There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force.
The Jedi Code.
Five lines. The foundation upon which an Order spanning twenty-five thousand years had built itself.
Every Jedi learned these words. Younglings recited them in temple halls before they could properly hold a training saber. Padawans meditated on their meaning during trials. Knights carried them into battle. Masters taught them to the next generation, an unbroken chain stretching back millennia.
Simple words. Profound truths.
And impossibly, impossibly difficult to live by.
Because removing emotion didn't create peace—it required peace already exist within you. Dispelling ignorance didn't grant knowledge—it demanded you first admit how little you knew. The Code wasn't a set of rules to follow but a state of being to achieve, and that achievement took a lifetime of practice, failure, and trying again.
Jedi weren't born without emotion. They were born the same as everyone else—crying, feeling, responding to comfort and pain with the same raw immediacy as any sentient being. The difference was what they chose to do with those feelings. How they learned to acknowledge emotion without letting it control them. To experience attachment without letting it possess them.
Balance. Always balance.
Master Luminara Unduli sat in a meditation chamber deep within the Jedi Temple, legs crossed, hands resting palm-up on her knees, and felt that balance crumbling beneath her like sand.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
But there was emotion. So much emotion it threatened to drown her. Fear. Confusion. Betrayal. Grief for something that hadn't happened yet but could, that hung over her like an executioner's blade.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
She had knowledge now. Terrible, world-shattering knowledge. And she desperately wished for ignorance instead.
Three days ago, Barriss Offee—her Padawan, her student, the girl she'd trained since childhood—had approached her alongside Colonel James Rhodes. War Machine. The Avenger who'd fought beside them for months now, who'd saved Luminara's life twice and never asked for anything in return.
They'd asked to speak privately.
Luminara had known immediately something was wrong. Barriss's face held the kind of strained composure that came from holding back tears through sheer willpower. Rhodey's expression was grim, almost apologetic.
Then they'd told her.
The clones. The army the Jedi led into battle, the men who'd fought and died beside them, who'd become comrades and sometimes friends—they'd been implanted with chips. Biochips embedded in their brains, supposedly to suppress the aggressive tendencies inherited from their template, Jango Fett.
But that wasn't all they did.
Hidden within the chips' programming were orders. Commands that could be triggered remotely, overriding free will, turning the clones into puppets dancing on invisible strings.
Order 66.
The designation alone made Luminara's stomach turn. She'd seen the documentation Rhodey showed her—files pulled from Kamino's systems by the Avengers' artificial intelligence. Clinical. Precise. Horrifying.
In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force.
Remove.
Such a sterile word for murder.
Luminara imagined it. Commander Gree, who'd served under her for nearly two years. Who told terrible jokes during hyperspace jumps. Who'd once carried an injured Barriss three kilometers through hostile territory without complaint. Who'd saved Luminara's life on Alzoc III by throwing himself between her and a thermal detonator.
She imagined him raising his blaster. Aiming at her back. Firing.
Not because he wanted to. Not because she'd done anything to warrant execution. But because someone activated a chip and turned him into a weapon.
The Jedi weren't leading an army. They were leading slaves who didn't even know they were enslaved.
And worse—far worse—someone had designed this system deliberately. Someone powerful enough to manipulate Kamino, to embed these protocols, to plan the complete extermination of the Jedi Order.
Who?
Why?
How long had this conspiracy been in motion?
Luminara had thanked Barriss and Rhodey for telling her. Her voice had sounded distant even to her own ears, hollow. Then she'd excused herself, come here, and hadn't left since.
Three days of meditation.
Three days of trying to process the impossible.
Three days of complete and utter failure to find peace.
The door hissed open.
Luminara's eyes snapped open. Her hand moved toward her lightsaber before she registered who stood in the doorway.
Colonel James Rhodes. War Machine. He still wore his armor, though the faceplate was retracted. His expression held concern and something gentler—understanding, perhaps. Sympathy.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
Luminara uncurled from her meditation pose, rising smoothly despite the stiffness in her legs. She managed what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Rhodes."
He raised an eyebrow. The expression was so perfectly skeptical that despite everything, Luminara almost laughed.
"Really?" Rhodey stepped into the chamber, letting the door close behind him. "Because 'fine' people don't usually lock themselves in meditation rooms for three days straight."
"I'm Jedi. Extended meditation is normal."
"Extended meditation is sitting for eight hours and then getting some sleep. This is..." He gestured vaguely at her. "This is hiding."
The accuracy of the observation stung. Luminara's smile faltered. "Am I that transparent?"
"To someone who knows what to look for?" Rhodey moved closer, extended his hand. "Yeah. Pretty much."
She took his hand, let him pull her to her feet. Her legs protested the movement, muscles cramping from days of inactivity.
"When's the last time you ate?" Rhodey asked.
"I'm fine."
"That's not an answer."
Luminara sighed. "Two days ago. Perhaps. I'm not certain."
"Jesus, Lumi." Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. We're getting you food, water, and some actual rest. In that order."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." His tone brooked no argument. "Look, I get it. What we told you is heavy. It's terrifying. But starving yourself and hiding in here isn't going to solve anything. You need to take care of yourself before you can help anyone else."
The logic was sound. Luminara knew it was sound. But the thought of leaving this room, of walking through the Temple halls and seeing the clones standing guard, knowing what she now knew—
"How long have I been here?" she asked instead.
"Three days, like I said."
"It feels longer."
"Yeah." Rhodey's hand settled on her shoulder, warm and grounding. "Come on. Fresh air, food, then we'll talk about next steps. Sound good?"
Luminara wanted to refuse. Wanted to stay here, in this small chamber where she didn't have to face the implications of what she'd learned.
But Rhodey was right. She couldn't hide forever.
"Very well," she said softly. "Lead the way, Colonel."
They walked together through the Temple corridors. Luminara kept her gaze forward, her expression carefully neutral, but she felt the weight of every clone trooper they passed. Saw them with new eyes. Not soldiers. Not allies.
Victims.
Just like the Jedi.
"You're broadcasting," Rhodey murmured.
Luminara blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your emotions. Every Jedi we pass is gonna feel what you're feeling if you don't lock it down." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "I know it's hard. But you gotta try."
She took a deep breath. Centered herself as best she could. Found that fragile equilibrium between feeling and drowning in feeling. "Better?"
"Better."
They navigated through the archives—vast chambers lined with data terminals and ancient texts, mostly empty at this hour. The perfect place for a private conversation.
"Who else knows?" Luminara asked, keeping her voice low despite their isolation. "I know your team discovered the conspiracy. And Barriss was informed. But beyond that?"
Rhodey glanced around, confirming they were alone. "Ahsoka Tano. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker. On the Jedi side." He paused. "Senator Amidala, Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Chuchi on the political side."
"Senators?" Luminara couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.
"Actually, they're the ones pushing hardest to fix this." Rhodey's expression held respect. "Padmé especially. You remember when Natasha ran into her during the Cad Bane hostage situation?"
Luminara nodded. The incident was burned into her memory—the bounty hunter holding senators captive, demanding the release of Ziro the Hutt.
"Nat had been asking questions about the clone army," Rhodey continued. "How they were created, who commissioned them, why they all looked the same. Sam too. We couldn't shake the feeling something was off." He shook his head. "Turns out our instincts were right."
"Then why tell me?" Luminara stopped walking, turned to face him fully. "Why reveal this to me specifically?"
Rhodey met her gaze without flinching. "Because we trust you. We've been fighting beside you for months. You've saved our asses, we've saved yours. You're our friend." He smiled slightly. "Felt wrong keeping something this important from you."
Warmth bloomed in Luminara's chest—an emotion she could identify and accept. Gratitude. Connection. "James, thank you. Truly. Your trust means more than you know."
Rhodey looked away, suddenly sheepish. "Yeah, well. Don't go spreading it around. Gotta maintain my tough guy image."
"Your secret is safe with me." Luminara smiled, then sobered. "What about the Council? Have you told them?"
His expression hardened. "Just you and Obi-Wan."
"Why only us?"
"Because we need to control the information flow." Rhodey resumed walking, and Luminara fell into step beside him. "The more people who know, the faster word spreads. And if word reaches the wrong ears before we're ready..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"The Jedi Council can be trusted to maintain confidentiality," Luminara said carefully.
"Can they?" Rhodey stopped again, this time in front of a viewport overlooking Coruscant's cityscape. "Look, I'm not saying any of them would deliberately betray this. But people talk. They confide in their Padawans, who confide in their friends, who mention it to their masters, and suddenly everyone knows. We can't risk that. Not until we understand the full scope of this conspiracy and who's behind it."
Luminara's jaw tightened. "Then why tell us at all?"
"Because like I said—we trust you more than almost anyone in this galaxy." Rhodey's voice dropped. "Our team, the senators we've brought in, you and Obi-Wan and your Padawans—you're our inner circle. The people we know won't break under pressure or let this slip accidentally."
"So when should the Council know?"
Rhodey sighed, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "When we've debugged most of the clones. When we understand who planted these chips and what their endgame is. When we can present them with a problem and a solution." He looked at her. "I know that's not the answer you want. I know this eats at you, keeping secrets from people you've served with for years. But Lumi, we're playing against someone who planned this generations in advance. We have to be smart. Careful. Patient."
Everything he said made logical sense. Strategic sense. But it still felt like betrayal.
Luminara bit her lip, stared out at the city. "How long?" she asked quietly.
"Until the majority of active clones have had the chips removed or deactivated." Rhodey moved to stand beside her. "Our AI has already infiltrated Kamino's systems. Any clones created from this point forward won't have the kill orders embedded. But for the existing army..." He shook his head. "It'll take time."
"Time we may not have."
"No. We might not." He was quiet for a moment. "Lumi, I know this is hard. I know you don't like keeping secrets. Hell, I don't like it either. But we're trying to prevent genocide here. The complete extermination of the Jedi Order. If that means playing things close to the vest until we can guarantee everyone's safety, that's what we do."
Luminara closed her eyes. There is no emotion, there is peace.
But there was emotion. Fear for her Order. Frustration at the secrecy. Gratitude for the trust placed in her. Determination to see this through.
Perhaps the Code wasn't about eliminating emotion after all. Perhaps it was about experiencing it fully while not letting it control you.
She opened her eyes. "I understand, James. And I appreciate you placing so much trust in me and my Padawan."
Rhodey smiled. "You're welcome, Lumi. And hey—we're in this together. Whatever you need, whatever support we can provide, you've got it."
"We value that trust, my friend." Luminara placed her hand over his armored forearm. "Between myself, Barriss, and the entire Jedi Order—when the time comes to reveal this to them, we will stand with you."
"I know you will." Rhodey's smile widened. "Now come on. Let's get some food in you before you collapse. Pretty sure if a Jedi Master passes out on my watch, the Council would have my head."
Despite everything—despite the weight of terrible knowledge and the burden of secrets—Luminara laughed.
It felt good to laugh.
Felt almost like peace.
They walked together through the Temple, a Jedi Master and an Avenger, bound by trust and shared purpose.
And somewhere in the shadows, the conspiracy that sought to destroy them both continued to unfold, unaware that the pieces on the board had begun to move in unexpected directions.
The game was changing.
And this time, the Jedi wouldn't be caught unaware.