The Normandy's hull pulsed, green veins threading through steel, a heartbeat not my own. I stumbled down the CIC, my boots slipping on salt-slick decking, the air sour with brine and rot. The galaxy map flickered, stars bleeding into an ocean, endless and black, its depths studded with shards like eyes in the deep. I gripped my Predator, its weight real in my trembling hand, but the CIC warped, walls melting into a drowned ruin.
Something moved in the dark. A wraith, fluid, then gone, dissolving into mist. It was here, inside me, its voice a slick of oil, seeping through my thoughts.
"Cycles spin beyond your stars, flesh yields to will."
I shook my head, but the ocean pressed closer, saltwater stinging my throat. The Normandy was gone, and I was sinking, my armor dragging me down, the Reaper's presence a pressure I couldn't shake.
Miranda's face flickered, her dark hair framing eyes that pinned me in place, the Citadel's presidium bright behind her.
"Come back to me, John."
Her voice came soft, but her eyes shifted, amber now, six of them, her lips curling into a smile that wasn't hers.
"You left me."
The voice was no longer hers, threading through my skull.
"You broke a cycle, Shepard, only to build another."
My chest tightened, I fired the Predator, the shot lost in the ocean, and the eyes dissolved, a laugh scattering into the dark.
The scene shifted, fractured, like a vid skipping frames. I was in my Citadel apartment, the party before London, the crew's laughter a fragile shield against the Reaper War. Garrus leaned on the bar, calibrating a bottle of turian brandy, his mandibles twitching with a grin.
"You sure about this, Shepard? Earth's a big gamble."
Liara's glyphs floated, Prothean secrets dancing in her eyes, her voice level.
"We're with you Shepard, always."
Wrex slammed a fist on the table, krogan ale sloshing.
"To hell with Reapers, we'll crush 'em all!"
Tali's mask caught the light, her nod a quiet promise. It was home, this moment, the last before the Crucible's haunting revelations. But the Reaper's surge crept in. The apartment warped, walls bleeding green, the crew's faces twisting. Garrus's eyes burned amber, his rifle aimed at me, voice not his own.
"You failed us, Shepard!"
Liara's glyphs ignited, her form dissolving into tentacles.
"Your choice doomed us."
Tali reached for me, her mask cracking, revealing nothing but ocean. My biotics flared, a shockwave ripping through the dream, but the voice cut deeper, direct now, the taunts stripped away, leaving only truth.
"Shepard, we chose as you did, merged flesh to machine, and lost everything. You repeat this failure!"
I was drowning, the ocean a crushing weight of organic will, not machine, older than stars. It wasn't Reaper, but it knew me, knew of Synthesis, knew the green light I unleashed. My implant screamed, biotics surging, blue light shattering the swell. I saw Anderson, his blood on my Predator, his voice firm.
"Keep fighting, Shepard."
I roared, biotics blazing, the ocean recoiling, and then I was.
Awake.
The Cloister of Serenity's crystal panels catch the dim light, their soft presence mocking the sweat soaking my undershirt. My N7 armor lies strewn across a table, a Corellian whiskey bottle tipped over, its spill pooling under the warmth of the overhead sconces. The Star of Ashla's vibration threads through the Zakuulan silk draping my bunk, low and steady like the dream's swell, but real, grounding. I sit up, head pounding, the whiskey's sour burn lingering on my tongue. That dream felt wrong, more wrong than my normal Reaper nightmares. I rub my face, the stubble rough, trying to shake the ocean's drag.
Last night's welcome home party creeps into my mind, fragmented, a blur of swill and noise. The grand hall, Zakuulan chandeliers blazing with warm light, Jedi and Je'daii mingling like uneasy krogan clans. Ahsoka Tano, the Togruta who'd crossed my path last night, her hazel eyes sharp, montrals striped with purpose. "Shepard," voice steady as a sniper's aim, "you say that you've fought machines that broke galaxies. We need that fire here." Her grip on my hand was firm, a leader's respect, not pity, her words parting the din. First time we met, and it felt like she saw right through my scars. The others all blurred together. Rey's kind stare and smile, asking about my galaxy constantly. Ezra's smirk, tossing out, "Biotics? Cute trick, Chief." Galen had clinked a glass of something without alcohol in it. Vicrul though, drunk as a Hutt, had ranted about betrayal, nearly toppling a crystal lamp, his snarl drowned by laughter. Ahsoka's toast had anchored it, her voice rising, "To the heroes that become titans, even those who crossed the stars to stand with us." I'd grinned, whiskey burning my throat, but the weight of their eyes, Jedi, Je'daii, felt heavier than Cerberus's leash.
I swing my legs off the bunk, the Cloister's silk cool against my skin, the dream's wake louder than the party's ghost. That thing knew me. Is it watching, waiting, like the Reapers had? My implant aches with every heartbeat, a reminder of the fight, the biotic flare that broke the current. I need answers, need Vicrul, Galen, someone to...
The door chime slices through, sharp as a blade. I freeze, heart kicking like a Cain's recoil. The panels dim, as if the Star senses it. I stumble to the door, the whiskey still slowing my steps, and palm the control. The slab hisses open, Revan. His mask a wall of resolve, robes crisp as if last night's whiskey-soaked revelry is a myth. His eyes, keen behind the mask, carry a spark of urgency, but his voice holds the warmth of a friend forged in fire.
"Good, you are awake. There is something you need to see."
I lean against the frame of my room's door, the faint light mocking the ache in my skull.
"Good morning to you too. Sure, come in."
My voice scrapes raw, throat torn from the dream's saltwater sting. I stumble back into the chamber, the Zakuulan silk draping my bunk cool against my sweat-soaked undershirt. I shuffle to the caf machine, a sleek Je'daii contraption beside a lit console. Its hiss, a small reminder this isn't the Normandy.
"Coff... I mean, Caf?"
I punch the controls, the scent of roasted beans a small mercy.
"No thank you."
Revan's tone is dry, clipped. He steps inside, his boots silent on the silk rug.
"This is not a good time for pleasantries."
I snort, the caf machine spitting dark liquid into a durasteel mug.
"Urgent, huh? What's got you moving faster than a varren with a grenade as a chew toy?"
My voice comes firmer than I feel, the dream's swell still lapping at my mind. Revan tilts his head, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"I received a report this morning that my team has cleansed the Rakatan orb of its dark-side corruption. I've ordered the Sanctum of Anil to focus all efforts on reviving the supercomputer."
I pause, mug halfway to my lips, the caf's heat seeping through.
"Sanctum? High Sage? You Je'daii and these titles, care to translate for someone still scraping last night's whiskey out of his skull?"
His mask doesn't shift, but I swear he smirks.
"The Sanctum is our forge, like your Cerberus labs you speak of, but less likely to blow up. The High Sage shapes our scholars and techs. You will meet her."
His words come clever, sparse, assuming I've caught enough from the Star's crew to follow. He isn't wrong. I down a gulp of caf, bitter and sharp, steadying me against the dream's pull.
"Right. Lead the way, then."
I grab my armor's chestplate, clamping it on, servos whirring as magnetic seals lock, the weight settling with a familiar ache. Revan doesn't comment, just turns, his robes whispering as he leads me out. The Star of Ashla's corridors unfold, a maze of Zakuulan grandeur and half-finished grit. Polished panels gleam beside exposed conduits, heat raining from mech welders patching bulkheads. Rune-etched sculptures stand half-carved, their edges rough, while conduits run like veins, their charge a static prickle in the air. A Twi'lek Je'daii nods to Revan. A maintenance mech hauls a crate of crystal shards, its servos whining. The ship is alive, evolving, a dreadnought clawing toward completion.
I keep pace with Revan, the caf mug warm in my hand, my boots scuffing the deck.
"This place."
I dodge a flash of sparks.
"Feels like the Citadel mid-rebuild, but with more glowy rocks."
"Kyber."
Revan doesn't break stride.
"It is the heart of the Force. Soon, of this ship as well. You will get used to it."
His tone is matter-of-fact, but the friendship beneath it takes the edge off. We pass a viewport, Lehon's emerald jungles and shattered temples visible below, stars sharp beyond the glass. I think of Miranda, her voice in the dream, accusing, warped. A dull ache, and I shove the memory down. Revan's urgency isn't panic, just eagerness, like a krogan ready for a fight. Whatever this orb is, it matters.
The Sanctum of Anil looms at the corridor's end, a massive arch carved with Je'daii runes, lit by sconces set into the stone. The doors hiss open, revealing a cavernous lab, hub of the Star. Pillars frame holo-displays crawling with Rakatan symbols, conduits snaking across the ceiling. Workstations run, manned by robed Je'daii and mechs, while a central durasteel cradle holds the orb Revan spoke of. A Miraluka woman approaches, her veiled eyes hidden behind a silver visor, her robes flowing with crystal-threaded runes. Her presence is soft but commanding, radiating quiet power.
"My Herald."
She greets Revan, her voice a melody of reverence and steel. The High Sage, no doubt. Ahsoka Tano stands beside her, her montrals angled toward me, hazel eyes alert as she nods to me.
"Shepard."
Ahsoka's voice carries the calm of last night's toast.
"You look like you've been beaten by a rancor."
A faint smile, but her eyes scan me, seeing more than I want them to.
"It's those damn drinks you were making."
I sip my caf, the bitter edge keeping me in the room. The High Sage gestures to the orb's cradle.
"The Vanguard of Balance has worked tirelessly."
Her tone precise.
"After purging the dark-side corruption, we scanned the orb's matrix. It's functional but dormant. We've built this interface to house it for now, but it yields no response from anything we've tried."
I step closer, the orb's cracked surface dull under the chamber's glow, its resonance faint in my bones. The orb flickers, a sudden flare, as if it sees me, knows me. My vision blurs, the world washing out to gray. The Sanctum dissolves, Ahsoka's voice a muffled drone, the High Sage's words drowned in static. Saltwater stings my lungs, the reek of oil flooding my throat, and that voice, alive, ancient, slithers back throughout my skull.
"Don't trust it. It lies. Only conquers."
My chest tightens, the dream's claws sinking deeper, pulling me under. Ahsoka's hand grips my shoulder, her voice hauling me back.
"Shepard, you with us?"
Reality snaps back, the Sanctum's light harsh, the orb dull again, its flicker gone. I blink, sweat beading on my brow, the caf mug trembling in my hand.
"Yeah."
I meet Ahsoka's gaze, then Revan's. The High Sage's visor tilts, curious, but she says nothing.
Shepard grips his trembling caf mug, sweat beading on his brow, eyes locked on the orb's now-dull surface, whatever that flicker was, gone. A cold tremor shudders through the Force, pricking my spine like Malachor's gloom. Something stirs the Force, ancient, hungry, beyond the orb's cracked shell. I step forward, my boots silent on the floor. My fingers twitch as I reach for the cradle. The orb flares, red symbols spiraling across its surface, a holographic matrix blooming like the Temple of the Ancients' core. A wrathful chorus erupts, the voice of the Rakata, eternal and unyielding.
"Deceiver! You've destroyed everything! Traitor, who plundered our Forge, you dare stand before us?"
The High Sage's hands tremble as she scribes the moment, a scientist before history's veil. The interface shudders, its display burning as if summoning its previous home's defenses, a dark-side pulse to rend flesh, but nothing comes. The matrix sputters, red light dimming, the voice faltering.
"What… what is this place?"
Confusion threading its chorus.
"Where have you brought us, betrayer?"
I lower my hands, the Force steadying my voice.
"The Star of Ashla, a Je'daii sanctum orbiting Lehon. Your temple is gone, but we have restored you, seeking answers."
Honesty is my blade, atonement my shield.
"I wronged you, Rakata, plundering the Star Forge to end wars. I seek only balance now, the Gray path to right those sins."
The matrix darkens, scorn rippling through its display.
"Balance? The Gray? Je'daii!?"
Its chorus carries the contempt of a trillion slaves' masters.
"Our Empire crushes the weak, deceiver! Conquest is our blood, our will! Your weakness mocks our Infinite reign!"
The Rakata's arrogance, forged in untold worlds' subjugation, rides every word, unyielding as the plague that broke them. Ahsoka's hand lingers near her saber, her silence heavy. Shepard shifts, caf mug forgotten. The High Sage's stylus pauses, her awe unshaken by the Rakata's wrath. I press forward.
"In the Temple, one of your Elders saw my memories, visions of shattered moons of ice, screeches in the Force that grind the senses. 'The Thalassians,' they muttered, only to break the vision. Who are these 'Thalassians'? Speak of what you know."
The matrix dims, its lines freezing, the chorus silent for a heartbeat.
"Impossible."
A tremor threads its unity.
"They are extinct, dead, never to rise. A lie woven by weaker minds."
Shepard steps forward.
"That sounds like it could be a problem."
The High Sage's visor snaps up, her hands clutching her stylus. Ahsoka's eyes meet mine, questioning, but level.
The matrix brightens again, red light bathing the Sanctum, its voice a wave of memory.
"Invaders. They came at a time early in our empire's growth, cloaked as refugees from beyond our stars. Their power swelled, a tide we could not abide. We, the Rakata, conquerors of all, waged war."
The display shudders, runes giving way to images. Moons wrapped in ice, worlds beneath them burning.
"Their world of claim, Archeon, was arrested by our Tidebreaker's Aegis, a dark-side bastion chaining their portal-gate, severing their traversal of the galaxy. For they stood outside Kra'eth, and our Kra'vath's paths of power were closed to them. We froze their forms in eternal crypts of frost, orbiting graves around the worlds they defiled. Their minions, the Zel'thar, shape-weavers who melted into shadows, fled underground, vermin unworthy of our efforts."
I grip my robes, the Elder's terror sharp in my mind.
"The Thalassians."
The name lands heavier than any warning. Cycles older than the Rakata's empire, what had that elder seen? The vision had fractured, leaving only dread, a darkness I cannot outrun. My atonement, my balance, demands I face it. The computer's display spins, unyielding.
"They are dust, deceiver. Why dredge this ancient nonsense?"
"Where is Archeon?"
My voice holds firm.
"We must know, now."
The supercomputer's projection burns, crimson light bleeding across the Sanctum of Anil, its voice a torrent of scorn.
"You, who betrayed our Elders, dare demand information from us? Your efforts are all for naught, Liar. We'll save you the embarrassment, Archeon lies far in what you call 'Wild Space', its paths of power shattered by our will, a location no ship can chart."
I step closer, drawing the Force steady through me.
"Lehon, the city of Zha-Korran lost to us, buried beneath jungle's choke. Where does it lie? What secrets did your empire shield there?"
My words cut keen, tempered by months of chasing ghosts since the star map's fractured coordinates taunted us. The question isn't a plea, it's a lever, prying at the Rakata's pride. The matrix swells, its lines drawing tight, a serpent ready to strike.
"Zha-Korran!? You dare speak its name, deceiver? A jewel of our dominion, its Causeways of Triumph gleaming beneath our heel, connecting all Rakata Prime's paths, not yours to plunder and defile!"
The voice erupts, a supernova of arrogance, each syllable dripping with the Infinite Empire's faded glory. I feel its wrath break over me, a storm born of conquest, unyielding even in ruin.
Ahsoka breaks the tension, her voice a low thread weaving through the chaos, steady as beskar.
"I saw one of those shape-weavers on Lehon, the Veiled Covenant's leader changing from human to something else before attacking us."
"The Zel'thar!"
The name hisses through its display, a tremor of alien fear.
"They've found it, the backdoor!"
The display erupts, spinning wild before settling into a vision of Lehon pristine. Spires of Dominion stab the sky, Causeways of Triumph's roadways stretch unbroken, Rakatan dominance unquestioned.
"Zha-Korran, the beating heart of our commerce, holds this spark of our empire, a portal network forged in our dominion."
My breath catches, the Force surging like a current crashing against a dam.
"Did this network reach Archeon? The coordinates, give them to us."
Shepard's voice grinds like gravel over steel.
"If this teleporter network's real, it would be a good idea to point us to it. My galaxy's seen invaders worse than your Thalassians. Reapers, Collectors, you name it."
The matrix quivers again, its lines snapping into keener focus.
"Your galaxy? Your blood is tainted by the Force's excommunication, your energy comes from the invaders' source, interloper!"
He doesn't blink, jaw tightening.
"I defeated the Reapers, brought peace to my galaxy. Call me tainted again, and I'll show you what this 'interloper' can do."
The High Sage's hands shake, her stylus scratching faster, awe a quiet fire in her stance, a scholar watching history crack open. The orb dims, its crimson display dying like embers in a fading pyre, suspicion tightening in its silence.
"You, deceiver, who burned our Star Forge to ash, shattered our empire's heart, why should we trust a traitor with Zha-Korran's secrets?"
The chorus thunders, each word a lash for the Infinite Empire's ruin. The Star Forge's collapse was mine, its dark-side hunger extinguished by Republic fire, a legacy I had razed to save the galaxy, but to the Rakata, a betrayal that buried their glory.
I step closer, my voice level and unhurried.
"Your empire crumbled long before my arrival to your temple, undone by plague and pride. The Thalassians do call out, their awakening a threat now at your legacy's throat. Refuse me, and watch your ancient foe rise to dance on your empire's grave."
"You sided with the Elders, weaklings who shunned our conquest, and turned our Forge to ruin! Your Gray is cowardice, a lie to mask your treachery!"
The Sanctum trembles, conduits spitting heat, the Rakata's wrath a storm born out of hundreds of worlds' dominion.
Ahsoka steps forward this time, closing ranks with me instead of watching. Shepard sets the caf mug down, slow and deliberate, a soldier clearing his hands. The High Sage's stylus scratches faster, the scholar rapt as the past speaks aloud. I hold my ground.
"The Veiled Covenant have gone to ground again, and they seek Archeon. Your refusal aids them. Give us Zha-Korran, or your empire's memory dies with the Covenant's disappearance."
"You stole our trust to burn our glory before, why yield our secrets to a serpent?"
I lean in, the Force a whip's crack, a calculated lure.
"A temple on Tython, your chorus eternal when we, the Je'daii, reclaim it. A throne to rival your Star Forge's might. Aid us, stop the Thalassians, the Covenant, and your legacy stays preserved, not laid to ruin but a memorial to your glory."
Ahsoka's eyes narrow, her voice slow and deliberate.
"Tython's no prize for just the Je'daii, Revan. The Jedi scouted it several times before, the ravaging storms found on planet and in its hyperspace lanes broke any of our attempts to resettle it. The Clone Wars taught me ambition like yours can fracture alliances. You don't speak for the Jedi Council when you barter our past."
Her protest bites, a calculated challenge to my play. Her loyalty is a wall, unyielding yet tempered, no threats, only truth. I meet her gaze, the Force alive with intent.
"The Jedi only search for myth, Ahsoka, but balance demands Tython's truth. The Council falters, blind to the Force's coming surge, but you see it. Trust me, and they will follow your lead."
The matrix floods red, its display bleeding scorn.
"Your Gray is a lie, deceiver! Conquest forges empires, not your weak harmony! You burned our Forge, left Lehon's heart in ashes, your promises are vapor!"
The chorus thunders, a wave of conquest unbowed by the plague that shattered their empire. I press unyielding, the Elder's dread pressing at my skull.
"The Thalassians are very real, and they are waking. Zha-Korran's location now, or this time I make sure your empire's legacy is lost to the archives of history."
The orb dims, its projection trembling, chorus wary, pride warring with survival.
"Fine. Your terms, deceiver, but glory binds us."
For a breath, nobody moves. Even the conduits seem to quiet.
It yields, the display locking into place, coordinates streaming, Causeways of Triumph, jungle-choked, threading to the ancient city, a portal network buried and waiting beneath Lehon. The High Sage steps forward, her voice firm with fire.
"I'll transmit this to the Nexus at once, Herald."
Her fingers dance over the console.
I activate my comms, the Sanctum's hush tight against my ribs.
"Dren'var, the Nexus has the coordinates of where we are going next. Adjust orbit above Zha-Korran, redirect excavation teams' efforts. No delays."
"Confirmed, my Herald. Orbit shifting, teams mobilizing."
I face Ahsoka, her montrals rigid, eyes hard with challenge.
"Ahsoka, your Council is waiting, this discovery changes everything. You disapprove. Say it plainly."
Her lips tighten.
"Plainly? You drop 'reclaim Tython for the Je'daii' like it's nothing, Revan, and expect me to blindly sell the idea to my Order? I've seen ambition like yours fracture orders. The Council deserves a say in a proposal like this, not your assumptions."
Shepard steps in, boots scuffing the floor.
"Hey, ease up. If I can talk down krogan warlords, this council should be a breeze. Let me go back with you to see Rey and Ezra, Ahsoka. Keep this from blowing up."
His pragmatism punctures the dogma in the room. I tilt my head, a spark of amusement slipping into my voice.
"Careful, Shepard, you are a breath from reciting Je'daii vows as my Voice."
His low laugh is a flicker of his old fire, but his stance screams he'd never bend to anyone's doctrine, his own commander, always.
Ahsoka's gaze lingers, doubt a storm behind her eyes.
"We'll talk, Revan. But Tython isn't yours to promise. Expect to hear from us."
She turns, steps clipped, heading to her Jedi peers, her envoy's burden hers to carry. Shepard follows.
Shepard falls in beside me, and something rides along with him, not the Force, a frequency my lekku catch but cannot resolve.
"You make fashionable exits like that often?"
Shepard's voice rough as gravel, last night's whiskey still clinging to his breath. I tilt my head, a ghost of a smile pulling at my lips.
"Only when someone's dreaming bigger than a Hutt's ego."
My tone is dry, but his low laugh, a rumble like a ship's engine warming, loosens something in my shoulders. He moves with a warrior's ease, eyes scanning the corridor's chaos the way a commander scans a battlefield. Professional. Instinctive. But that strange frequency shudders again, unsteady, carrying something heavier than his gear.
We reach a turbolift. The doors scrape open and the corridor's clamor muffles as we step inside. The air hangs stale with burnt circuits, like the bolt-holes I crouched in after Order 66. The memory brushes past, a flinch more than a wound, and I let it go.
The doors close. In the quiet, Shepard's energy is louder. That frequency I keep catching quickens now, a rhythm that does not match the ship's systems, does not match anything in my decades of reading Force signatures. It carries an undertow that tastes of deep water and distances I cannot name.
I lean against the wall, voice low. Not pushing. Giving him room.
"Back in the Sanctum, when the orb flickered. What's haunting you, Shepard?"
He smirks, armor shifting as he crosses his arms.
"Rough night, Tano. That's all."
The lift jolts, doors peeling back to a corridor of Zakuulan chandeliers, their crystal prisms scattering light across the walls. Ezra's laugh reaches me first, sharp and skeptical. Then Rey's voice, calm.
Shepard nudges me, his grin all soldier's grit.
"Go get 'em, Tano. You're scarier than my old CO."
Rey stands by the holotable, cream robes immaculate, hazel eyes warm but guarded. A diplomat's stillness. Ezra lounges against a pillar, slate-blue robes creased, tossing a crystal shard between his hands with the restless energy he has never learned to shed. Kesh lies at his feet, amber eyes catching my approach, a low rumble in her throat as she reads my tension before anyone else in the room does. Huyang stands rigid near the far wall, silver chassis catching the prism-light, his amber optics narrowing as they note Shepard behind me.
"Ahsoka."
Rey steps forward.
"You rushed out this morning like the Force itself was chasing you. Care to share?"
I take a breath, thumbs brushing my sabers' hilts. I have done this before. Delivered intelligence that changed the shape of a war. The trick is not in the information. It is in how the people in the room absorb it.
"The ancient city we've been hunting has been hiding a Rakatan teleport network to the planet Archeon all along."
The room stills. The holotable's glow flickers as if the Force itself holds its breath. Rey's brow furrows, her calm fraying at the edges. Ezra's smirk dies. The crystal shard clatters to the floor and nobody picks it up. Kesh rises, her growl a low thunder, amber eyes locked on me as my words reach her through the Force.
"Archeon?"
Huyang's voice is dry, his optics steady.
"The Rakata's dominion was vast, but such a world is myth, most likely lost to their hubris."
I shake my head.
"Not myth. Archeon was the Thalassians' world. Invaders the Rakata froze inside the ice moons that are breaking apart now."
Ezra leans forward, the restless energy burned away, eyes narrowing.
"Hold up. The Rakata? As in, long-dead, fossilized warlords? How do we even know this? Don't tell me Revan revived that thing we brought back from the surface."
His hand brushes Kesh's flank.
"We barely made it out of that temple to begin with."
"He brought their supercomputer back to life using the orb. It is how we got this intel, yes."
Rey's hand grips the table's edge.
"Revan resurrected a Rakata supercomputer!? Ahsoka, that's beyond reckless. It's incredibly dangerous."
Huyang tilts his head, optics fixed on me.
"They would want something in return. What price did Revan pay for this knowledge?"
The question lands where it should. I feel it in the room's oppression.
"He vowed to house the supercomputer's core in a shrine on Tython. A digital beacon for their legacy."
Ezra's jaw drops. Rey's eyes widen, her breath catching. Kesh rises to her full height, her growl a low, sustained warning, hackles rising at the word Tython. The tension holds every face like a freeze-frame. Shepard shifts.
"What's so special about this Tython place?"
Huyang steps forward, voice carrying millennia of context.
"Tython is no mere planet, Commander. It was the cradle of the Je'daii, the ancient order that birthed the Jedi, balancing light and dark before the Sith's pall fell. This very dreadnought, the Star of Ashla, bears the name of Tython's light-side moon, Ashla, as Bogan embodies its dark."
He turns to Ezra, optics narrowing.
"Master Bridger, perhaps if you'd attended my history lessons you'd recall this."
Ezra snorts, but his eyes stay hard.
"Yeah, yeah, I know the holocron stories, Huyang. But why Tython? It's a nightmare to get to, barely livable."
"Revan intends to reclaim it. For the Je'daii."
I let the answer fall like a stone into still water. Ezra barks a laugh, the sound cracked at the edges.
"Reclaim it for the Je'daii? Guess he's tired of roasting in Mustafar's lava pit. Guy certainly knows how to choose the best spot to build a statement."
"Absolutely not. Ezra's right, Tython's hyperspace lanes are a death trap. Nihil storms have made them unstable for years. Even if it were habitable, the Council must have a say in this, not Revan's unilateral claim like he's some conqueror."
Rey holds firm, her Council authority filling the room. She reaches for the holotable's comms, her fingers hovering over the call button.
I catch her wrist. Gentle. Firm. Not hostility. Strategy.
I have watched brilliance curdle into catastrophe before. I know what it looks like from the inside. And I know that news this volatile gets delivered face to face, not over comms where signals can be intercepted and context flattened.
"Rey. You and Ezra need to take this to Ossus. Tell the Council in person. And take the padawans, Tayra included."
Rey's eyes search mine. The Force between us carries everything I am asking. Leave me here. On Revan's ship. With the supercomputer and the Thalassian threat and Zha-Korran's buried network. Trust me to hold the line while you carry the word home.
"If you believe this is the path the Force has laid out."
Her voice softens, diplomat's calm returning. She pauses, turning to Shepard, a cheeky smile breaking through the gravity.
"Try not to break anything, Commander."
Shepard's lips quirk, a soldier's grin.
"No promises, but I'll keep the damage to a minimum."
Ezra steps forward. The wit is gone from his face. What replaces it is something rawer, the loyalty of a man who has lost too many people by walking away from them.
"Ahsoka, I'm not leaving. Kesh and I are in this. Let me see this through."
His hand tightens on Kesh's fur. The wolf presses against his leg, eyes calm, and for a moment I see the bond between them as clearly as I have ever seen any connection in the Force. Ezra is not being stubborn. He is being loyal. And loyalty, in my experience, is the most dangerous virtue a Jedi can carry.
Rey turns. Her authority stops his protest cold, but her voice carries no cruelty. Only clarity.
"No, Ezra. You'll report to the Council in person with me. You went into that temple and helped Revan bring back that orb. The others will want a firsthand account. Prep the padawans within the hour. Force be with you, Ahsoka."
Her tone brooks no argument. Her gaze softens as she nods to me, a farewell that holds everything unsaid between two women who have led this Order through fire and found it still standing.
Ezra mutters as he follows.
"Fine, but Kesh better get a say next time."
Huyang turns to follow, but I stop him with a glance.
"Not you, old friend. If we're bound for a Rakatan city, I want the galaxy's oldest archivist with us, not halfway to Ossus. Pull everything you have on the Infinite Empire and meet us at the hangar."
His optics flicker, something almost like pride in their glow before he pivots toward the archives. The doors hiss shut behind them, and the room's prism-light falls on empty chairs and a holotable still burning with crimson coordinates. Shepard leans against the holotable, his arms crossed, that strange energy of his quieter now but present, a frequency I am learning to read even if I cannot name it. The light catches the lines on his face, the scars he wears like medals he never asked for.
"Well."
A faint grin breaks through.
"Glad I was here to keep you Jedi from starting a war over some sacred rock."