Kalden rushed through the corridors of the "Enlightened Justice," his body moving on instinct as his mind raced elsewhere. Loose wiring sparked overhead, and the deck plates beneath his feet groaned with each new hit from the Imperial warship. The collision course was set. There was no turning back now.

  Crewmembers scrambled past him, some wounded, all afraid. Kalden felt each one of them in the Force – bright flames of life, each unique, each precious. How many would survive what was to come? How many deaths would be on his conscience before this day was done?

  A particularly violent explosion somewhere aft sent him crashing into a bulkhead. His head struck metal, and suddenly he wasn't on the ship anymore.

  He was standing in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, sunlight streaming through the grand windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The Council Chamber. Five years before Order 66.

  "Your commitment to protecting others is admirable, Knight Nyros," Master Windu's stern voice echoed in the circular chamber. "But your methods continue to concern us."

  Kalden stood in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, facing the assembled Masters. He was younger then, his face unmarked by the scars of war and betrayal that would come later. His brown Jedi robes were immaculate, his lightsaber hanging at his side – a symbol of a more civilized age.

  "With respect, Masters," Kalden replied, keeping his voice measured despite his frustration, "I accomplished the mission. The ambassador and his family survived the assassination attempt."

  "At what cost?" Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward. "You formed an unusually strong Force bond with the ambassador's young daughter to shield her mind from trauma. Such attachments are forbidden, as you well know."

  Kalden's jaw tightened. "It was temporary, Master. A necessary measure to protect an innocent."

  "A dangerous path, this is," Master Yoda's eyes narrowed as he studied Kalden. "Too easily, protection becomes attachment. Attachment leads to fear of loss. Know this path well, you should."

  Obi-Wan Kenobi's voice was gentler than the others. "Your ability to form these protective bonds through the Force is remarkable, Kalden. But power without discipline invites darkness. The very thing you seek to protect others from may take root within you."

  Kalden lowered his gaze, struggling to contain his disagreement. The Code had always felt too rigid to him in this regard. How could protecting others – the very essence of being a Jedi – lead to the dark side?

  "I understand, Masters," he said finally. "I will be more mindful in the future."

  "See that you are," Master Windu concluded. "You're dismissed."

  As Kalden bowed and turned to leave, Master Yoda's voice halted him at the threshold.

  "Knight Nyros. A question, if I may."

  Kalden turned. "Yes, Master Yoda?"

  "If choose you must, between the Code and those you protect, which would you sacrifice?"

  The question hung in the air between them. Kalden knew the answer expected of him – the Code was everything, the foundation upon which the Jedi Order stood. Yet something inside him rebelled against the simplicity of that answer.

  "I hope I never face such a choice, Master," he replied carefully.

  Yoda's ears drooped slightly. "Hmm. Already answered, you have."

  A sharp pain in his side snapped Kalden back to the present. A support beam had collapsed, pinning a young technician beneath it. The man's face was contorted in agony as he tried to free himself.

  Without hesitation, Kalden reached out through the Force, lifting the massive beam as though it weighed nothing. The technician scrambled free, clutching his injured leg.

  "Thank you, Commander," he gasped, his face pale from shock and pain.

  Kalden nodded, helping the man to his feet. "Get to shuttlebay three. Now."

  "But my station—"

  "That's an order," Kalden cut him off, his voice firm but not unkind. "Tell them Kalden Nyros sent you."

  As the technician limped away, another memory surfaced, unbidden.

  The battlefield on Felucia. Clone troopers in formation around him, the air thick with spores and the acrid smell of blaster fire. The advance had been halted by Separatist fortifications – droid emplacements cutting down anyone who ventured into the clearing.

  "We're pinned down, General," Commander Grip reported, ducking as energy bolts sizzled overhead. "We've lost two squads already trying to reach those gun emplacements."

  Kalden surveyed the field, stretching out with his senses. Thirty-seven clones with him in this ravine. Each one distinct in the Force despite their identical appearances. Each one trusting him to make the right call.

  "I'll go," he said simply, unclipping his lightsaber.

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  "Alone, sir?" Grip's voice betrayed his alarm. "That's suicide."

  Kalden smiled grimly. "Not today, Commander."

  Before anyone could object further, he leapt from cover, his blue blade igniting mid-air. Blaster fire immediately converged on his position, but Kalden was already moving, his lightsaber a blur of motion, deflecting bolts back toward their sources.

  He reached out through the Force, connecting to each clone in his battalion, sharing his awareness with them, guiding their movements. It was a skill few Jedi possessed – battle meditation taken to its extreme. Not just inspiration or coordination, but a true linking of minds in combat.

  As he advanced across the clearing, he felt the clones rise up behind him, their movements perfectly synchronized with his own. Where normally they would have been cut down in the open, now they moved as if they could see the blaster bolts before they were fired, taking cover at precisely the right moments.

  Kalden's lightsaber carved through the first droid emplacement, his body flowing from one form to the next as Master Drallig had taught him. Behind him, his men executed their assault with uncanny precision, covering each other, eliminating threats before they fully materialized.

  When it was over, the clearing was secured. Not a single clone lost.

  "How do you do that, sir?" Grip asked later, as they prepared to move out.

  "Do what, Commander?"

  "Make us... better. It's like we're all connected somehow. Like we can feel what you're going to do before you do it."

  Kalden hesitated. "The Force works in mysterious ways, Commander."

  "Well, whatever it is," Grip said, replacing his helmet, "the men are grateful. They'd follow you anywhere."

  "Let's hope it never comes to that," Kalden replied softly.

  Another blast shook the ship, more violent than the last. Emergency lighting flickered, plunging the corridor into momentary darkness before sputtering back to life. Kalden steadied himself against the wall, reality crashing back around him.

  Those clones who would have "followed him anywhere" had ultimately been the ones to hunt him down. Order 66 had turned his loyal troops into executioners in an instant. All except Grip, who had hesitated just long enough for Kalden to escape. That hesitation had cost the commander his life when the other clones realized he wasn't following orders.

  One more death on Kalden's conscience.

  The ship's intercom crackled with static before the strained voice of the first officer came through: "All hands, prepare for impact in fifteen minutes. This is not a drill. All non-essential personnel proceed to emergency stations."

  Fifteen minutes. Kalden quickened his pace, heading for his quarters. There was something he needed before the end.

  The corridor ahead was blocked by a collapsed ceiling panel. Kalden ignited his lightsaber, the green blade illuminating the smoke-filled passage as he cut a path through the debris. The weapon felt heavy in his hand – a relic of a different life, a different man.

  In the crystal caves of Ilum, a much younger Kalden knelt in meditation, surrounded by glittering formations that sang with the Force. His trials were complete; all that remained was to find the crystal that would power his lightsaber – the final step in becoming a true Jedi Knight.

  Hours passed as he opened himself to the Force, waiting for the right crystal to call to him. Many shone brightly, but none resonated with his spirit.

  "Patience," he whispered to himself, Master Yoda's favorite advice echoing in his mind.

  Then he felt it – not the bright flash he'd expected, but a gentle warmth, like sunlight through leaves. A small green crystal, partially embedded in the cave wall. Unremarkable at first glance, but as he approached, it began to pulse with light in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  When his fingers touched it, a vision washed over him: himself standing between a group of frightened refugees and a threat he couldn't clearly see, his blade deflecting danger away from those behind him. The crystal had called to a protector.

  Kalden deactivated his lightsaber as he reached his quarters. The door was jammed, warped by structural damage to this section of the ship. He placed his palm against the metal, channeling the Force through it until the mechanisms inside reluctantly yielded, allowing the door to slide open halfway.

  The room beyond was in disarray, personal belongings scattered across the floor from the violent maneuvering of the ship. Kalden stepped over a fallen shelf, moving directly to the small alcove where he meditated.

  There, in a hidden compartment beneath the floor panel, lay a simple wooden box. He retrieved it, opening the lid to reveal its contents: a small holographic projector, a strand of dark hair tied with silver thread, and a carefully folded piece of parchment covered in handwritten Jedi teachings – his own annotations challenging certain aspects of the Code.

  Kalden's fingers brushed against the projector, and it activated automatically. A small blue figure appeared – Lyra, smiling, her hand resting on her stomach where their child grew. The recording had been made just weeks ago, before they realized the Empire had found them.

  "I felt the baby move today," the hologram said, Lyra's voice slightly distorted by the damaged projector. "He's strong in the Force, just like his father. I can feel his light already." She laughed, the sound bringing a painful tightness to Kalden's chest. "Don't give me that look. Yes, I said 'he.' Mother's intuition. Something even your Jedi senses can't compete with."

  The image flickered, Lyra's face becoming serious. "Whatever happens, Kalden, know that I've never regretted our choice. Not for a moment. The Jedi were wrong about attachment. This love hasn't weakened you – it's made you stronger. It's made both of us stronger."

  The hologram reached out as if to touch his face before dissolving into static as the projector finally gave out.

  Kalden closed his eyes, fighting back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. The ship shuddered around him, another reminder that time was running short. He took the strand of hair and the parchment, tucking them securely inside his tunic, close to his heart.

  A sudden disturbance in the Force made him turn sharply toward the viewport. Through the transparisteel, he could see the "Unwavering Decree" growing larger as the two ships converged on their collision course. But it wasn't the Imperial vessel that had triggered his alarm.

  A small, distinctive craft had just launched from the Star Destroyer's hangar bay – the Inquisitor's personal ship. The Eighth Brother was coming for him personally.

  Kalden's comlink chirped. "Sir," came the voice of Joran Valen, Lyra's father. "The shuttle is prepped. We're just waiting for the final group from engineering."

  "And Lyra?"

  A pause. "She's asking for you, sir. Says she won't board until you arrive."

  Of course she wouldn't. Stubborn, defiant, unwilling to accept the inevitable – everything he loved about her would now make his plan more difficult.

  "I'm on my way," Kalden replied, even as he felt the Inquisitor's dark presence growing stronger. "Keep the shuttle ready. No matter what happens, you launch when I give the order."

  "Understood, sir."

  Kalden took one last look around the quarters that had been their home for the past three months. So little to show for a life. So little left behind.

  He stepped back into the corridor, lightsaber in hand but not yet ignited. The path to the shuttlebay would take him through the most damaged sections of the ship. There was no guarantee he would make it in time – especially if the Eighth Brother intercepted him first.

  But he had to try. For Lyra. For their child. For the future he would never see.

  "There is no death," he whispered, the old Jedi mantra feeling hollow now. "There is the Force."

  With that, Kalden Nyros set off through the dying ship, memories of the past falling away as he faced the reality of his final mission.