Frigid rain pelted Andrej’s face as he knelt by the exposed engine manifold of his starfighter. Slick mud clung to his brown Padawan tunic, plastering the wet fabric to his shivering frame. This desolate forest outpost on the outer-rim world of Ruusan was supposed to be a safe haven for quick repairs after his harrowing escape from Hoth. Instead, the wilderness felt suffocatingly quiet, broken only by the steady drip of water from towering, ancient pines. A sudden, high-pitched whistle sliced through the damp air, instantly shattering the silence. Instinct screamed a warning a millisecond before a crimson blaster bolt exploded against the hull of his starfighter. Sparks showered over his face, stinging his skin as he dove behind a moss-covered boulder. Drawing his lightsaber, Andrej felt his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. “Don’t move, Jedi!” a synthesized voice boomed from the thick tree line. An armored figure stepped into the small clearing, clad in scratched, mismatched durasteel plates. Red light glinted menacingly off his visor, and his heavy blaster rifle remained locked directly on Andrej's hiding spot. He was a bounty hunter, hungry for a reputation, desperate to make a name for himself in a galaxy ruled by syndicates. “You’re just a boy,” the hunter sneered, his voice dripping with arrogant confidence. “Guild masters will sing my name when I bring in your lightsaber. I will finally be someone in this galaxy.” “I don’t want to fight you,” Andrej called out, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to project Jedi composure. Laughter, harsh and mechanical, was his only reply. Another volley of plasma bolts rained down, chewing through the ancient stone of his cover. Standing tall, Andrej ignited his lightsaber. A brilliant blue blade hissed into existence, boiling the falling rain into thick puffs of white steam. Jaxen Kel—the name etched onto the hunter's shoulder guard—fired a rapid stream of shots. Blue plasma met red energy in a flurry of crackling sparks as Andrej deflected each bolt into the wet earth. Fear threatened to paralyze the young Padawan, but his training took over, forcing his limbs to move in a defensive spiral. Jaxen launched a miniature wrist-rocket, aiming directly at Andrej's feet. Screaming through the damp air, the projectile forced Andrej to leap high into the canopy. He flipped mid-air, landing gracefully on a thick branch before launching himself back down toward his attacker. His blue blade sheared cleanly through the heavy blaster rifle, cutting the weapon in half. Terrified by the sudden display of raw power, Jaxen stumbled backward into the mud, clutching his empty hands. Andrej held the humming blade inches from the hunter's throat, his chest heaving under the weight of his own adrenaline. The hunter was entirely at his mercy, wide open for a final, decisive strike. But the familiar, crushing dread seized Andrej's heart. He stared at the defenseless man and saw only the potential for ruin, the terrifying consequence of his own strength. His hand trembled, his lightsaber wavering. “Yield,” Andrej whispered, his eyes wide with a sudden, sickening dread of how close he had come to taking a life. Sensing the boy's hesitation, Jaxen reached quickly for a cylinder on his utility belt. A blinding flash-bang grenade detonated between them, filling the clearing with a deafening roar. White light scorched Andrej’s vision, and a high-pitched ringing drowned out the sound of the rain. Stumbling backward, he rubbed his eyes frantically, but the hunter had already slipped into the shadows of the forest. Heavy footsteps crunched through the wet undergrowth in the distance. Chasing the sound, Andrej sprinted through the dense woods, branches clawing at his face and tearing his wet tunic. He ignored the burning in his lungs, driven by the desperate need to contain the threat he had failed to neutralize. Ahead, a rusty, low-slung freighter sat in a small clearing, its sublight engines roaring to life with a deafening whine. Jaxen scrambled up the lowering boarding ramp, throwing a desperate, fearful look backward. “Next time, Jedi!” the hunter yelled as the heavy metal door sealed shut. Running with all his might, Andrej reached the clearing just as the ship lifted off, kicking up a hurricane of dead leaves and dirt. Determined not to let the dangerous threat escape, Andrej sprinted back to his own fighter, his fingers flying over the cockpit controls. His starfighter roared into life, tearing into the gray sky in pursuit. Clouds whipped past his canopy as he broke through the atmosphere into the cold, silent expanse of space. Ahead, the bounty hunter's freighter was a small, desperate speck running for the safety of the stars. Andrej pushed his engines to the absolute limit, the G-force pressing him hard into his seat. Laser fire erupted from his ship's cannons, clipping the freighter's rear shields in a burst of energy. Sparks erupted from the enemy ship, but the hunter was already initiating his jump sequence. A sudden flash of blue light signaled the freighter's escape. It stretched into a line of white light and vanished into the hyperspace lanes. Silence filled the small cockpit, save for the hum of the life support systems. Sinking back into his seat, Andrej looked down at his lap, where the mysterious triangular holocron sat, cold and silent. --- Hours of hyperdrive travel did nothing to quiet Andrej's racing thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Darth Maul's crimson face, and then the terrified eyes of the bounty hunter. Both encounters had left him feeling hollow, a failure of a Jedi who could neither defeat a Sith nor capture a common criminal. Coruscant's endless city lights finally gleamed outside his viewport, a sprawling sea of artificial fire. Stepping out of his starfighter in the Jedi Temple hangar, Andrej felt the heavy, sterile air of the capital. His boots clicked softly against the polished marble floor of the grand corridors as he made his way to the spires. Every Jedi Knight and Padawan he passed seemed to glance at him with curiosity, or perhaps it was just his own guilt projecting. Inside his leather satchel, the dark holocron felt impossibly heavy, pulsing with an imperceptible vibration. He reached the high tower of the Jedi Council, where the great doors slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss. Great arched windows offered a panoramic view of the shifting traffic lanes of the Republic's capital. Sitting in their semi-circular arrangement of chairs, the Council Masters watched him enter in silence. Obi-Wan Kenobi offered a small, reassuring nod, though his brow was deeply furrowed with concern. Anakin Skywalker stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his blue eyes intense and searching. Mace Windu sat perfectly still, his face an unreadable mask of solemn authority. Yoda, resting his chin on his gnarled wooden staff, watched Andrej with large, ancient eyes. Kneeling in the center of the chamber, Andrej bowed his head, trying to find his center in the Force. “Master Yoda, Masters,” Andrej began, his voice barely a whisper in the vast, quiet room. “Returned from Hoth, you have,” Yoda observed gently, though his eyes remained sharp. Standing up, Andrej reached into his satchel and pulled out the dark, triangular artifact. He placed it gently on the central pedestal, where it sat like a dark stain on the clean stone. “I found this in an ice cavern,” Andrej explained, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured to the strange symbols. “A vision... a presence of the dark side was there, and it spoke to me of balance, yet felt so wrong.” Anakin took a step closer, his eyes locking onto the holocron with a sudden, intense curiosity. “It looks ancient,” Anakin muttered, his voice low. “Definitely Sith design, but the geometry is unusual.” Obi-Wan leaned forward, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin. “How did you manage to retrieve this, Andrej? The dark side does not surrender its secrets easily.” “It was... left for me,” Andrej admitted, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “A test. I failed to defeat the presence, but it spared me and left this.” Yoda closed his eyes, his breathing shallow as he reached out with his mind to probe the air. Suddenly, the temperature in the chamber plummeted, a physical chill settling over the room. Shadows seemed to stretch slightly longer across the floor, though the external sun had not moved. Yoda flinched, his long ears drooping as he let out a sharp, ragged breath. “Sense it, do you?” Yoda whispered, his voice trembling with an uncharacteristic frailty. “A faint residue. An ancient, oily grip of the dark side. Clinging to you, it is.” Obi-Wan's expression shifted from concern to a sharp, guarded caution, his body tensing. Anakin stepped back, his hand instinctively drifting closer to his own lightsaber hilt. “A contamination, this is,” Yoda continued, his large eyes opening to stare directly into Andrej's soul. “Fear I do, that the dark side has touched your spirit, Padawan.” Isolation washed over Andrej like an icy wave, leaving him numb. Looking from one Master to another, he saw only wary suspicion and cold distance in their eyes. Even Anakin, who usually understood the struggle with inner conflict, looked at him with a calculating gaze. Nobody stepped forward to comfort him or offer a word of guidance. They saw him not as a victim of a trap, but as a potential threat—a vessel carrying a dangerous infection. Tears pricked his eyes, but he forced them back, swallowing the bitter lump of betrayal in his throat. Master Windu stood up from his seat, his dark robes flowing around him like a heavy storm cloud. Walking slowly toward the pedestal, Windu kept his eyes fixed entirely on the shivering young boy. Master Windu, his gaze unyielding, declares, "This artifact, Padawan, speaks of a darkness not seen in a thousand generations. Its reemergence... it is an inciting incident that threatens to unravel the very fabric of our order."

Chapter 3: Council's Cold Gaze