The sky over Coruscant was pale gold by the time Eli gave up on sleep.
He sat on the ledge of the dormitory window, legs tucked to his chest, eyes fixed on the cityscape beyond. Speeders drifted lazily between towers, the Senate building shimmered in the morning haze, and the Temple's spires rose like silent sentinels.
They don't know, Eli thought. None of them.
Or worse—some of them do.
He couldn't unhear the prophecy.
Couldn't forget the figure wreathed in shadow and flame.
And he couldn't shake the words: "Chosen not by prophecy, but by paradox."
---
He needed help. Information. Proof.
But who could he trust?
He'd considered Master Tallis first — she was the closest thing they had to a full-time instructor, and always seemed more thoughtful than the others. But he remembered how her eyes tightened whenever the subject of war came up. How often she deferred to "Council wisdom."
He needed someone who thought outside the box. Someone who questioned.
That left only one name.
Master Cin Drallig.
---
Eli approached the upper training hall mid-morning, a borrowed datapad clutched to his chest. Officially, he was reviewing Form III lightsaber principles. Unofficially, he was looking for cracks in the façade.
Drallig stood at the center of the sparring floor, guiding a class of older Padawans through defensive motions. His movements were clean, powerful, and deliberate. His reputation as one of the greatest duelists in the Temple wasn't exaggerated.
Eli waited until the lesson ended, then stepped forward.
"Master Drallig?" he asked, voice steady.
The Jedi looked down at him with a raised brow. "Yes, young one?"
"I've… been researching some older materials. I found references to prophecies that don't appear in the regular Archives."
Drallig's eyes narrowed slightly. "What sort of prophecies?"
Eli hesitated. "Ones about paradoxes. About… walking both the Light and the Dark."
For a heartbeat, Drallig didn't respond. Then, calmly: "Those are dangerous ideas to chase."
"So they're real?"
Drallig exhaled through his nose. "Real in the way most prophecy is. Symbolic. Uncertain. The Council considers many of them distractions from the living Force."
Eli held his gaze. "But you don't, do you?"
There was a flicker—barely noticeable. But it was there.
"I believe prophecy is a lens. Sometimes it reveals truth. Sometimes it distorts it."
He stepped closer, his tone quieting.
"Why are you asking me about this, Eli?"
Eli hesitated. Then gambled: "Because I think something terrible is going to happen. Soon."
Drallig studied him, long and hard. Not with disbelief. With calculation.
Then he nodded—just once.
"Come with me."
---
He led Eli down a quiet side corridor toward the training wing's meditation annex. Once inside, he activated the privacy field.
"You're not the only one who's felt it," Drallig said at last.
Eli blinked. "You have?"
"The Jedi speak of a shroud. A veil over the Force. It's been growing thicker for years. But recently, it's begun to… pulse. Like something behind it is preparing to tear through."
Eli swallowed. "Then why hasn't the Council done anything?"
"They're trying. But too many of them are looking outward. Toward the war. Toward the Senate. They forget to look inward."
"I think someone already made the first move," Eli said. "I think it's already here. Inside the Temple."
Drallig didn't disagree.
He reached for a data crystal, slotted it into the room's central projector, and a star map shimmered into view.
"This isn't in any student curriculum," Drallig said. "It's a deep archive—one I check often. The last time I reviewed it, five planetary systems had vanished from our tracking logs."
Eli frowned. "Vanished how?"
"Scrubbed. Cloaked. Or worse."
He turned to Eli, his face grim.
"Someone has been deleting Jedi activity from the inside."
---
The pieces were coming together too fast.
Eli's breathing quickened. "You said others have felt it. Has anyone else spoken about prophecy? Or—strange dreams?"
Drallig looked away. "There was one. A young Knight. He claimed to see himself killing Jedi in his dreams. Claimed the Temple burned in his visions. The Council dismissed it as wartime stress."
"Do you remember his name?"
Drallig hesitated. Then, slowly: "Anakin Skywalker."
Eli felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He tried to speak—but before the words could form, the room shook.
Faint at first. A tremor.
Then a thunderous boom echoed from above.
The projector flickered. Lights dimmed.
Drallig turned toward the window. His voice sharpened.
"That came from the hangar."
Another explosion. This time, closer.
Then—blaster fire.
Not practice bolts.
Real.
---
Eli's stomach dropped.
"No," he whispered. "Not yet. Not again."
Drallig was already moving, deactivating the privacy field. "Go back to your dorm. Tell the others to stay in place. I'll—"
"Don't," Eli said, stepping in front of him. "You can't stop this alone."
Drallig paused.
Their eyes met. And something passed between them.
An understanding.
"You've seen this before, haven't you?" he asked.
Eli said nothing.
Then: "Please. You have to believe me. This isn't just an attack. It's a purge. You go out there now, and you won't make it back."
The door slid open. A young Padawan rushed in, wide-eyed and bleeding from the arm.
"Master! Clones—there are clones in the halls—they're shooting everyone!"
Drallig turned to Eli, face set.
"Then we do what Jedi must."
He handed Eli his spare training saber.
"Protect who you can."
Then he was gone.
---
Eli stood frozen for a moment.
Then the hallway screamed with red bolts and clone battlecries.
He turned and ran—back toward the dorms.
Not to hide.
To warn. To prepare.
Because now, he wasn't alone.
And this time…
he was ready.