In the circular stillness of the Jedi Council chamber, the twelve seats were filled. Light streamed from the high windows, glinting off the calm faces of Masters long accustomed to debate. Two guest chairs stood across the marble floor—occupied by the dual Chancellors, Ranulph Tarkin and Sheev Palpatine—both watching the silence with thin restraint.
Yoda's small hand rested on his cane. His voice, ancient and weary, broke the quiet.
"Much spoken, we have. Yet no path, find we can. Deal with Jin-Woo, no method there is. End this meeting, perhaps we should… until clearer the Force becomes."
Ranulph Tarkin leaned forward, tone sharp and clipped. "With all due respect, Master Yoda, this is unacceptable. That man—Jin Woo—still holds the Trade Federation viceroys prisoner on Naboo. Regardless of their crimes, they are members of the Republic senate . They must be judged by the Senate, not by a self-appointed god. And you Jedi, are sworn to uphold that law. As its Peacekeepers you must ensure the Republic's authority is enforced."
A murmur moved through the Council. Mace Windu's expression tightened as he spoke, voice measured but firm.
"What you're suggesting, Chancellor, is that the Jedi act as soldiers under your command. We are not soldiers. Nor we wage war for the Senate." His eyes met Tarkin's unflinchingly. "And if you demand confrontation with Jin-Woo, you're asking for a war the galaxy isn't ready for . Provoking him would ignite a conflict on a scale you can't imagine."
A ripple ran through the chamber as Windu's words hung in the air. His gaze never left Tarkin's face—steady, unblinking.
Tarkin's jaw tightened. Beneath the polished cadence, hunger for order—and control—warred with the veneer of statesmanship. He leaned forward,.
"Then what if Jin-Woo harbors a more dangerous notion?" Tarkin asked, each word deliberate. "What if he decides the Republic is rotten and crowns himself Emperor? Who will stop him if not you, Masters? You are the only organized force with the moral authority and power to act. You all must work harder—coordinate, prepare—because Jin-Woo is like a time bomb ticking at the galaxy's heart. If what your maverick Qui-Gon says is true—if he is effectively immortal, and his army immortal as well, and he wields an ancient darkness—then isn't it also your duty to dispose of such an abomination before it swallows everything?"
A low, uncomfortable silence followed. Yoda's eyes narrowed; age and weight of centuries pressed into his small frame. Windu's knuckles whitened around the rim of his chair.
Windu's voice cut back, cold and controlled. "Duty, Chancellor, is not a blank check for preemptive slaughter. If we become executioners for political fear, what separates us from the tyrants we oppose? The very thing you propose—cast us as soldiers striking first—would justify every would-be despot who claims fear as cause to seize power."
He let that sit, like a blade poised. Then, quieter, harder: "We do not hunt shadows because a senator fears them. The Jedi guard balance . If Jin-Woo proves a threat, the Council will act with deliberation and resolve. But we will not be used as the bludgeon of ambition."
Tarkin's face tightened into something like contempt edged with calculation. "Deliberation is a luxury when an immortal force grows unchecked. I ask only that the Council consider contingency—plans, readiness."
Palpatine folded his hands, smile thin and patient, watching both men spar like a spider watching flies. Yoda tapped his cane, measured. The galaxy beyond the chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Then the doors burst open. Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi rushed into the chamber, their robes torn, faces streaked with dust and exhaustion. The abruptness of their entrance sent a murmur through the Masters; even Windu straightened in his seat, sensing the urgency rolling off them.
Tarkin's voice snapped first, sharp as ever. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? No formality, no permission? This chamber is sacred to order and discipline! Have the Jedi abandoned both?"
Yoda's hand lifted, palm forward, and the room fell silent. His ancient eyes fixed on the two arrivals. "Silence, Chancellor. Judge not too quick, we must. From their garments, danger they have faced. Speak, Qui-Gon… Obi-Wan… what troubles you so, that you return with haste?"
Both Jedi stopped in the center of the council ring, breathing hard. Dust still clung to their robes, faint traces of blood near Obi-Wan's sleeve. They exchanged a quick glance—one heavy with unspoken dread.
Obi-Wan tried to speak first, but the words tangled. His mouth opened, then shut again. The truth clawed at his mind—a Sith shrine beneath the Jedi Temple—but he couldn't say it, not here, not before senators, not before every master who might call them mad or traitorous.
Qui-Gon's hand tightened briefly on his shoulder, eyes darting around the room. He too felt the weight of the secret pressing down. If we speak it plainly… panic will tear the Order apart.
Tarkin exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation breaking through his polished restraint. "If this is one of your usual stunts, Master Jinn—some mystical riddle or cryptic crusade—then I suggest you and your apprentice resign before you turn the Order into an embarrassment for the Republic."
The air in the chamber chilled. Windu's expression darkened, but before he could interject,
Qui-Gon stepped forward, voice steady yet edged with quiet urgency. "Master Yoda, we need to discuss this matter in private. The situation is far too sensitive to speak openly here. Time is critical, and every second we delay brings greater risk."
Yoda's eyes narrowed, the old master reading the tension in every breath Qui-Gon took. His ears twitched slightly, understanding the gravity beneath the words, but before he could respond—
Tarkin leaned forward again, clearly preparing another retort. "You can't expect the Council to indulge in secrecy. If this is related to the Republic's security, it concerns—"
Palpatine raised a placating hand, his tone smooth as silk. "My friend, Co-Chancellor Tarkin," he said, voice calm and diplomatic, "perhaps we've pressed the Jedi long enough for one day. They have endured Naboo, Jin-Woo, and now whatever matter drives them here in such haste. I see no harm in granting them their privacy."
He smiled faintly, his calm masking the faint glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Let them speak among themselves. The Council's unity is vital in these times. We need not add strain when the galaxy already trembles under one man's shadow."
He turned toward Yoda with a courteous nod. "We both remain available, of course. I only hope that whatever trouble they've uncovered does not deepen the situation further. The Republic has enough… with Jin-Woo alone."
Yoda's cane tapped once, a soft sound that carried finality. "Very well, Qui-Gon… Obi-Wan. Speak in private, we shall."
The small master descended from his seat, his gaze flicking briefly toward the chancellors before turning away. With a subtle gesture, the chamber doors opened, and he motioned the two Jedi to follow. Windu rose silently beside him, his expression unreadable but focused.
They crossed into a narrow corridor that led to one of the sealed meditation rooms—round, dim, its air thick with the hum of the Force. When the door sealed behind them, the outside world vanished. Only the quiet remained, heavy and expectant.
Windu spoke first, his tone firm yet not unkind. "Please, take a seat—both of you. Calm yourselves. Whatever brought you here in such haste… speak it clearly."
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sat across from the two Masters. The flicker of the chamber's low light caught the weariness in their faces—the dust, the exhaustion, the unspoken terror. Qui-Gon drew a slow breath, resting his palms on his knees.
"Masters," he began, voice measured but tight, "will you believe me if I tell you that we have been wrong from the very beginning?"
Windu folded his arms, studying him carefully. "That depends, Qui-Gon. Wrong about what? We still fight for justice, for the light that must shine against the dark. If you speak of doubt, clarify it."
Qui-Gon's gaze didn't waver. "I suppose what I'm about to say will be difficult for you both to accept. But I need you to believe me in this."
Obi-Wan looked between them, his jaw tight. Then he said it—flat, certain, with the clarity of one who had seen it with his own eyes.
"Beneath the Jedi Temple," Obi-Wan said, "there is a Sith shrine."
For a heartbeat, neither Yoda nor Windu moved. Both blinked once, twice—like minds forced to reconcile impossibility with truth. The air itself seemed to still around them.
Windu leaned forward slightly, voice careful, uncertain. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan… can you clarify that? You realize how this sounds. These are confusing times, and the last thing we need is a misunderstanding born of panic."
Qui-Gon's composure cracked, his tone sharpened by urgency. "Master Windu, this is no time for confusion or doubt. What we found beneath us is no illusion. The very foundations of the Jedi Temple are built over a Sith shrine . Dormant—until now. We were attacked by abominations of flesh and metal, monsters fused by dark alchemy. We barely escaped with our lives."
The silence that followed was broken only by the faint hum of Yoda's breath. The old master's eyes closed briefly, his ears lowering. Then he felt it—a tremor through the Force, raw and heavy, a thread that pulled at his heart.
"Hmm…" Yoda murmured, voice low, strained by something deeper than surprise. "The truth, you speak. Feel it, I can… beneath us. Foul the current is, twisted by an ancient hand." His eyes opened, their usual calm gone, replaced with something far heavier. "And Dooku… where is he, Qui-Gon? Why sense him in peril, I do?"
Qui-Gon lowered his head, guilt shadowing his face. "I'm… very sorry, Master. Dooku is still down there—holding the line. He stayed behind to face what awakened. An ancient Sith spirit commands the horrors beneath our feet."
Windu's expression darkened, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Yoda's grip tightened around his cane, his gaze distant yet burning with resolve.
"Then in darkness, he stands alone," Yoda said softly. "And into that darkness, go we must."
But before the ancient master could take another breath, Qui-Gon's voice cut through the air—urgent, firm, almost pleading. "Master Yoda—no. My former master, Dooku, ordered us to evacuate. He said the danger beneath the Temple is beyond anything we can confront. His last words to us were clear: get everyone out of the Jedi Temple. Leave Coruscant if we need to . Whatever he's facing… it isn't something that can be fought by numbers or courage alone."
The words struck the chamber like thunder. Windu's brow furrowed deeply, his voice low, steady, but filled with growing dread. "Evacuate the Temple? You're saying Dooku told you to abandon the heart of the Order? That's—" He paused, forcing calm back into his tone. "This ancient Sith lord he mentioned—did he give a name? Was it… Darth Bane?"
Qui-Gon shook his head, frustration breaking through his composure. "I don't know. He never had the chance to say. But the fear in his voice… I've never heard my master sound like that. He said it was an ancient Sith Lord—something older, stronger, and far beyond our understanding. Whatever it is, it's powerful enough that even he believed the Temple itself could fall."
Yoda's eyes closed again, the lines on his face deepening. "Ancient… and powerful, this darkness is. More ancient than Bane, perhaps. Dooku's warning, heed we must—but abandon the Temple, hmmm…"
Before the old master could finish, Windu cut in, his tone sharpened by conviction. "No. We can't run. If we abandon our post now, we might as well declare that the enemy has already won. The Jedi are the guardians of peace—if the heart of our Order falls, what message does that send to the galaxy?"
The room vibrated slightly. Then—
Bumm… bummm…
A deep rumble tore through the floor, the sound echoing up from the planet's crust like the growl of something awakening. Obi-Wan glanced around, bracing himself. "An earthquake? On Coruscant?"
Qui-Gon's expression turned grim. "No, Obi-Wan… we're out of time."
The tremor became a roar. The marble beneath their feet cracked. From the great stairway leading up to the Temple's entrance, a deafening explosion erupted—BOOOOM!—sending a wave of dust and shrapnel across the hall. The grand pillars splintered, a smoking crater yawning open where the floor had been.
Through the chaos, a body was hurled upward, slamming into the top steps with brutal force.
Dooku. He hit the stone hard, sliding to a stop. His robes were scorched, torn, his left hand mangled—three fingers gone, blood streaking the floor. His right eye was gone, a hollow ruin of burned flesh. But his right arm still clutched his lightsaber, its blue blade flaring defiantly as he struggled to rise, breathing ragged, each inhale wet with pain.
And then, from the hole beneath him, a sound like the grind of mountains moved. The darkness stirred, alive.
The debris shifted—and something emerged.
A towering form clawed its way into the open air, cobbled together from stone, metal, and living machinery. Fragments of broken technobeasts, shattered Sith statues, and molten rock fused into one grotesque body. Red veins of dark energy pulsed across its surface like burning arteries.
At its core—eye blazing in azure crystal —Naga Sadow forced his essence into the abomination, his spectral form now anchored inside this monstrous golem.
"Ahhh…" his voice rumbled, deep and resonant, shaking the Temple walls. "Outside… at last." He lifted his massive head, stone cracking along his jaw. "It has been millennia since I last stepped beneath an open sky… and now I walk again—fused into this humiliation of stone and flesh."
The giant took another step forward, each movement sending shockwaves through the Temple's foundations. Cracks raced up the pillars, shards of marble levitating under the crushing gravity of his dark aura. The ancient statues of past Jedi shattered one by one, their fragments swirling around the rising abomination.
From the private chamber above, Mace Windu stood at the communications console, staring at the impossible sight through the fractured holo window. His jaw clenched, but his hand moved fast. He slammed the intercom and spoke, his voice carrying through every hall of the Jedi Temple.
"This is Master of the Jedi Order, Mace Windu. All available Jedi on Coruscant—report to the Temple entrance immediately. I repeat, every Jedi capable of battle—aid Dooku. A darkness has emerged beneath us… and now stands before the Temple gates."