The skies of Aldiris hung heavy, as though the planet itself anticipated betrayal. Ash drifted from the upper atmosphere, a faint haze left behind by skirmishes that had already scarred its surface. Once a world of scholars and neutral trade, Aldiris now stood fractured, half-occupied by Republic forces, half by Separatist allies swayed by Sith whispers. Its people, caught between giants, had grown hollow-eyed with fear.
The Republic cruiser touched down on a battered landing pad outside the capital's hall of governance. Jedi Master Zen stepped down first, cloak brushing against scorched duracrete. Beside him walked Padawan Tif, alert, her hand never straying far from her saber. Republic officers flanked them, but the weight of the people's eyes pressed more heavily than any escort. Families watched from behind barricades, children clutching worn dolls, mothers with soot-streaked faces.
Tif slowed, her gaze lingering on a boy perhaps seven years old, his hand gripping the arm of a limp sister. The hollow look in his eyes reminded her too much of herself, years ago when Drayen had found her.
Tif: "Master… it never ends. One war bleeds into another, and it's always the children who pay."
Zen stopped beside her, his expression unreadable, though his hand rested gently on her shoulder.
Zen: "Do not look away. A Jedi must see their suffering, Tif. But if you let it consume you, you'll lose the strength to help them."
Her chest tightened, but she nodded. He was right. And yet, in his calmness, she sensed a current of unease.
The Storm Arrives
Across the city's broken avenues, a tremor shuddered through the ground. Republic scouts stiffened, blasters raised. And then the sound came, a low roar, not of engines, but of something deeper.
Darth Nox emerged at the head of a Sith detachment, black armor glinting under the storm-wrapped sun. His presence was unmistakable: dark power radiating like heat. Sith troopers fanned out behind him, but they were only a backdrop to his dominance.
A Separatist tank rolled forward, its cannon tracking the Republic position. Nox lifted a single hand. Metal shrieked, and the tank folded inward like paper, collapsing into a crumpled sphere that crashed into the street. The shockwave sent troopers stumbling.
Whispers rose among the civilians watching, whispers of awe, terror, submission.
Then, as a squad of Republic soldiers attempted to regroup, Nox's eyes narrowed. He let out a guttural cry, a Force scream, that echoed down the avenue. Windows shattered. The soldiers dropped their rifles, clutching bleeding ears. Even the most hardened among them staggered, disoriented.
From a balcony above, Darth Vrakus watched, hood shadowing his smile. His apprentice was no longer a boy of anger, he was a weapon. And yet… Vrakus could feel it. The hesitation lingering beneath the fury. Seeds of doubt he would have to crush in time.
Whispers in the Firelight
Night fell over Aldiris with no peace in it. Fires smoldered in distant quarters, and the stars above were veiled by orbiting warships.
In the Republic encampment, Zen sat cross-legged, his saber unlit before him. Tif lingered nearby, restless. The silence stretched until she finally spoke:
Tif: "You feel it too. This isn't peace. It's bait."
Zen opened his eyes, the faintest of smiles touching his lips.
Zen: "You're learning to listen. The Force rarely shouts. It whispers."
She sat beside him, her expression softer now, no longer that of a soldier but of someone seeking something more.
Tif: "I've always admired that about you. You don't just fight… you believe. Even when I doubt, you don't. I…"
She hesitated, heat rising in her cheeks.
"I don't just respect you as my Master. I—"
Zen turned, sensing the storm in her emotions. His gaze was steady, warm, but edged with restraint.
Zen: "Tif. The bond between us is strong. I won't deny it. But you must understand, feelings like that can cloud a Jedi's path. They can twist our choices when clarity is needed most."
She dropped her gaze, half-ashamed, half-relieved. But Zen's next words were softer, almost an admission:
Zen: "You deserve peace, Tif. A peace I may never be able to give."
The fire crackled between them. Nothing more was said. Yet the air remained charged, an unspoken truth lingering in the shadows.
Orders from the Light
A holo-call shimmered to life, interrupting the fragile stillness. The stern face of Master Cilara appeared, flanked by other Council members.
Cilara: "Master Zen. These talks must succeed. But should the Sith interfere… you know what must be done. Do not hesitate again."
Zen bowed his head, though tension lined his jaw.
Zen: "You ask me to kill my brother."
Cilara's eyes were cold steel.
Cilara: "We ask you to do what the galaxy requires. Compassion has its place, Zen. But not when it blinds you."
The transmission cut, leaving only silence. Tif glanced at him, worried.
Tif: "What will you do?"
Zen didn't answer.
Beneath the Dais
The firelight had dimmed, and the encampment had grown quiet. He walked alone to the edge of the ruined hall, where the dais, once a place of scholarly debate, now lay cracked and scorched.
He knelt, placing a hand on the fractured stone.
Zen (softly): "You ask me to kill him. But the Force… what does it ask?"
The wind stirred ash across the floor. No voice answered. Only silence
He closed his eyes, reaching out, not for power, but for clarity.
Visions flickered: Nox as a boy, laughing in the training halls. Tif, wounded but still believing. The galaxy, trembling on the edge of war.
Zen: "If I fail him… do I fail myself?"
The Force whispered, but its meaning was elusive. Zen opened his eyes, gaze steady.
Zen: "Then let the truth be revealed. In light… or in shadow."
He rose, cloak brushing the stone, and turned toward the hall where peace would be tested.
The Illusion of Accord
The grand hall of Aldiris had once hosted scholars debating trade and philosophy. Now, its marble pillars bore blaster scorches. Republic envoys stood on one side, Separatist leaders on the other. Civilians crowded balconies, clinging to hope.
Zen walked at the front of the Republic delegation, Tif at his side. Across the chamber, Nox appeared draped in black, his presence a storm that made the air itself heavy.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Could peace truly be possible?
Then… a whisper. A shove in the Force. A Separatist aide screamed, accusing a Republic officer of betrayal. Blasters snapped up. Shouts erupted. The delicate balance collapsed in seconds.
In the chaos, Vrakus melted into shadow, leaving only fire behind.
Blades of Memory
Amid the pandemonium, Zen and Nox locked eyes. Without words, sabers ignited, blue and crimson.
Tif stepped forward instinctively, her yellow blade flashing to life. She engaged first, striking at Nox with a bold lunge. But his power was overwhelming. He caught her strike with one hand, then unleashed a Force push that hurled her across the chamber, slamming her into a pillar. She crumpled, dazed but alive.
Nox: "Stay down, little Padawan. This is between brothers."
Zen's blade whirled, intercepting a slash meant to finish her. The duel erupted in full, faster, heavier than their first.
Nox fought like a storm unchained, debris lifted, lightning crackled, every strike filled with venom. Zen countered with calm precision, never pressing for a killing blow, always deflecting, redirecting, holding the line.
The clash of their sabers lit the chamber in strobing flashes. Civilians screamed, scattering as pillars cracked and marble split.
Between blows, words spilled like blood:
Nox: "Why do you keep sparing me, brother? Do you pity me?"
Zen: "Because I still see the boy I knew. And I will not destroy him."
The words cut deeper than the blades. Nox's rage spiked, but beneath it, doubt flickered.
Zen gained the upper hand, forcing Nox back toward the hall's shattered dais. He could have ended it. For a heartbeat, the choice was there.
But Vrakus struck unseen, collapsing part of the ceiling. Zen whirled, throwing up the Force to shield Tif and a cluster of fleeing civilians. In that moment of split focus, Nox vanished into shadow.
Ashes and Choices
The hall lay in ruins, strewn with dust and broken stone. Zen stood breathing heavily, his saber dimming. Tif struggled to her feet, clutching her side. Her eyes found Zen's, filled with admiration and something warmer.
Tif: "You saved them. Even when it cost you victory."
Zen looked away, voice low.
Zen: "I chose mercy. And the shadows deepened."
Echoes in the Dark
Deep in the Sith stronghold, Nox knelt before Vrakus. His body trembled with rage, but his eyes betrayed something more.
Nox: "If I had him… I would have killed him. But… he spared me."
Vrakus's smile was like a blade.
Vrakus: "Compassion is weakness. It will be his undoing, and yours, if you cling to it."
Nox clenched his fists, torn between the brother he hated and the brother he could not kill. The galaxy groaned under their shadow, two halves of a whole, destined to clash again.
He rose, voice low but burning.
Nox: "This isn't the end, Zen. You'll face me again, and next time, it will be different."
The chamber darkened around him, but the fire in his heart burned brighter than ever.