21 BBY: Invictus Medical Bay
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I guess my 'hell' is metaphorical— or is it? A relentless crucible of war and chaos. How did it come to this? Being X, that incorrigible, meddling presence, must be laughing at my misery. Or perhaps this is simply the nature of a world consumed by endless war: a battlefield where its combatants are tested at every turn, forced to endure a twisted existence without reprieve. All the while, He perches atop it all, reveling in their struggles like a vainglorious tyrant. A sanguine illusion of lawlessness parading as order—a mockery of modern civilization.
When I awoke, I found myself bandaged and bloodied, my body aching from head to toe. The battle had taken its toll, though I hadn't yet processed the full extent. I asked the medical droid about my condition, and it replied in its flat, metallic tone that I'd been unconscious for about twenty-four hours. Apparently, it would take months to fully recover.
But then came the news I hadn't expected: my left arm was gone. Amputated. The droid explained the loss of blood had left them no other choice. I wasn't sure how to feel. Relief? Frustration? Shock? My thoughts stalled when I saw it—a sleek robotic arm, fully functional, but cold and unfamiliar. I stared at it for a long time, flexing its metallic fingers, watching them move with eerie precision. The mechanics were flawless, yet there was no sensation. I felt nothing. The loss was abstract, an absence I couldn't fully comprehend yet.
I leaned back on the medical cot and let out a weary sigh. The last thing I remembered was collapsing after being forced to rely on that curse to survive. The golden glow, the power that came with it—it was all a blur now. Perhaps adrenaline had carried me through the end of the battle, but now I was left with gaps in my memory that nagged at me. I'd have to ask the squad for their recollection to complete my after-action report.
A few hours later, I was told I had visitors. At first, I assumed it would be a doctor or someone from command, but instead, my squadmates filed into the room one by one. For a moment, I was surprised. A group of hardened soldiers—clones, bred for war—coming to check on me? It wasn't what I expected. Their stoic faces betrayed something unfamiliar, something that almost resembled concern.
"Commander, it's good to see you awake," Sergeant Vrex said, standing at the foot of the cot. "I regret we couldn't save your arm. Honestly, we weren't sure if you'd even make it."
The tone of his voice caught me off guard. Regret? Why were they apologizing to me? Clones didn't usually trouble themselves with such sentiments. What was their aim?
I forced a small smile, masking my unease. "I appreciate it, Sergeant, but honestly... I don't even remember much of what happened. By the time I woke up, my arm was already gone."
Vrex hesitated, glancing at the others before replying, "You saved us, Commander. You fought admirably against that monster while we hesitated under fire. We thought we were done for, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I just wanted you to know that."
The weight of his words lingered. What had I done? The fragments of memory refused to assemble themselves, leaving me with a gnawing uncertainty. I nodded slightly, more to acknowledge his statement than to accept it fully.
"Thank you, Sergeant," I said quietly, glancing down at my now metallic hand.
Verx saluted, "The men want you to know it was an honor to fight by your side. If there is any way we can repay you, we would be honored to do so."
I honestly didn't know what to say.
"I'll uhhh… keep that in mind," I replied hesitantly.
As the squad saluted and filed out, I couldn't shake the discomfort sitting in my chest. Whatever had happened back there, it wasn't over. The squad trusted me now, perhaps more than ever, but the cost of that trust felt leaden. Was I really that great to fight beside? I honestly just left them to their own devices as I fought that monster. Speaking of which, once I'm able, I'll find out just who he is. If I ever have to encounter that beast again, I will be ready. In the meantime, I needed to figure out how to ensure my survival in this war, even as it pulled me further into its grasp.
21 BBY: Republic Military Command
A few months had passed since my injuries. My body had almost finally healed, and I was back where I belonged—at the rear, buried in analytical research. The comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as I leaned back in my seat, savoring a sip. Life had a strange way of rewarding effort. Tarkin had promoted me again after my victory on Kastallax V, and I'd even received a few medals of honor for my contributions. No one in the military doubted me now. My determination and loyalty to the Republic were beyond question.
My injury, had become my advantage. It served as the perfect excuse to stay off the front lines while I built my reputation and connections in the Republic's war machine. That said, I couldn't afford to slack off entirely. My latest project involved drafting a motion to expand the Republic's information-gathering network. Wars, after all, were won with intelligence as much as firepower. Leading the initiative would grant me significant influence and access to reliable information—something I could finally trust.
Life was good again. But just as I allowed myself the faintest hint of satisfaction, the universe, in its infinite cruelty, found a way to ruin it.
The comm on my desk chirped, snapping me from my thoughts. I answered it, only to be informed of an unannounced visitor. My irritation flared. Why hadn't they scheduled an appointment? Bureaucracy existed for a reason—so people didn't waste my time. Next time, at least file a notice! Whoever it was, they insisted on seeing me immediately. They were lucky it was the end of the day; it's harder to ignore people then. Any other time, I would have dismissed them outright.
"Let them in," I said reluctantly, leaning back in my chair.
Before the door even opened, I felt it—a familiar presence in the Force, unmistakable and distinct. My annoyance deepened. Only a Jedi would have a presence like that.
When the door swung open, my suspicion was confirmed. Jorik.
Now this was unexpected. Of all people, my former master stood before me. I half-expected him to launch into some moralistic lecture, perched on the ever-lofty Jedi high ground.
"Tanya, it's good to see you again," Jorik said as he took a seat, his tone warm but laced with something heavier. "It wasn't easy to find you. Always elusive, as ever."
I gave him a measured look, leaning forward. "It has been a while. I thought the Jedi had given up trying to bring me back. Sending you must mean they're desperate."
Jorik chuckled lightly, his expression softening. "Always so methodical, always two steps ahead. But don't worry—I'm not here on behalf of the Jedi. I came as your former teacher, nothing more. After all, you've had quite an eventful time since you left the order."
I lifted my left arm, the dull metallic shine of my mechanical hand catching the light. "Yes, 'eventful' is one way to put it. But at least here, my work here is appreciated."
Jorik's face faltered, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in quiet regret. "Tanya, while you may think all Jedi are preoccupied with keeping their students bound to the Order, that isn't true. Not all of us see things in such narrow terms. You've grown up faster than any Padawan I've ever trained, and you were the first to choose a path away from the Jedi. It was an honor to train you. I can only lament my inability to guide you better along the way."
His words surprised me, but I kept my expression neutral. I wasn't about to let sentiment cloud my judgment.
Jorik continued, his voice heavy with sorrow. "It pains me to see my brightest student caught up in this wasteful war. But I'm not here to lecture you—that time has passed. You've made a name for yourself here, and I believe you're capable of forging your own path. And I'm sure your aware: the road you've chosen won't be easy."
I studied Jorik carefully, his words hanging in the air like a precarious balance. He seemed older somehow, as though the war had aged him in ways even the Force couldn't mend. His sorrow wasn't just for me—it was for everything the Jedi Order had become.
"You say the road I've chosen won't be easy," I replied, keeping my tone measured. "But what road would you have me walk instead? Return to the Jedi? Submit to their broken doctrine? Tell me, Master Jorik—what does the Council have left to offer someone like me?"
Jorik sighed, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the galaxy itself pressed down on him. "You're right to ask those questions, Tanya. The Jedi…we've lost our way. I see it more clearly with every battle. The Order was never meant to be soldiers, yet here we are, wielding armies and weapons in a war we barely understand. It's no wonder you left."
I arched an eyebrow. "So you admit the Jedi are unfit to lead this war. That's quite the revelation coming from you."
"Admit it, I must," he said with a grim nod. "But knowing something is wrong doesn't mean I can abandon the Order. It's flawed, yes—but it's still the only thing standing between the galaxy and chaos."
"Is it?" I shot back, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm standing, the Republic's bureaucracy is barely holding this war together, and the Jedi are being used as pawns. You think you're preserving peace, but all you're doing is prolonging suffering. This war isn't about ideals, Master Jorik. It's about resources, control, and survival."
His expression hardened, though not in anger. It was the look of a man wrestling with uncomfortable truths. "You sound as though you've abandoned the very principles that once guided you. Are you so certain you're not becoming what you despise?"
I clenched my jaw. "Principles don't win wars. Strategies do. I learned that the hard way. You think I wanted to leave the Jedi? You think I wanted to fight in this war? No, Master. But survival doesn't care about what we want. It demands results."
Jorik was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the mechanical hand I rested on the desk. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "What happened to you, Tanya? What happened to the girl who believed the Force was her ally?"
"She grew up," I said sharply. "She learned that allies can betray you, that ideals are a luxury afforded only to the privileged and the naive. The Force might bind the galaxy together, but it's not going to stop a blaster bolt or win a war. And it certainly isn't going to stop the Republic from collapsing under its own incompetence."
Jorik's face softened again, but this time it wasn't sorrow—it was something closer to acceptance. "I see. You've chosen your path, then. Perhaps it's not for me to judge whether it's right or wrong. But I'll say this, Tanya—if you strip away everything else, if you discard your principles entirely, what will be left of you when this war ends?"
I hesitated. It was a question I hadn't allowed myself to confront, one I wasn't sure I wanted to answer. But before I could respond, Jorik stood, his posture straightening as though some unseen weight had lifted from him.
"I didn't come here to argue or to change your mind," he said. "I came here because I wanted you to know that despite everything, I'm proud of you. You've become stronger than I ever imagined. But strength without purpose is a blade without a handle—it cuts both ways."
I folded my arms, masking the flicker of doubt his words had sparked. "And what would you have me do with this strength, Master? Fall in line? Abandon everything I've built here?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Forge your path, Tanya. But remember, the path you walk shapes the person you become. And if you're not careful, you may find yourself walking a road you cannot turn back from."
He bowed slightly, his robe brushing the floor. "May the Force be with you, always."
And with that, Jorik turned and left, the sound of his footsteps fading into the corridor beyond my office.
I stared at the door long after it had closed, his words echoing in my mind. I wouldn't let anyone control my destiny. Being X had tried it time and time again—and failed. Being X's pawns, the Jedi, were no different. They claimed to be the protectors of peace, the defenders of freedom, yet they stole it away from the very people they swore to protect. They had no right. All under the guise of the Force they worshipped. A convenient lie. So much so that they openly stole children, molding them into their doctrine before they could even form their own will. They clung to their self-righteous dogma, high in their ivory towers of the Temple, blind to reality—blind to the very suffering they refused to acknowledge. It is detestable what they have done. I had given them a chance. I had searched for reason, for logic in their ways. I had hoped—foolishly—that there was something to salvage. But now, I saw them for what they truly were. The Jedi were dead to me.