Part 1
“Being rerouted to Kyrim, you are. Aid Master Plo, you will.”
Those words from Master Yoda had rung in (Y/N)’s ears since they’d been spoken to her hours ago. The order had confused her at first; she’d been stationed on Christophsis with the 916th Battalion, a replacement for Jedi Master Cove Kenari, who’d fallen to General Grevious weeks prior. Before that, she’d been on Kamino aiding Master Shaak Ti with cadet training. Soon enough, the usual sense of distrust and outcast bubbled back to the surface, along with the feeling of defeat. She was already aboard the shuttle heading to Kyrim to aid her former master, Plo Koon, the father figure she’d loved as such, even if it was against the Jedi code.
You see (Y/N) Black wasn’t your ordinary Jedi. Sure, she’d been trained as one and achieved the rank of Knight two years before the war began. But her time with the Jedi hadn’t been easy. Many Masters distrusted her for a past she couldn’t change or control, and the Knights she worked closely with kept her at a distance for the most part. Only Anakin Skywalker dared to be seen with her and called her his best friend. The rest judged her just as viciously as the Masters that trained them. Still (Y/N), didn’t care all that much; she held her head high, joyfully ignored orders, caused chaos and mischief, and did things her way. Half the time, the Jedi code didn’t apply to her. Even more so when she knew she could get away with more than the regular Jedi.
(Y/N) wasn’t your regular Jedi; she was one of a few who were trained in the ways of the dark side. Her father, Maul, had ensured she was a capable warrior even from a young age. Unlike most Jedi, she wasn’t blind to the Sith, nor to the flaws of the Jedi. Hell, she’d been on the receiving end of their failure, and most still somehow wondered why she lacked trust in them. To add to the mutual distrust, Chancellor Palpatine had taken an interest in her, much like he’d done with Anakin before. Politics wasn’t (Y/N)’s favourite subject, but even so, she knew there was far more going on than met the eye.
The war was a prime example; despite both sides insisting on peace, yet still somehow no resolution had been found. Just as oddly, the Jedi, the galaxy’s peacekeepers, had somehow become entangled in the politics despite claiming neutrality; they ended up as generals of war, to the point that they’d lost sight of their own code and moral values. Lost sight of the people they were meant to protect.
“The 104th Battalion,” whispered (Y/N), reading over the files she had of Master Plo Koon’s Wolf Pack. They were among the best the clone army had to offer, battle-tested and reliable, versatile as well, capable of being in harsh terrain or pulling off risky relief aid missions. Still, they’d been through hell and back several times. First, the Malevolence disaster that had erased all but three of the original battalion, then the battle of Khorm, where they had to deal with the idiocy of civvi commanders, let alone the droid army led by Ventress. “This should be fun,” she muttered into the void of her tiny compartment. Reading over CC-3636, Commander Wolffe’s file, she knew instantly things were going to be rocky.
He’d lost his eye to Ventress during the Battle of Khorm and gained a hatred toward the Children of Dathomir, specifically the Night Sisters. On top of that, he had a reputation for being cold and stubborn to nearly all but Master Plo; he was protective of his brothers and would always get the job done, even if he didn’t like the commanding officer. Almost instantly, (Y/N) sighed. He wasn’t going to like her; not only was she a daughter of Dathomir, but she also hailed from the same clan as Ventress.
“Just another obstacle to overcome,” muttered (Y/N), putting the datapad to the side and pulling out her twin dual-bladed lightsabers. Cleaning them had always relaxed her, for some reason, helping her take her mind off what stressed her; perhaps it was because she was trained to use lightsabers from the moment she could hold them, or maybe it was her father’s words drilled into her head. The lightsabers were her life. For a moment, she stopped to assess the hilts. Christophsis has been a brutal battlefield; most of the time, it was a pendulum between the Republic and Separatists, depending on who had the greater power and strength at any given time.
The black and silver hilts had minor scorching from a close call in battle and the usual wear and tear. Other than that, they were in working order; the sabers still ignited a sky-blue color that grew darker toward the hilt, made the usual buzz when ignited, and shut down. Other than the minor damage expected for battle, only dust was scattered. A light cleaning would do for now, at least until she had more time to thoroughly clean and fix the damage to the saber’s twin hilts. Perhaps when she had the chance to return to the Tribunal.
Upon completing her self-given assignment, (Y/N) turned her attention to mediation. Focusing on finding her inner balance, a difficult challenge considering the force itself was inbalance. The war had thrown everything out of whack. The hate and anger from the dark side leaked into everything, as did the corruption that had settled into the leadership of the Separatists and the heart of the Republic.
“Stop it,” called (Y/N), her haunted sapphire eyes snapping open the moment blurred images and disembodied voices invaded her mind. The force was trying to show her something; it had been since she was just a child, her pleas for someone to listen went ignored for the most part, much like Master Sifo Dyas before, when he rambled about the very war they fought now.
The visions had gotten worse since the war had begun. Sometimes they plagued her a night in the form of terrors that stuck with her for weeks on end, made her suspicious of everyone. Other times, it was during the quiet moments when she heard a friend’s voice or saw the flashing lights of laserbolts and swinging lightsabers. Hear Dooku’s voice or even Maul’s from his place of forgotten exile. All of it only added to the fear she felt deep inside, to the distrust she had of the Jedi in general, to the point that she felt in danger around the majority.
Only a few had noticed, Master Plo had, as had Shaak Ti, although she’d put her jittery behavior down to the halls of Kamino triggering the trauma of the past once again. Obi-Wan and Anakin had noticed, as had Yoda, but only Anakin had asked about it. He always asked when coming upon the conclusion that the visions were bothering her again.
“There’s still time,” whispered (Y/N) as she began to write down what she’d seen this time. Some blurry, flashing images were familiar; she’d seen them before. Others were new, as were the words “friendly voices” and “vicious enemies” that had spoken. The mechanical voice of battledroids, mixed with the familiar voice of Jango Fett, multiplied by millions. If only she could make sense of it. “Like Master Plo used to say. While the vision are disordly and blurry, there’s still time to stop whatever the force is trying to show me.”
The wise words of Master Plo brought a sense of comfort, but also fear. Foresight and visions were supposed to be a gift, her clan in the Night Siters and Maul had told her as much growing up, and Chancellor Palpatine had also on several occasions. Yet the Jedi acted as if it was a sign of lunacy, the erraticness often shared by those who seen what was coming was seen as a symptom of a bigger problem and subsequently ignored rather than taken for the warning of danger and destruction that was pending, the war that was now impossible to walk away from.
