tube stretching from Fulcrum's Dawn to Prime Echo Relay's flank. Below, the gorge churns, turquoise water catching light through mist that clings to the tube's walls. The walls themselves carry a slow pulse of energy, etched with veins that cycle in patterns no Jedi archive I know of has catalogued.
Korrin's boots tap the floor. His eyes do not follow the architecture. They track the junction points, the places where the bridge narrows, where the tube could seal and trap.
He says nothing.
"Answers, maybe. Or just a better class of questions."
A flicker catches my eye mid-bridge. A small prism drifting into view, its deep purple luminance cycling in even intervals, hovering without a hint of repulsors or jets. Smaller than a holocron. Edges precise and crystalline. A brisk voice cuts through the air, firm and clipped like a clone captain running combat drills.
"Greetings, arrivals at Prime Echo Relay, Bay Three. I am Relay Warden, processing overseer. Party size, three. Purpose, scouting. Follow me to check-in and customs for clearance verification. Now."
Korrin's brow furrows, hand brushing his saber-staff.
"What's this? Glow-box giving orders?"
Tayra's eyes widen, tracking its effortless hover.
"It's artificial. But not like any droid I've seen."
The Warden's prism sharpens, its tone snapping.
"Speculation is unnecessary. Your vessel is safe and secure. Check-in is mandatory for access to the planet. Follow."
"Fine. Lead the way, Warden. See us to your customs."
The Relay Warden glides ahead, its purple glow cutting through the mist. We follow. Korrin grumbles, a low presence behind me. Tayra's steps quick with curiosity. My senses tingling like they have not in years.
The translucent tube curves upward, its walls washed with shifting light that casts thin shadows on the jungle gorge below. It opens into a chamber. Pale alloys arching into a low dome. The air cool and sterile. A soft drone beneath the floor. Panels line the walls, their patterns shifting slow and even, and a hallway stretches ahead, flanked by consoles and a scanner that radiates a measured, eerie frequency.
"Step through the omni-scan. This is mandatory for entry."
Tayra's montrals perk, her amber eyes tracing the scanner's frame.
"Look at it. Seamless. Responsive. It's reading us like a holocron."
Korrin lingers behind her, arms crossed.
"Reading us? More like sizing us up. I don't trust this floating prism."
I smirk, guiding them forward.
"It's just a scan, guys, not a blaster. Let's keep moving. Keep your eyes open."
We step into the hallway. The scanner deepens its frequency, a cold blue field sweeping over us in a slow, deliberate wave. It crawls across my skin like a static charge, and my montrals flare involuntarily, mapping the field's reach, its depth, the way it reads bone density and alloy composition simultaneously. It is thorough. More thorough than anything the Empire ever fielded, and the Empire fielded everything.
Tayra's breath catches, the light dancing across her orange-red skin. Korrin goes still, red eyes narrowing as the field passes over his saber-staff. A harsh beep cuts the air. Red markers flare on the scanner's display, pinpointing our lightsabers with unerring precision.
"Contraband detected. Weapons are restricted. You must surrender them to proceed to the headmaster."
Korrin's hand hovers near his saber, his voice dropping low and edged.
"What's this headmaster hiding that he needs us disarmed?"
I catch his gaze. Steady. Calm.
"Easy."
He stills. His Chiss instincts kick in. Sharp enough to probe, smart enough to wait. I turn to the Warden, my own hand resting on a saber hilt.
"We're not here to fight. If we hand them over, they go back to our ship. Our droid's keeping watch."
The Warden's prism cycles once.
"Weapons will be transferred to your vessel. Compliance is required. Now."
A low rumble rolls from the chamber's corner. A towering figure stirs. A curved silhouette of pale alloy, joints burning purple, surface unblemished as glass. It steps forward, broad shoulders looming, a flex running across its frame like liquid settling. Two smaller droid-like figures glide in beside it. Leaner. Agile. Claw-like hands poised and silent, mirror-finished bodies catching the ambient light. The large one stands like a sentinel. The pair move like hunters.
Tayra's eyes widen, but her voice is different now. Not pure wonder. Analysis.
"They're incredible. Look at that design, not a bolt anywhere. But the joint articulation..."
Korrin's smirk is gone. His stance stiffens.
"Incredible's one word for it."
I feel the weight of it settle through my body. Their first real risk outside the temple's grounds. My fingers linger on my hilt, and for half a breath I am back on Malachor. Saberless. Facing Vader's shadow. Surviving on only my wits and will.
I meet their gazes. Steady and sure.
"We'll be fine. Hand them over. They will go to Huyang."
Tayra hesitates. Her fingers tighten around her staff, then release. She passes it to a claw-hand with a reluctant nod. Korrin grumbles but follows. His saber-staff clinks into the droid's grip. I hand mine over last.
The hilts leave my palms. The absence registers in my wrists, in the shift of my center of gravity, in the phantom weight my hands still expect.
The smaller droids glide away, silent and steady, their cargo bound for Fulcrum's Dawn.
"Follow."
The Warden spins toward an elevator at the chamber's end. Its cylindrical frame gleams, white walls with golden inlays, a muted vibration coursing through it. We step inside. The doors seal with a soft hiss.
Then it drops.
Fast. A rush that presses us back, the walls turning transparent as golden conduits and white spires streak past in a blur. Tayra braces against the wall. Korrin grips the rail. His scowl has hardened into something watchful. He is counting floors. The Warden chirps up.
"No need to brace. Inertial dampers ensure efficiency."
I steady them with a hand on each shoulder. The underground sprawls below, towering structures visible through the transparent walls. Then the elevator slows, easing to a gentle stop.
The doors part open.
I step out, and the sight hits me before my training catches up.
It is vast. Ultra-white floors. Golden pillars soaring toward a fabricated sky, dawn-blue and false, its light shifting overhead. Reflective surfaces shimmer, alive with a soft sheen, and floating walkways crisscross above, alive with motion. Wealthy figures sweep past in silken robes, their chatter a low murmur. Twi'lek lekku swaying. Chiss eyes catching light. Humans in gilded tunics. All brushing shoulders with strangers whose features I cannot place. A few catch my eye. Tall. Fluid. Their scales shimmering with an iridescence that does not belong in any species catalogue I have studied. The Force bends wrong around them, like it's being pulled off-true. It does not read as dark or light. It reads as elsewhere.
Tayra's jaw drops, her voice a reverent hush.
"It's like a city carved from light. Those walkways. The light."
Korrin's eyes narrow, scanning the crowd. His hand flexes where his saber should be. I watch him catalogue the exits. Two corridors left. One right. The elevator behind us. He is quiet, which means he is working.
Before I can linger on that wrongness in the Force, a figure approaches. A man. Tall and poised. His white uniform crisp with golden accents, a short capelet trailing his shoulders. One eye burns a cold blue. The other sits dim and scarred, flickering with a keenness that cuts through his smile. A small pin gleams on his collar. A veiled eye. Subtle but there.
He raises a fist near his left shoulder in a crisp salute, voice warm and practiced, brimming with charm.
"Welcome to Prime Echo Relay. Jedi are rare guests here. What a delight to have you. I'm Headmaster Varnis, overseer of this humble station. Please, follow me. There's a better place to talk than here."
He gestures ahead. That smile holds steady, though his eye twitches. Just once.
Tayra beams, still drinking in the underground sprawl. Korrin's hand flexes again where his saber should be. And I nod, stepping after him, my montrals won't go quiet. The air shifts around him. Adrenaline spike, quickly controlled. I have been in rooms with Palpatine's senators, Maul's lieutenants, Hondo's crew. I know what charm looks like.
He leads us toward a corridor, the Warden trailing behind. We enter an office. Curved golden walls frame a massive window, an underground vista of spires and conduits stretching beyond. A throne-like desk dominates the center, its surface alive with a faint inner glow. The fabricated sky above shimmers, casting soft light over us all.
We have barely crossed the threshold when Headmaster Varnis sweeps an arm toward a trio of chairs. Golden frames, cushioned in white, angled before his desk.
"Please, sit. You've traveled far. Let me offer some refreshment."
His voice pours like Corellian brandy, that cold blue eye catching the false sunlight.
I ease into a chair. Tayra settles beside me, her amber eyes still wide from the underground sprawl. Korrin takes the last seat. His gaze traces Varnis' every move. Hands. The pin. The room's edges. Studying. Patient. Like a hunter clocking the terrain before the terrain clocks him.
"We're not here for tea. Lost a few of our folk out here. The Unknown's my old turf. Figured we'd scout around, see if we can find them."
Varnis leans back in his throne-like seat, the desk answering faintly beneath his steepled fingers.
"Missing Jedi? A noble cause."
The smile widens, though that eye holds a tell too precise.
"This region's a mess. Raiders have been plaguing our research facilities lately, killing our people in the process. Perhaps you could lend a hand dealing with them as you search? We'd be grateful for the assist."
Tayra's head tilts. Her book-smart mind snaps from awe to duty.
"If we're scouting, the Rakata shrine on the eastern ridge might hold clues. Records mark it as a refuge site, and the tomb could be a hot spot for raiders."
His hand tightens on the desk. Just a fraction. A ripple under that practiced charm, and his blue eye narrows for a heartbeat.
"That old ruin? An odd choice for a search. What draws you to a pile of ancient stones? Tell me, what sort of Jedi would even go missing out here?"
My montrals read the micro-shift in his vocal frequency. Elevated. Controlled, but elevated.
"History's a good place to start. The Unknown's full of forgotten power worth chasing."
He leans forward, elbows resting on the desk, his scarred eye catching false sunlight.
"Power, yes. Do you speak of the Rakata? Their time's long over. Surely your people would seek something a little livelier? Where else have you looked, I wonder?"
A soft buzz crackles from the desk's holo-panel, amber light cycling. He ignores it. His smile stretches thin as he presses on.
"A Jedi's instincts must be deep to seek such a place as this. And these strays of yours. Lost Jedi warriors, or scribes?"
Tayra straightens, refocusing from her childlike awe.
"If these raiders that keep attacking you know the shrine, they might've crossed paths with our Jedi."
Korrin's silence deepens, every read he's taking kept behind his teeth.
I lean forward, keeping it casual.
"Could be. Where was the closest facility of yours that's been hit?"
The buzz flares again, insistent. Varnis waves a hand to dismiss the notification again.
That blue eye bores into me.
"What else drives a Jedi to poke through old ruins? Hope, or maybe… something darker?"
Before I can answer, the corridor door bursts open. A slim woman storms in, clad in a crisp grey tunic, her wrist alive with a purple holo-interface.
"Headmaster. It's the vice-chair and he says this is urgent. Now."
Varnis rises. That charm snaps back like a mask.
"Sure. Stay here, my dear guests. Qira will look after you. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask her."
He strides out, capelet trailing, leaving Qira hovering near the desk, her wrist device flickering as she glances our way.
Tayra steps closer, her voice quick.
"That projection's layered. Resonance-driven, not just photonic. How does it stabilize the holo-field?"
Qira taps the device nervously, the purple light dimming.
"Standard issue."
Her eyes flick to us.
"Everyone here has them. Nothing to fuss over."
I watch her. That same warning across my montrals hasn't let up. Varnis' questions. Qira's twitch. The veiled-eye pin. An off note I cannot place. Korrin's silence stretches, his study unbroken. Tayra's curiosity presses closer. We have been left alone, but not unwatched. The unspoken questions sit between us, neither side ready to answer them.
Hours drag on in Varnis' office. Tayra's voice blurs into a relentless current. Resonance this. Holo-fields that. Picking Qira's brain dry as the assistant's curt replies grow thinner. I tune it out, sinking inward. The golden walls and false sky fade as I let my breath slow, the Force a steady pulse beneath the unease. Three hours. Maybe four. Qira's wrist device flickers in my peripheral awareness, her nervous taps a distant rhythm.
I drift away again. Meditation pulls me deep.
Then Korrin's voice slices through. Too calm. Too deliberate.
"Need the refresher."
My eyes snap open. My stomach twists as I catch a glint in his red gaze. Calculated. He rises, breaking that hunter's silence, and Qira nods. Too quick.
"Yes, of course. This way."
Her wrist device dims as she leads him out. The corridor door hisses shut behind them.
I watch them go. The unease pulls into a knot.
More time slips. My boots wear a groove in the shimmering floor as Tayra's chatter falters, her amber eyes flicking to me.
"He's been gone a while."
I barely answer. Pacing now. The quiet stretches too long. I reach through the Force for Korrin, a reflex to find his spark.
Nothing.
The knot in my stomach drops out from under me. My hands close on empty air, fingers curling around hilts that should be there.
The doors burst open. A rush of fluid shadows. Four figures, tall and lean, scales catching light under armor that flows like liquid glass, purple seams pulsing like the droids upstairs. A veiled-eye symbol, small and precise, mirroring Varnis' pin, marks their chests.
They move with eerie grace. Before I can shout, a shimmer snares us. Cold. Heavy. Locking my limbs tight. Tayra's gasp cuts short beside me.
A power unlike the Force. Unnatural. Bending it askew, straining to snap back like a taut cord held by their will. My montrals scream with the wrongness of it. Every frequency warped. Every pressure gradient inverted. I have felt Sith lightning. Inquisitor rage. The World Between Worlds' fracture. This is none of those. This is something that should not exist.
Varnis strides through, voice a venomous hiss before his boots even hit the floor.
"Predictable."
His smile curls, teeth bared, that cold blue eye catching light, the scarred one steady with malice. His eyes sweep the room, landing on the empty space where Korrin stood. A darker twist shapes his mouth.
"Always so curious, you Jedi. Never content to let sleeping dogs lie."