The Jedi Temple rose above Coruscant like a mountain carved from light. Towers of durasteel and stone gleamed in the midday sun, their spires piercing the sky as starships darted between them like silver fish. For Zen, walking its halls for the first time felt like stepping into a dream he had carried since childhood.
He kept close to Master Kaeden, wide-eyed at the vast chambers lined with statues of ancient Jedi, the quiet hum of Padawans training in the courtyards, the endless flow of calm voices. Everything here was ordered and had a purpose, a sanctuary against the chaos of war.
"You belong here," Kaeden said softly as they passed through the Hall of Knighthood. "The Force has called you, Zen. Listen to it, and you will find your path."
Zen bowed, hiding the ache that tugged at him like a wound beneath his ribs. Nox's face still haunted him: wide eyes, silent pleas, the sound of his sleeve tearing free from his brother's grasp. Zen pushed the memory down as he always did, burying it beneath discipline. For the galaxy's sake. For peace.
Far below, on the shadowed levels of Coruscant, the underworld told a different story.
Nox coughed as smoke and neon light clung to the air. Here, in the forgotten alleys where droids scavenged corpses and syndicates ruled with blasters and credit chips, a boy survived, or he didn't.
He had survived.
The spark in his chest, anger, defiance, that cold fire born the day the Jedi left, carried him through. He learned quickly to fight for scraps, to steal when no one was watching, and to fight dirtier when they were.
"You've got fire, kid," a gang leader sneered one night after Nox bloodied three older thugs in a back-alley brawl. "Ever think about putting that fire to work?"
But Nox didn't want their scraps or their chain of command. Every night he dreamed of the silver shuttle and Zen walking away. Every morning he woke with his jaw tight, promising himself he would become strong enough that no one, not the Jedi, not the gangs, not even his own brother, could leave him behind again.
And one night, when the moonlight was drowned by red neon and the alley smelled of ozone, he felt something new. A presence.
From the shadows stepped an old man draped in black, his eyes burning like coals under a hood. His voice was soft, deliberate, like a blade sliding free of its sheath.
"I've been watching you, child. That fire inside you… it's wasted here."
The figure extended a hand, long fingers pale against the dark.
"Come with me. I can teach you to wield it. To make the galaxy kneel, instead of running from it."
Nox's heart pounded. The face of his brother flickered across his mind, then the memory of him turning away. His fists clenched.
"What do you want from me?"
The man's lips curled into the faintest smile.
"Only for you to become what you were meant to be."
And so, under the neon glow of Coruscant's depths, Nox's path veered into shadow.
Above the clouds, Zen's days were filled with training, the disciplined swing of practice sabers, meditations in sunlit chambers, lessons in diplomacy. He showed promise, earning nods from the Council.
But every night, when the Temple was silent, he would stand at the balcony and stare out at the endless cityscape, searching its lights for a brother he could no longer reach.
Two brothers. Two paths. Light and dark.
And the Force, ever patient, waited for the moment they would meet again.