Jin-Woo turned his head slightly, eyes settling on Qui-Gon Jinn.
"Qui-Gon," he said evenly. "You coming?"
Qui-Gon arched a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting despite everything. "You make it sound like I've already been exiled and humiliated."
Jin-Woo snorted quietly. "More like our goods and treasures of knowledge are useless to them." His gaze flicked briefly toward the Council. "Best to step down and move on."
He adjusted his grip on the sword, portal rippling wider. "Throwing pearls to pigs too often," Jin-Woo added dryly, "is starting to hurt my image."
Ki-Adi-Mundi inhaled sharply, already stepping forward, words rising to his lips—The Jedi are not—
The sentence never formed.
Jin-Woo lifted the blade and pointed it toward the sky. Just enough that every Jedi present felt the weight of it settle on their shoulders.
"Anyone else want to follow me," Jin-Woo said, his voice even, unraised, "listen carefully."
The portal's surface slowed, stabilizing, waiting.
"The moment you step through, you don't come back. You become an enemy of the Republic. Officially. Permanently."
He let that sit. No pressure. No urgency.
"But there is one future that waits for you," he continued. "You survive."
Some flinched. Others stiffened.
"You won't be slaughtered when the Sith rise again," Jin-Woo said. "Because they will rise. And when they do, the Senate will argue—again. They'll hesitate—again. And bodies will pile up—again—while you wait for permission."
His eyes moved across the Council, unblinking.
"My moral compass is questionable. I won't pretend otherwise."
A faint, almost tired edge touched his voice.
"But the path with me leads to what you've chased for thousands of years and never reached. Balance."
The shadows around the portal deepened, quiet and patient.
"At the very least," Jin-Woo finished, "you won't be chained to the same false utopia you've grown comfortable in—one that collapses every time the Senate makes another mistake."
For a moment, no one moved. Then Obi-Wan stepped forward.
He didn't reach for his saber. He didn't tense. He simply looked at Jin-Woo, studying him the way a student studies a problem that refuses to fit inside familiar doctrine.
"From your point of view," Obi-Wan asked carefully, "what are the Jedi supposed to be? What does it mean to be one?"
Jin-Woo didn't answer immediately.. Shadows shifted, listening.
"I don't like using the word 'Jedi,'" Jin-Woo said at last. "Too much baggage. Too many rules stapled on after the fact. I prefer Je'daii."
That drew attention.
"Your progenitors," Jin-Woo continued. "Before Jedi and Sith fractured into opposites that pretended purity was possible."
He took a slow step, not toward Obi-Wan, but sideways—addressing all of them.
"In the light, there is darkness. In the darkness, there is light. Balance doesn't mean erasing one side. It means acknowledging both exist—and mastering them."
His voice stayed calm, even reflective.
"There is a villain side in all of us. Rage. Fear. Desire. Denial. The Je'daii didn't amputate those parts and call it enlightenment. They controlled them."
Obi-Wan absorbed that, then nodded once."And attachments Your view on them. You seem to embrace them all."
A faint smile crossed Jin-Woo's face . Knowing.
"You were taught attachment is weakness," Jin-woo said. "That caring leads to fear. Fear to loss. Loss to ruin. That's not wrong. It's incomplete."
The portal's surface rippled again, steady.
"Attachment isn't the problem," Jin-Woo went on. "Obsession is. Ownership is. Letting fear of loss dictate your choices."
He glanced briefly toward the Council chamber doors, then back. "You don't fall because you care," he said. "You fall because you refuse to accept that loss is part of existence."
His tone hardened just a fraction.
Jin-Woo said. "I don't cut my attachments. I temper them. I let them sharpen my judgment—not replace it. Love didn't make me weak, Lying to myself would have."
Jin woo exhaled, almost irritated. "I'll admit my attachment to what I want," Jin-Woo continued. "I don't hide it behind duty or sermons. This isn't a sprint. It's a marathon. And I'm now wagging my tail for a Senate that can't even take care of its own planets."
Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned closer to Obi-Wan, voice low. "Obi-Wan, that man is clearly trying to persuade—"
Obi-Wan didn't answer him. He kept his eyes on Jin-Woo.
"What if one day," Obi-Wan said slowly, "what I love is lost right in front of me? What guarantees that attachment won't poison me?"
Jin-Woo answered without hesitation. "Then make it simple," he said. "Stop putting her on the front line."
Obi-Wan blinked.
Jin-Woo went on flatly "Make sure Satine doesn't play cowboy politics and charge into danger every time, I guarantee you—if her head stays fixed on justice and living quietly, she'll be safe."
Obi-Wan's eyes widened just a fraction. "You… know about my past."
Jin-Woo glanced at him sideways. "You left her. Walked away. Left Mandalore with a lone duchess holding the whole system together. That's a terrible habit, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan rubbed the back of his neck, a small, awkward smile tugging at his lips. Then his expression settled, serious again. His eyes shifted—not to Jin-Woo, but past him The chancellor palpatine himself .
"To you, Chancellor," Obi-Wan said, voice calm but firm. "What makes you believe the future will be all right?" Palpatine turned slightly, attentive.
"An ancient Sith named Naga Sadow is still loose in this galaxy," Obi-Wan continued. "A being who can turn stars into weapons. Solar flares shaped by the dark side itself." He held Palpatine's gaze. "Would you truly ask the Jedi to fight something like that—knowing the cost?"
Palpatine opened his mouth. Then closed it again. This wasn't a question that yielded to statesmanship. No reassurance would survive the truth: no number of Jedi could be thrown at Naga Sadow without slaughter. Say yes, and he admitted the Jedi were expendable soldiers. Say no, and he undermined the very crises he relied on to tighten control.
Before he could recover, Ki-Adi-Mundi stepped in, voice firm, protective. "The Chancellor is clearly fatigued," he said. "There's no need to press him further with questions like this."
Pong Krell followed immediately, heavy arms folding. "Agreed. This line of questioning is becoming forceful, Obi-Wan. We understand your concern, but the topic should shift."
His gaze slid to Jin-Woo, suspicious, assessing. "Or is that your intention?" Krell asked bluntly. "To divide us? To make us question the Order—and the Chancellor—at the same time?"
Jin-Woo didn't answer him. Didn't even look at him.
"I suppose," Jin-Woo said instead, voice even, almost idle, "there's only one person here who actually wants a path that isn't already written."
Movement broke the stillness.
Yaddle stepped forward. "I will go," she said calmly.
The courtyard froze. Heads turned. Whispers died before they could form. Yaddle—ancient, respected, Yoda's peer—stood straight, unflinching.
"I believe change is necessary," she continued. "And that new paths should be walked, not feared."
Shock rippled through the Jedi like a physical wave.
Palpatine's expression didn't change—but something sharp flickered behind his eyes. A smirk threatened to form, checked just in time. Concern followed close behind it. One Jedi leaving was manageable. Two was coincidence. More would become momentum.
He folded his hands, serene on the surface. Inside, his thoughts moved cold and fast.
The rise of the Sith was still on course. But now—negotiation would be required. With Naga Sadow And the remnants. Territory would need to be discussed. Power shared, not seized outright.
Yoda's gaze settled on Yaddle, heavy with age and regret.
"Dooku's death," he said slowly, words bending around grief, "weighs on you deeply, does it? So much so… that the wisdom of the Council, questioned it must be?"
Yaddle did not hesitate.
"I can no longer remain," she said quietly. "Dooku was right—and yet we continued as if nothing had changed." Her eyes swept the courtyard. "Jin-Woo saved us from losing everything. And still, we doubted him. Slandered him. Asked him to leave."
A breath. Controlled. Pain held in check.
"And now we return to doing the Senate's bidding. Not the will of the Force."
Ki-Adi-Mundi stepped forward, already drawing breath to argue—
Yoda's hand closed around his wrist. "Enough," Yoda said, gently but firmly. "Let them be."
Silence followed.
Yoda turned then, walking toward Qui-Gon and Yaddle. His voice softened, carrying the weight of centuries.
"Good fortune, Qui-Gon. And you as well, Yaddle. Banished, you are not. A different path, you walk—that is all. Welcome here, you will always be."
Yoda turned then, toward Qui-Gon and Yaddle. His voice softened, the weight of centuries settling into every word.
"Good fortune, Qui-Gon. And you as well, Yaddle. Banished, you are not. A different path, you walk—that is all. Welcome here, you will always be."
At the edge of the courtyard, the dark portal Jin-Woo had carved into the air rippled like still water disturbed by shadow. Qui-Gon and Yaddle stood beside him, already half-claimed by the pull beyond.
Jin-Woo glanced back once.
"See you later," he said casually. "Ten years from now, another galactic war will ignite. Make sure you're prepared. Peace doesn't last forever—it thins."
Palpatine's eyes sharpened.
He stepped forward, voice smooth, controlled. "And what exactly will happen?" he asked. "Another revelation you chose not to share? Or are you escalating events for your own benefit?"
The portal snapped shut.
Shadow folded in on itself.
Jin-Woo, Qui-Gon, and Yaddle were gone.
Silence lingered in the courtyard.
Mace Windu broke it, turning toward the Chancellor. "We should prepare regardless," he said evenly. "Tarkin won't let this go. Not after being outplayed."
Palpatine nodded once. "You're right, Master Windu," he replied calmly. "We must be ready."
Outwardly composed. Reassuring.
If everything continues as planned, he thought coldly, my master Plagueis and I will still be steps ahead
But behind him, the Avalon garden began to die. The air thinned first. The light dulled. The vibrant green bled away as if drained by an unseen hand. Leaves curled inward, cracking. Blossoms collapsed into ash. The sky above lost its depth, its illusion peeling back as color faded into rusted tones.
Then the ground followed. Grass crumbled. Stone softened. Everything collapsed into fine red sand, whispering across the courtyard like a dying breath.
Ki-Adi-Mundi frowned, folding his hands into his sleeves. "A foolish man, this Jin-Woo is," he said sharply. "Always thinking of himself. Even discarding his own garden just to prove his ideals."
Yoda did not answer. He knelt slowly, small fingers scooping a handful of the sand from the ground. It slipped through his palm, staining his skin crimson.
Windu noticed. "Something wrong, Master Yoda?"
Before Yoda could reply, Pong Krell snorted. "What's wrong is Kenobi asking too many questions earlier," he said bluntly. "Wisdom of the Order should be listened to, not challenged."
Obi-Wan said nothing. He only lowered his gaze.
Yoda studied the sand closely. Its color. Its texture. Its weight. Red. Too familiar.
Morraband, he thought. Korriban, once named.
His ears drooped slightly.
A Sith's world, his thoughts continued, slow and heavy. A graveyard of dark empires.
Yoda closed his fingers around the sand.
Not Sith, he is, Yoda reflected. That, certain I am. But why then… leave this behind?
The thought lingered—heavy, unresolved.
Then Yoda let it go.
He straightened slowly, brushing the red grains from his palm as if sealing the question away for another time. Turning to Mace Windu, his voice was calm, deliberately neutral. "Nothing to discuss here, there is. Chancellor Palpatine waits."
Palpatine inclined his head smoothly, already stepping forward. "Yes. But not here," he said, genial and composed. "After all, what kind of man would I be if I didn't properly host the heroes who were wronged today?" A gentle smile followed. "My office would be more appropriate."
One by one, several members of the High Council followed him toward the shuttle. Their robes swept over the dying courtyard, feet stirring the red sand without noticing.
None of them understood what Jin-Woo had left behind.
They did not know that red sand was symbol of consequence.
That it meant: you have sealed your fate.
That positions would reverse.
That eleven years from now, the balance would shatter again—and this time, there would be no garden to soften the fall.
From the shadow of a small side chamber, a young Togruta stepped forward.
Ahsoka. She knelt, curiosity pulling her closer, and scooped a little of the red sand into her fingers. It felt wrong. Too dry. Too final.
She looked up toward the departing shuttle, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
Then, quietly—so quietly no one heard—she whispered to herself, "Trusting Palpatine… that's the wrong way forward."