At the depths of the Jedi Temple—beyond where any Jedi eye or record had ever wandered—the silence was suffocating. Only three figures stood where even the Council had no knowledge. One was a resigned Jedi Master: Count Dooku. One was a maverick who refused to bend: Qui-Gon Jinn. And at his side, still young but resolute, was Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The air itself felt wrong. Ancient wards pressed against their skin like cold hands, as though warning them back. Yet here they were.
Dooku's eyes narrowed, his voice low, measured. "Tell me, my old padawan . Do you still believe in the Jedi Order, after all this? After knowing there is something buried beneath our very feet— hidden even from us?"
Qui-Gon stood steady, his gaze sharp but calm. "Yes, Master. I still believe. Perhaps not in every word of the Code, nor in every hand that steers the Council, but in the Order's purpose. In its heart. That, I will not abandon."
Dooku studied him, the faintest shadow of disapproval in his eyes. His voice hardened. "And the Republic? Do you still trust in that bloated Senate? That corrupt institution we have bled for, century after century?"
Qui-Gon paused, his eyes turning toward the stones that seemed to hum with something foul beneath them. Then he answered, measured.
"The Republic is fragile. Flawed. I will not deny that. But to lose faith entirely… that is a choice I am not yet ready to make. Are you, Master?"
Dooku's hand brushed the surface of the ward, feeling the pulse of something alive beneath. His expression darkened. "That depends, my old Padawan. On what we discover beneath this Temple. If the truth buried here confirms my fears… then perhaps faith in the Order, and the Republic, is already wasted."
A sound broke the silence. Heavy. Mechanical. Metal scraping against stone.
From the darkened tunnel ahead, something lumbered forward—an amalgam of steel and sinew, its limbs jerking like a machine, but its eyes glowing with the faint light of a twisted soul. It hissed in a broken, metallic voice:
"…murderers of our faction… breach… our sanctum…"
The thing lunged. Dooku didn't hesitate. His blue lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, cutting the beast's head clean from its shoulders in a single, elegant slash. Sparks and blood sprayed, the body collapsing in a grotesque mix of wires and rotten flesh.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan ignited their blades in unison, the chamber lighting with green and blue.
Obi-Wan's face paled as he steadied his stance.
"Master… that creature—it resembled a droid. But it… it felt wrong."
Dooku's tone was clipped, grim.
"That was no droid, Obi-Wan. That was once a living being. Flesh twisted, bound with steel, enslaved by the dark side into a monstrosity."
The floor rumbled. Cracks split across the stone. One by one, more of the things began to rise from the ground, their bodies fused with gears, cables, and bones. Their voices echoed together, a mechanical chant reverberating off the cavern walls:
"The enemy of our order… breach here… sacrilege… sacrilege…"
Another voice rasped sharper than the rest, its mechanical throat grinding as its head snapped at an unnatural angle.
"Kill them. They must not find the secret. The sanctuary must remain intact."
The cavern shook with the weight of the chant. Dozens more technobeasts shambled out of the stone walls and floors, claws scraping, their voices a chorus of death.
Dooku's eyes narrowed. He caught the word that echoed between their broken speech: sanctuary. His tone cut sharp.
"'Sanctuary'… they're guarding something . That means there is ground ahead where we can turn this tide."
He ignited his saber again, its glow painting lines across the darkness.
"Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan—follow my lead. If we waste our strength cutting them all down here, we'll fall long before the truth reveals itself. We must push forward. Find an advantage."
Qui-Gon's gaze steeled. He gave a quick nod. "As you say, Master. We move."
Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, saber flashing in his hands as he braced himself. "Understood. Let's carve a path."
And they did. The three moved as one, blades igniting the dark. Sparks and gore sprayed as they struck down every creature in their path, each motion precise, efficient—but never lingering. For every technobeast they felled, two more clawed their way from the broken stone.
The air rang with the metallic chorus: "Sacrilege. Intruders. Kill them. Kill them."
The ground rumbled like a living drum, the walls trembling as the endless tide of steel and flesh dragged itself forward. The three Jedi pressed on, sabers cutting arcs of light in the gloom, every strike carving a path through the horde.
Obi-Wan's voice rose, sharp with frustration as he slashed down another shrieking monster.
"Jin-Woo—that bastard! He should have warned us about this!"
Qui-Gon's blade whirled, cutting two creatures apart in one stroke. His breath came measured, but his words carried grit.
"He did warn us, Obi-Wan. Just… not about how many would be waiting to greet us down here."
Dooku's saber sang as it cut through metal and sinew, his voice cold as steel.
"Yes. Quite the welcoming committee, my old Padawan. So eager to greet us—eager enough to tear us apart limb from limb."
He cut another down, its body clattering against the stone, sparks spitting from the ruin of its throat.
Then, suddenly, one of the creatures stumbled forward. Its voice faltered, broken, a half-human cry scraping out from its mangled jaw.
"Help me… please… Jedi… we are—"
Dooku didn't hesitate. His saber fell, silencing it with a swift strike. For a moment, his face cracked with grief, his voice low, almost a whisper.
"…I am sorry. But not everyone can be saved."
Then Obi-Wan's cry cut through the dark. "Master Dooku! Master Qui-Gon! Something's holding me—my hand!"
His arm strained against an invisible grip, the unseen force pulling tight like shackles.
Dooku's eyes narrowed. He knew this sensation. He had felt it once before—ten years past, against the armored man that was Sung Jin-Woo. His expression hardened as memory stirred. He extended his hand, the Force rippling outward in a crushing wave.
The unseen hand shattered, the phantom recoiling in a burst of shadow before dissolving into the stone.
"Cover yourselves," Dooku ordered sharply. "Wrap your bodies in the Force—form a barrier. These are no ordinary foes. They're phantoms. I've encountered this once before… though it was not my proudest moment."
Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, raising a protective aura around his form. His gaze darted toward the Count, sharp with suspicion.
"That… encounter. It was with Jin-Woo, wasn't it, Master?"
Dooku's blade hummed as he slashed another shadowy grip away. His voice carried both irritation and begrudging respect.
"Ironically, yes. He forced me to learn. To see that there are ghostlike echoes of the dark side that can strike at the unwary. He caught me off guard once… but never again. One day, I will settle the score with him."
Another phantom clawed upward, reaching for Dooku's throat. His hand swept out, the Force bursting from him like a hammer. The shadow scattered, shrieking like smoke ripped apart in a storm.
Then came Qui-Gon's voice, sharp with urgency. "Master Dooku—I sense it! A strong conduit. That must be it—the source of their dark side energy. Their sanctuary!"
Dooku's gaze snapped toward him. He strode forward, clapping a firm hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Well done, my old Padawan. Then that is where we must go. Move!"
He raised both hands, the Force surging outward like a tidal wave. The ground split, and the horde of technobeasts buckled, dozens crushed beneath the sheer weight of his slam. The shockwave rippled across the chamber, reducing most to rubble, though some twitched and staggered back to their feet.
But still, from cracks in the floor, from the shadows of the shrine, more technobeasts clawed their way up. Endless.
"Run!" Dooku barked. And the three did, sabers flashing as they carved through the path ahead, feet pounding stone.
Minutes blurred together, the horde behind them growing, echoing with inhuman chants. Qui-Gon's breath came heavier, his stride slowing. He gave a dry laugh between breaths.
"Jin-Woo was right. Perhaps I am too old for this."
Dooku's mouth twitched into a smirk, sarcasm sharpening his words. "My old Padawan—I am far older than you, and I am still running. You need to duel more with your fellow Jedi instead of sitting in meditation halls. Then perhaps you wouldn't lose your wind so quickly."
Qui-Gon chuckled despite the weight of the moment, his saber cutting through another phantom hand that reached from the dark.
"I believe in the way Master Yoda teaches. A still mind. Deep meditation. Wisdom over endless duels. That connection strengthens the Force within me… and grants more than brute stamina ever could."
Obi-Wan's voice cut through their laughter, sharp and urgent. "Forgive me for breaking the moment, Masters—but I see something. A door. Should we storm it?"
Qui-Gon's lips pressed into a grim line. He gave no words, only a firm nod.
Dooku stepped forward, his blade still lit, his expression iron.
"It is time. Time we put an end to this atrocity."
They moved in unison, but before they could close the distance, the oppressive dark around them stirred. A pulse rippled through the depths.
The black walls glowed faintly, lines of crimson light slithering across the stone like veins awakening. The ground trembled, dust falling in slow drifts. One by one, ancient sconces ignited with a baleful red glow, illuminating what lay before them.
The Jedi froze. The chamber revealed itself in full—a vast sanctum carved beneath the foundations of the Temple. At its heart, a towering spire of obsidian pulsed with crimson light, and around it, ancient Sith runes crawled like fire across the walls. Statues of hooded figures, long forgotten, loomed with cruel visages, their shadows thrown like claws against the chamber.
It was a Sith Shrine. The very thing the histories proclaimed destroyed. The very enemy the Jedi claimed long vanquished. Yet here it was—buried beneath their Order's holy place.
Qui-Gon's breath caught. His voice was low, shaken.
"This… this cannot be. The Sith Shrine was destroyed. The Majority of Sith… defeated. That is what we were taught."
Obi-Wan stood rigid, his hand tightening on his saber, horror etched across his face.
But Dooku's voice snapped them out of their disbelief, cutting like a blade.
"History lessons later. Now—our lives come first."
Dooku's hand was already rising, power gathering to tear the sealed gate apart—when the door shuddered and swung inward on its own, stone grinding like the exhale of some ancient beast.
The three Jedi froze. The vast chamber beyond seemed to breathe, crimson light spilling across their faces. And behind them, the endless tide of Sith abominations suddenly halted. Dozens—hundreds—stood frozen mid-lunge, their bodies stiff as statues, their jaws locked mid-scream.
Dooku's eyes narrowed, his thoughts sharp as lightning. We were… expected?
He took one step forward, but a hand caught his shoulder. Obi-Wan, his face pale but steady.
"Master Dooku—wait. We need to report this. To the Council. Something like this—hidden here, beneath our Temple—it cannot be ignored."
Dooku turned on him, irritation flashing across his features, his voice rising with bitter edge.
"The Council? What Council, young Kenobi? Truth lies bare before our eyes! Our vaunted histories—all of them, a fabrication. Tell me, what justice do we claim to uphold if this horror—this abomination—rests at the heart of our Order's foundation? I will not look away. I must know what happened here."
Silence stretched, heavy and raw.
Qui-Gon's gaze lingered on his former Master, seeing the fracture deepen. His heart tightened. He's slipping—not only from the Council, but from the very faith in the Order itself completely .
At last, Qui-Gon spoke, his tone calm, tempered with loyalty. "Then you will not face it alone, my Master. We will accompany you—for now, and to the end of this path. Whatever lies within, we face it together."