[Outer Rim – Vurall System]
The planet Vurall IX hung silent in the void—scarred, cracked, abandoned. Once home to a thriving trade route centuries ago, it had long been dismissed as nothing more than a husk of forgotten warzones and geological instability.
But now… the Separatists were here.
And so were two Jedi.
Inside the belly of a stealth transport, Jason Shan stood beside Obi-Wan Kenobi, both cloaked in silence as the ship descended through the stratosphere. The atmospheric entry lit the hull in fire-orange, fading into choking clouds as they slipped beneath the storm-scarred sky.
"I'm guessing the Separatists aren't mining this rock for kyber crystals," Jason muttered.
Obi-Wan gave a dry look. "More likely they're after whatever the previous warlords left buried. And if the rumors about Sith artifacts are true…"
"We're here to clean up someone else's mess again."
Obi-Wan's gaze flicked to him. "You volunteered for this one."
Jason smirked. "Curiosity's a hell of a drug."
[Surface – Ruined Citadel]
The temple ruins of Zheron-Kai jutted out of the sand like skeletal fingers. Jagged spires, half-collapsed domes, and sun-bleached statues of unknown figures lined the dead plaza. Separatist probes hovered along the perimeter, scanning debris—but the place was mostly deserted.
"They pulled out fast," Jason noted. "No sign of occupation, no patrols."
"They found something," Obi-Wan said. "And then they left."
Jason's eyes scanned the murals on the walls—shapes of stars, rising towers, golden cities. The iconography didn't match anything Republic or Jedi. No mention of the Sith either.
"See this?" he said, brushing dust from a fractured mosaic. "Crescent crest. Eight-pointed star behind it."
Obi-Wan nodded. "That symbol's been recorded on scattered fragments found in the Outer Rim. Never matched to any known civilization."
Jason tilted his head. "Except maybe one the galaxy forgot."
[Interior – Subterranean Chamber]
They passed through the main corridor, deeper into the structure—down into the belly of the citadel. The air grew colder. The walls curved with smooth design, ancient but not crude. This wasn't built by primitive hands.
And at the center of it all—an obelisk of dull bronze and obsidian.
It pulsed faintly.
Jason stepped closer. The Force stirred.
"I've felt this before," he whispered.
Obi-Wan nodded. "I sense it too. This place is steeped in echoes."
Jason extended his hand toward the obelisk. Lines of light spread across it like veins. With a low hum, a compartment opened.
Inside: a holocron.
Unlike any Jedi or Sith device.
Rounded. Smooth. Platinum and black. Radiating a whisper of power… and something else.
Something old.
He picked it up carefully.
It activated.
[The Holocron – A Voice from the Eternal Empire]
A flickering figure projected upward—tall, armored, with half his face concealed behind a metal plate. His voice was regal, hollow, layered with weariness and weight.
"My name is Arcann. Former Prince of the Eternal Empire. Son of Valkorian—the Immortal Emperor."
Jason froze. His heart pounded.
"I speak now, not to command… but to confess. To warn."
Obi-Wan stood still beside him. He had never heard the name either.
"My father ruled not with cruelty… but with control. He offered peace, and demanded obedience. Planets bowed to Zakuul's 'gift'—eternal safety, at the price of submission."
The hologram paused. His tone darkened.
"I believed in him. I worshipped him. Until I saw the truth. Until he betrayed us all."
Jason's throat tightened. The voice resonated somewhere deeper than memory. Like déjà vu folded through the Force.
"When the Outcast rose against him—a warrior with no name, no house—I watched as everything my father built unraveled. Not from invasion… but from belief. The Outcast broke him. Not with war—but with purpose."
The image glitched, skipping frames. Jason stared.
"The Zakuul throne is dust now. Our fleets, scattered. But the echo of that war lives. If you've found this message… know that Valkorian's legacy may return. Perhaps in others. Perhaps in… you."
Jason stepped back like he'd been struck.
"We were Eternal. But nothing is. Not even gods."
The holocron shut itself.
Silence.
[Silence – Then Tension]
Jason stared at the device, breathing shallow.
"I… I know that name. Not Arcann. The Outcast."
Obi-Wan folded his arms. "The name was metaphorical."
"No," Jason said quickly. "I felt it. The way he said it. Like a symbol. Or… a title."
He turned, pacing. "This wasn't just history. This is connected to what I've seen. The visions. The throne. The golden city."
Obi-Wan watched him. "And how exactly is it connected to you?"
Jason hesitated.
"I don't know."
But that wasn't the full truth.
[Later – Campfire Outside the Citadel]
They made camp outside the ruin, under the blood-orange sky of Vurall IX. Stars pierced the clouds above, and distant rumbling echoed from unstable fault lines.
Jason sat by the fire, staring into it like it might offer answers.
"I've fought droids, pirates, Sith, even saw Ventress once. But this… this feels different," he said quietly. "This isn't war. This is legacy."
Obi-Wan remained silent, pouring tea from a thermos. "You've been having more visions?"
Jason nodded. "Of Zakuul. The Mandalorian Wars. Not just random flashes—perspective. I feel what it was like. Leading armies. Facing enemies. Being watched by… something."
Obi-Wan stared into the fire. "The Jedi Archives have almost nothing on Zakuul. Their entire existence was wiped from most historical channels, even Republic ones."
Jason glanced up. "By who?"
"Unknown. But someone wanted them forgotten."
Jason's eyes darkened.
"And someone doesn't want me to forget."
[Nightfall – The Vision Deepens]
When Jason finally slept, the Force took him farther.
[Vision – Throne Room of Zakuul]
The chamber stretched endlessly, metal and glass glowing with unnatural light. The throne was empty—but still radiated command. Jason stood there, armored in shadow, lightsaber hanging from his belt.
He stepped forward.
And a woman stood beside the throne.
Her robes were gold. Her saber was unlit. Her face, pale and resolute.
"You came back," she said.
Jason tried to speak—but no sound came.
"You left this behind," she said, pointing to the throne. "But echoes don't forget you."
Suddenly, the chamber was full of people—knights in silver armor, citizens watching in awe, enemies staring in fear.
They all looked to him.
Like he was something more than Jedi.
More than leader.
They were looking at him like…
He'd been this before.
Jason turned to the throne—and saw a reflection.
His own face.
Older.
Colder.
And behind his own reflection—Valkorian, smiling faintly.
Jason screamed—
[Morning – Awakening]
He bolted upright, gasping for air.
Obi-Wan looked over, already awake, eyes narrowing. "Another one?"
Jason wiped sweat from his brow. "Yeah. Worse."
He looked at the holocron lying between them.
"It's not just history. It's calling to me. Like it's part of me."
Obi-Wan watched him quietly. "The Force guides us all. But not all paths are straight. We'll take it back to the Temple. Let the Council decide."
Jason didn't answer.
He knew what the Council would say.
But he also knew they wouldn't understand.
Because deep down, Jason didn't think this was about learning the past.
He thought it was about becoming something again.
Something the galaxy had forgotten.