Star Wars: From the Clone Wars to Starfaring Heroes

Chapter 182-184 - Coruscant! The Jedi Temple!

Coruscant, the Coruscant Galaxy.

The Colosa Sector.

The faint light of dawn struggled to pierce the thick haze that shrouded Coruscant, announcing the start of yet another cold day.

The once bustling and radiant heart of the Republic is now struggling to breathe under the shadow of war.

There was a time when people believed that even after experiencing the most devastating conflict in the Milky Way in a millennium, Coruscant's fiery spirit would never cease, and would forever move forward.

But reality proved them wrong.

For the first time in millennia, the planet's steady pulse has weakened and wavered.

Coruscant is heading towards decline.

A month has passed since the devastating storm from Frost struck Coruscant, and the world remains scarred and far from recovered.

The light from Coruscant's main star was already faint, and in the hazy sky, it was nothing more than a pale white dot, not even as bright as a dim street lamp on a rainy night.

The reason lies in the orbital reflector arrays surrounding the planet, which once collected, reflected, and amplified the faint light of the star, spreading it evenly across the planet's surface.

It has now completely disappeared.

They disintegrated into countless fragments, forming a shimmering, crystalline dust cloud in the upper atmosphere.

These fragments capture the last vestiges of sunlight, twisting and refracting them into brief, eerie auroras, burning up layer by layer as they fall into the denser atmosphere, like a planet's final, dying glow.

A huge shadow slowly moved over Paris's head, instantly swallowing the already dim "daylight" of the Senate District and dragging it into the cold "night".

Below, countless industrial eco-cities on the planet's surface continue to spew billowing smoke and ash, producing day and night the building materials needed to repair the wounds of "Galaxy City".

The attackers' bombing primarily targeted key military facilities such as the Coruscant Flight Academy, the Clone Recruit Camp, and the Military Operations Center.

However, when these targets are built on ancient underground infrastructure that has been accumulated over tens of thousands of years and layered upon layer, the resulting collateral damage and systemic collapse are far more severe than anyone anticipated.

Rebuilding the shipyard requires a massive amount of durable steel.

Repairing and building the eco-city structure requires astronomical amounts of Durasteel.

Countless I-beams are needed to support the precarious skyscraper.

Repairing the facades of those once-shining skyscrapers, now riddled with cracks, requires countless pieces of transparent steel and crystal.

The demand for resources to restore Coruscant to its former glory is a bottomless pit.

Even if it means squeezing the last bit of light and heat from this dying star.

Paris let out a soft breath.

A wisp of white mist escaped from her lips, instantly dissipating into the cold air.

Coruscant has no distinct seasons.

A sophisticated array of orbital reflectors and a climate control system ensure that the world remains in a constant, suitable temperature and climate throughout the year.

But now, they've all disappeared.

Thus, winter, a concept that should not exist, descended upon this world that had lost its shelter.

The sadness that permeated the air was so heavy it was almost suffocating.

People living in the bright and shiny areas of the planet's surface may forget for a while, but beneath the ground where they walk and talk lies a vast underground world thousands of layers deep, formed by hundreds of thousands of years of civilization.

Billions, even trillions, of forgotten souls live there.

The persistent power shortage and mandatory rolling blackouts have already impacted the most bustling surface cities. So what about those living underground, where there is no sunlight, no heating, no lighting, and even basic life support systems may be paralyzed?

What awaits them is likely only suffocation or freezing to death, and death may well be a relief.

Sadness is everywhere.

It was like the biting cold, clinging tightly to everyone.

It spews from the towering chimneys of the industrial area, seeps silently from the cracks in the broken tiles of the sidewalks, and roars out from the huge freight tunnels that connect to the underground world, as if silently protesting against injustice.

It exists in Atlaken, in Kolumex, and in Coruscant, the core of the Galactic Republic.

This is war.

It brings endless sorrow to all the worlds involved, without ceasing.

Choosing to fight for either side is essentially treating sorrow as currency and the entire galaxy as a cold, hard marketplace.

Paris exhaled again.

She subconsciously raised her hand, trying to catch the wisp of white mist rising from her lips.

However, the cold mist only gently slipped through her fingers and dissipated into the cold and despairing air of Coruscant.

The sorrow was so heavy it was suffocating; it screamed silently, but everyone pretended not to hear it.

People are more likely to curse the faint, flickering candlelight, but deliberately ignore those who are in the midst of boundless darkness.

Paris stood alone in the center of the training field, her feet on ornate tiles, surrounded by withered gray-gold leaves.

That ancient tree once brought peace to all those who made the Jedi Temple their home, but to Baris, it only seemed sad and lonely.

Today, like Coruscant and the Jedi Order, it is gradually declining.

“Barbie,” a familiar voice snapped her out of her turmoil, “How long have you been standing here?”

“Master Luminara,” a warm feeling of relief welled up in Baris’s heart, “I am so relieved to see that you are safe and sound.”

“Me too, Paris,” Luminara replied.

Silence filled the space between the two.

A full year had passed since Paris last saw her master. A thousand words were stuck in her throat, but she couldn't utter a single one.

“…I’m so sorry,” Master Luminara finally said sincerely, the cold wind biting, but neither of them seemed to notice. “I know you feel that I have let you down, and saying more now may not help, and our relationship may never be the same again…but you should know that I have never been as proud of you as I am now.”

“I have always kept your teachings in mind, Master,” Paris felt her eyes welling up, but the tears stubbornly refused to fall, which was perhaps a good thing. “For this, I am grateful.”

“No…” the Jedi Master whispered, “Thank you, Force. Welcome home.”

Paris lowered her head. "Master, I beg... to accept your guidance again."

When she looked up, she saw that her master had a smile on his face, a smile that was a mixture of pride and deep sorrow.

"The Elders would like to speak with you, Paris."

This is neither an agreement nor a refusal.

Stepping back into the familiar embrace of the Jedi Temple, a strong sense of unfamiliarity washed over Barlis once more. The temple she returned to was exactly the same as when she left.

The once bustling hall is now empty, with only a few remaining Jedi like ancient shadows, silently moving between corridors and rooms, immersed in their own worlds.

"This temple..."

“As time went on, fewer and fewer people remained in the Temple,” Master Luminara said, tucking his arms into the sleeves of his robe. “Despite our best efforts to avoid getting involved in the war, it dragged us back. With each defeat, the Strategic Command demanded more Jedi Generals to fill the vacancies, and with each victory, they demanded more generals to consolidate the gains. Given our increasingly damaged reputation, we could not refuse. And the rest of us were busy assisting with relief efforts throughout Coruscant, including dealing with the evacuation crises at the North and South Poles… and that’s how you see it.”

"So what does the Elders want from me?"

Master Luminara raised his head, his gaze falling on the dancing murals on the ceiling.

Paris noticed the crisscrossing diamond-shaped tattoos on her master's chin.

In the culture of the Miri'alan people, every tattoo represents a significant achievement.

“I haven’t touched a tattoo needle in a long time, but you… have won a new tattoo.” Master Luminara once again evaded her question, but gave an answer more clearly than ever before.

Paris was unsure if she deserved the tattoo, or even if she was ready for what was to come.

The ascent of the turbine elevator is a long and arduous process.

With each slight jolt of the elevator car, the screams that lingered in her ears seemed to gradually subside.

As the master and apprentice stood in the center of the High Council Hall, surrounded by the elite of the Jedi Masters, their status even surpassed the towering skyline of Coruscant…

It was as if the whole world was enveloped by something profound, elusive, yet omnipresent, like suddenly sinking into the boundless deep sea, the cold, salty water clinging tightly to the skin.

Is this... this the "peace" and "tranquility" taught by the Jedi Creed?

Has it always been like this?
She blinked and looked around.

The towering Anakin Skywalker came into view, clearly having just experienced a heated discussion with the Elders.

Next came the members of the Elders' Council.

Of the twelve masters who emerged at the beginning of the war, only nine remain today.

Paris witnessed the death of one of them.

Master Opl Lancisis's position has now been taken over by Master Stace Ellie.

She is the second Tros person in the Elder Council after Master Adi Gallia.

Like Master Gallia, Master Ellie is not known for her exceptional combat skills, but rather for her political and diplomatic talents, which makes her seem more suited to the Senate building than the front lines.

“At your request, I have brought my apprentice, Master Yoda.” Master Luminara bowed and then stepped back.

“Thank you, Master Luminara,” the Jedi Master waved his cane. “Also, we have heard your point of view, Skywalker.”

Anakin stepped back, his brow furrowed as he turned, but when he saw Baris, his lips twitched slightly, and he nodded gently.

“We have already exempted ourselves from the traditional trials,” Master Gallia leaned back in his chair. “We need more knights. What’s different this time?”

“We have never promoted an apprentice to knight so hastily after he has just returned from serving the enemy,” Master Mace Windu countered, confirming Barris’s suspicions. “The risks involved are…”

“Master Windu, I hope you will not question her loyalty in front of my apprentice,” Master Luminara interrupted him calmly and firmly. “We have sought guidance from the Force through meditation on this matter, and the answer is clear and unambiguous. Any further obstruction can only be considered deliberate obstruction.”

“I tend to agree,” Master Obi-Wan Kenobi said with a wry smile, “but to be honest, it would be hypocritical of me to disagree, just think of my own apprenticeship when I was promoted to knight.”

"Didn't this young apprentice pass the test of skill when she fought and survived the Dark Assassin Asagi Ventress?" Master Kit Fistor asked with a smile. "Didn't she pass the test of courage when she fought for the greater good of the Republic, knowing she might lose her life?"

“When she was separated from her master and struggled to return, she passed the physical trial by always upholding the light, despite the hardships she endured,” Master Shakti said thoughtfully.

“We believe that the entire ordeal this young apprentice went through was a test of her spirit,” Prokhor’s hoarse voice rang out. “She confronted her inner self, asked questions, and found the answers. Young apprentice, do you feel your resolve has strengthened?”

“Yes,” Paris replied.

"So, what is your answer?"

Barris's gaze swept over each Jedi Master in the Elder Council, looking them directly in the eye.

She could feel the steady support of Master Luminara and the confidence conveyed by Master Skywalker.

Drawing strength from them, she mustered the courage to speak her answer.

"The Jedi Order has failed."

“No, I think we can all agree on this point,” Master Gallia quickly raised a hand, leaned forward slightly, and asked with interest, “Tell us, Paris, how you came to this conclusion.”

"The only 'achievement' of the Jedi Order's involvement and involvement in this war is to fuel the spread of killing and suffering." Barris clenched her fist.

"Are you saying we should let the Sith of Dooku wage this war against the Republic without any hindrance?" Master Windu questioned.

“We can’t do anything about Dooku himself,” Barris continued through gritted teeth. “Dooku is still sitting comfortably in his palace in Sereno. Do you think he cares how many separatists we’ve killed? Do you think he cares how many worlds have been razed to the ground and reduced to ashes? All we’ve done is push more people to his side. Our mistake was fighting for the Republic when we should have been fighting to end the war.”

"Just like you did?" Master Evan Peele raised a scarred eyebrow. "When you decided to serve the Separatists?"

“Republic! Separatists!” Barris said. “I’ve divided myself into these camps too. When I realized the only way to survive was to join the enemy, I hated myself. And when I found that I still longed to live even so, I felt even more guilty. But what does it matter? Loyalists! Separatists! They’re all human! I’m on a separatist frigate, but do you think I’d regret stopping a Jedi Master from slaughtering thousands of refugees?”

A strong fluctuation emanated from the Force.

The name Pom Krell represents hatred to all of them, and whatever the reasons for his fall, he caused more harm to the Jedi Order than anyone else.

“The only way to survive is to join the enemy,” Master Stacey Elie repeated. “Was it Dooku who lured you to his side in exchange for your life?”

“Ventress tried to persuade me, and when I refused, she didn’t kill me.”

“She didn’t?” Obi-Wan stroked his beard. “That…is quite interesting.”

“She said we are the same,” Barris said softly. “She said we were both abandoned by the Jedi Order.”

……

As they left the Presbyterian hall, the deafening roar in her ears grew even stronger.

Neither of the two Jedi beside her showed any sign that they had also noticed the sound.

The members of the Elders Council did not either.

She observed them closely; their faces and expressions were imprinted with the Force.

She desperately wanted confirmation that she wasn't the only one who heard the voice.

Can't they hear me?
The idea terrified her more than she was willing to admit.

This could only mean that the Jedi Order had fallen into deeper depravity than she imagined, and that she was more isolated and helpless than she realized.

Paris sighed silently.

Why can't you hear that scream?

(End of this chapter)