Journal of Yun Sedaya – Entry II
I left the bar before the sirens began to wail from the lower levels. I knew the local security forces had no interest in intervening in that kind of dispute. But the Jedi... they would come. That was certain. I had used the Force, and they would know. My anonymity on Coruscant wouldn't last much longer —
He had to leave. Fast. Very fast.
He had already secured his escape route: a freight convoy headed straight for Serenno. Even just the name stirred memories he'd rather forget.
He gathered his belongings in a rush — not much — and shoved everything into an old, worn-out bag.
He was supposed to meet the contact in an hour. With a strange man. Quiet. But most importantly: he didn't ask questions.
The alleys of Level 1313 weren't made for walking.
They were made for running. For hiding. For disappearing.
Yun walked briskly, hood pulled low over his brow, every sense on high alert.
Every corridor, every vent grate, every shadowed corner could hide a watching eye — organic, or worse: mechanical. They were everywhere. Spy droids, micro-sensors, black-market cameras linked to criminal networks, bounty hunters, agents... or Jedi.
He was just another shadow among many, but he knew the truth: it was only an illusion.
Here, the walls had ears.
And sometimes, the Force itself seemed to contract, reacting to his presence.
The sticky floor clung to his boots. The air was dense, heavy with greasy vapors and toxic soot. There was a persistent stench — of raw fuel, scorched flesh, and burnt metal.
1313 was oblivion. A place so deep within Coruscant's endless sprawl that natural light had never touched it.
Burst pipes hissed jets of boiling steam. Cooling conduits, remnants of long-forgotten Republic infrastructure, hung like dead roots between the beams.
Above him, shaky catwalks linked buildings with unclear purposes — illegal factories, hidden refineries, black markets tucked beneath a web of shadows.
An overloaded speeder roared past, spraying warm oil onto his cloak. No one apologized.
Here, silence wasn't a choice.
It was law.
Yun passed a rusted-out food stand where a droid, its chest split with corrosion, was serving soup to a Rodian with trembling hands.
A little further ahead, a Twi'lek kid was rummaging through the body of a Trandoshan, slumped against a wall — pockets turned out, eyes still open.
He looked away.
It wasn't indifference. It was strategy.
Every alley, every metal bridge, every yellow light filtered through the grates felt suspicious. He kept glancing behind him — in shattered shopfronts, in puddles of stagnant oil.
He could feel something. A tingle in the Force.
A faint current, but it was there.
Someone is following me.
Or someone is watching me.
But here, even paranoia had a price.
Too much caution, and you drew attention. Move too fast, and you became a target.
Yun had to stay in control.
Breathe.
He slowed slightly. Adjusted the strap of his bag. And moved on.
Farther ahead, in the shadow of an old maintenance terminal from the Clone Wars, a group of humans with cybernetically-injected eyes were trading weapons from crates marked with Imperial sigils.
Nothing new. The wreckage of the Empire now served the highest bidder.
Kids were selling parts from gutted astromech droids, laid out on filthy cloth like organs in a street market.
Yun spotted an identification plate from an Imperial KX-series unit —
a remnant of a past that wasn't so distant after all.
He kept moving.
As he neared the meeting spot, his breath quickened.
Not from fear.
From certainty.
Someone, somewhere, was already looking for him.
And if he didn't leave 1313 within the hour... he might never leave it at all.
He still had a bit of time before the meeting.
And he was hungry.
At the corner of a side passage, half-hidden beneath a filthy tarp, a food stall filled the air with the scent of fermented sauce, burnt spices, and grease that had been reheated a hundred times.
A noodle stand, run by an old, one-eyed Ishi Tib, whose movements were mechanical and whose gaze was hollow.
Yun approached silently.
He sat on one of the wobbly stools, keeping his bag tightly between his legs.
He scanned the surroundings — loud, filthy, alive.
The cook handed him a steaming bowl without a word.
Yun nodded slightly, then brought the chopsticks to his mouth.
The first bite reminded him just how brutal real food tasted.
Raw.
Like the world he lived in now.
Then he felt them.
Not saw — felt.
Seven presences.
Stealthy. Tense. Poorly coordinated, but determined.
They were approaching from multiple angles — rooftops, shadows, hidden corners.
Bounty hunters.
Yun calmly set his bowl down, still steaming.
He stood up slowly.
"Hey."
A voice behind him.
Gravelly. Threatening.
"You're not from around here."
Yun turned around.
There they were. Seven of them. Dirty, armed.
Three blasters drawn. Two vibroblades. One had a coiled energy net.
Another — a Zabrak with filed teeth — brandished a portable stun-field generator, probably stolen from a Republic patrol.
Yun said nothing.
The leader — a massive human with a tattooed scalp — stepped forward.
"You know, there are rumors, pal.
Rumors about a Jedi hiding in the sewers.
About a guy who controls blasters without touching 'em. Lifts people with his eyes.
You get what I'm saying?"
Yun stared at him.
For a long moment.
The tension thickened.
People nearby began to edge away, sensing something unnatural in the air.
Then — a shot.
Yun moved instantly.
He dove to the side, kicked the stool into a roll, and raised his hand.
The bolt ricocheted off a metal panel, throwing a burst of sparks into one of the attackers' faces.
Chaos erupted.
Yun extended his arms, the Force surging from him like a silent wave — powerful, precise.
He wasn't aiming to kill. Only to neutralize.
The first hunter crashed into the side of the stall, unconscious.
The second, charging with a blade, saw his weapon ripped from his hands mid-strike and flung into a sewer grate.
The Zabrak screamed and activated his generator. A burst of plasma erupted. Yun raised both hands, and the energy field smashed against an invisible barrier, crackling in the air... then violently surged back into the device.
Short-circuit. Explosion.
The Zabrak was thrown to the ground, unconscious.
A net whistled through the air.
Yun stepped aside, spun, and used the Force to redirect it — straight back at the one who had thrown it.
The man collapsed, trapped in his own weapon.
Two remained.
One panicked. Tried to run.
Yun lifted his hand slightly. A subtle tremor shook the ground. The fleeing man stumbled, slammed into a wall, and stayed there, dazed.
The last. The leader.
He tried to fire.
Yun disarmed him without a word.
Then stepped closer, eyes hidden beneath his hood.
"You still got your tongue?" Yun asked, voice low and cold.
The man nodded, shaking all over.
The stand was now a mess of smoke and twisted metal.
Shards of glass and scorched noodles littered the ground.
The cook lay behind the counter, eyes vacant, frozen in an expression of surprise.
A blackened mark on his chest. A direct hit.
A stray shot.
An innocent dead.
Collateral damage.
Yun turned his gaze away... but the anger rose.
A cold anger. Controlled — but real.
He looked back at the lone surviving hunter, kneeling on the ground, trembling, breath ragged.
He raised his hand. Slowly.
The air vibrated.
The man clutched his throat, struggling against an invisible grip.
His breathing became a rasp.
His legs trembled violently.
Yun stepped forward.
His fingers closed around the air.
A sharp crack shattered the silence.
The body dropped.
Yun stood still. One second. Two.
Then he released the pressure. Lowered his hand.
And remained there.
Alone, surrounded by bodies and smoking debris.
Silence stretched, suspended in the heavy air of Level 1313.
Not a word. Only the faint hiss of a compressor winding down.
And his breath.
Yun remained, though he should have fled — lost in thought.
He turned suddenly.
A figure emerged from the shadows — hood raised, posture straight.
Master Tonor stepped forward.
"What have you done?" he asked, voice low but cutting.
Still silence.
Level 1313 had never been so quiet.
Tonor sighed — a heavy, tired sigh.
"I spoke to the Council," he said.
He let the words hang in the charged air.
"There's still time. If you surrender now, your place can be restored. Not immediately. Not without consequences. You'll face sanctions. Suspension. A full re-evaluation of your status as a Knight. But you won't be exiled forever. You won't be hunted like an animal."
Yun slowly lifted his head.
"And the Book?" he asked, eyes dark.
"You've become obsessed with it," Tonor replied, voice firmer now.
"You're following the traces of the Sith Lords — is that it?"
"No!" Yun shot back.
"I want to understand the Force. Truly. Not just obey rules handed down by a council of old masters who see evil in anything they can't control!"
Tonor inhaled, trying to stay composed.
"I didn't come to fight," he said, more gently.
"Come back to the Temple. Return the Book. We'll face the consequences together."
A pause.
Then Yun asked, colder now:
"And what will happen to the Book?"
"It'll be relocated," Tonor answered.
"Like the rest of the Annex. Hidden. Sealed. Out of reach."
Yun clenched his teeth. His voice rose slightly, vibrating with anger.
"So all that knowledge... will just stay locked away in secret rooms, hidden from students, sealed behind ancient codes — as if understanding itself were a threat?"
"You think you know everything because you're young," Tonor said more calmly, but firmly.
"But I swear to you, Yun — you're only scratching the surface."
Yun remained silent.
Tonor stepped closer.
"The New Republic needs the Jedi to rebuild. To guide. After so many years of uncertainty, we have a chance to bring peace.
Come back. Together, we can see this new golden age begin."
Yun gave a short, bitter laugh.
"There it is. The Republic needs soldiers, not Jedi. You've learned nothing. No lesson taken from the past."
He stepped to the side, eyes burning.
"We don't guide the galaxy by waging wars, waving peace around like a banner of conquest.
Wasn't it by interfering in a war we should've avoided that a Sith seized control of the entire galaxy?"
"You're rambling," Tonor said, his gaze heavy.
"No!" Yun snapped.
"You're the ones rambling. You and your Council — blinded by dead ideologies, obsessed with a new Jedi golden age that's walking straight into its own downfall!"
In a breath, Yun drew his saber.
The blue blade ignited with a crackling hiss, casting cold light on the grimy walls.
Tonor didn't move.
He raised one hand — calming, steady.
"Don't do this," he said quietly.
The light of the saber flickered softly, casting long, shifting shadows of the two men frozen in tension along the corridor walls.
Tonor didn't move. He watched Yun with a calm intensity.
"You don't need that saber to defend yourself here," he murmured. "I came alone. Not to punish you. Not to stop you. But to offer you my hand. One last time."
Yun stepped sideways, saber still ignited, his gaze hard.
Tonor sighed. Slowly, he unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the ground. Then, with a smooth and solemn motion, he revealed the hilt of his own lightsaber.
He didn't ignite it. Not yet.
"I watched you grow, Yun. I saw you doubt, question, search for the truth — and I respected you for it."
He paused, his voice growing heavier.
"But truth doesn't justify everything. It doesn't justify—"
"Draw your saber, you fossil!" Yun snapped.
Silence.
Then Tonor, voice pained but firm:
"Then you leave me no choice but to fight you."
Yun tightened his grip on his saber. The crackle of the plasma grew sharper, more intense.
"It wouldn't be the first time the Order turned its back on me."
With a sharp snap, Tonor's green lightsaber ignited, humming with calm power.
The silence was broken by Yun's first step.
Then, the echo of clashing blades lit the darkness.
The first strike came from Yun — a circular arc, fast, powerful, but imprecise.
Tonor deflected it effortlessly, redirecting the blue blade to the side with a fluid flick of the wrist.
He stepped back, pivoting to absorb the momentum.
"You're too angry," he murmured.
Yun didn't respond. He pressed on.
A vertical slash.
A thrust to the throat.
A spin, low sweep at the legs.
Tonor stepped back, blocked, dodged.
He wasn't striking back. Not yet.
But Yun kept pressing — trying to break his defense, to force an opening.
Each strike vibrated with frustration, with bottled-up injustice.
The corridor walls trembled under the blows. Hanging cables caught fire. Sparks hissed through the air.
Tonor parried a blow at the last moment, stepped aside, and struck back — his first counterattack.
A quick slash to Yun's side. Light, but precise.
Yun staggered back with a grunt. The blade had grazed his rib.
"You're fighting with your heart, not your head."
"Stop pretending this is a lesson, damn it!" Yun shouted as he leapt.
He jumped — an aerial spin, saber raised overhead.
Tonor raised his blade just in time.
The impact rang through the corridor.
The two men stepped apart, sabers still ignited.
Sweat glistened on Yun's forehead. Tonor breathed slowly, in rhythm with the Force.
Then he struck.
Not to kill.
Not to injure.
To correct.
A low strike — blocked by Yun.
A feint to the right — followed by a hook from the left. Yun stepped back, off balance.
Tonor saw the opening and, with a flick of his arm, disarmed Yun with the Force.
The blue saber flew into the air.
But Yun didn't surrender.
He raised his hand. A powerful Force push burst toward Tonor.
Tonor slid across the ground, hit a wall.
But he stood again. Saber still in hand. Gaze still steady.
Yun jumped back, recalled his weapon.
He knew.
He was losing.
"Why don't you just finish me?!" he screamed.
Tonor stepped forward. Slowly.
"Because I'm your Master. And that's not why I'm here!"
"I..."
He felt the burn in his muscles. The tension in his mind. The Force around him — off balance.
He couldn't win. Not here.
Not now.
So he made the only choice left.
He turned, grabbed his bag with the Force, and fled.
Tonor didn't follow.
He deactivated his saber. Lowered his head.
He could have pursued him.
He could have captured him.
But he simply... couldn't.
He activated the holoprojector on his forearm. The projection flickered, and a bluish silhouette appeared.
"I couldn't bring him back," Tonor said, voice calm but heavy.
Silence.
Then the reply — sharp:
"I'm sorry, my friend. But I have no choice. I must issue an official bounty across all systems."
Tonor looked down, resigned.
"Do it, Master Skywalker."
Yun ran.
The alleys of Level 1313 blurred around him in a storm of cables, toxic vapor, and leaking metal structures.
He slipped between shadows, leapt over rusted pipes, dashed across rickety catwalks with the grace of a cornered predator.
Each step echoed the truth of his struggle.
He hadn't defeated Tonor.
Worse — he hadn't even listened.
And now... there was no turning back.
Suddenly, a reddish glow pulsed above him.
He stopped.
There, hanging from a corroded metal arch, a holo-board flickered.
His image.
His face, projected through dusty neon light.
The message scrolled in red letters:
GALACTIC NOTICE — HIGH PRIORITY
Name: Yun Sedaya
Former Rank: Jedi Knight
Status: Traitor to the Order
Dangerous — Do not engage without authorization
Immediate reporting mandatory
Yun froze.
The image changed, replaced by the seal of the Jedi Council, glowing blue.
Then a neutral, impersonal female voice announced:
"This message is broadcast across the Republic. For public safety, avoid all contact with the identified subject. The Jedi Order acts in the name of the greater good."
Yun lowered his head.
His jaw tightened.
He was no longer a Jedi.
He reached the convoy — breathless, hood low over his face.
The driver — a stocky human with a wary glare — stared at him, surprised. Then let out a nervous laugh.
"Still breathing, Jedi? Or... ex-Jedi."
He spat on the ground.
"I can't take you. Your face is on every holo in the galaxy now. You're worth more than a freighter run."
Yun hesitated for a second. Then played his last card.
"I've got two hundred credits."
He pulled them out slowly.
"They're yours. You let me board, I disappear on Serenno, and you never see me again."
The man stayed silent.
His eyes moved from the credits to Yun's face, then to the freighter ramp.
Finally, he grunted:
"Two hundred credits... hard to pass up."
He chuckled.
"Alright, get in. And stay out of sight."
Yun boarded without a word, slipping to the rear of the cargo hold.
He nestled between crates of compressed spice and containers of spare parts, covered by a tarp.
He waited. The engines roared. The floor trembled.
The ship lifted off.
Through a gap between two metal plates, he watched Coruscant slowly recede — swallowed by artificial mist and the endless lights of the megalopolis.
Maybe I'll never come back...
A tired, faint smile crossed his lips.
She's beautiful, though, he thought.
Then he closed his eyes. But sleep didn't come.
His mind raced, looping endlessly.
Torn. Fractured.
He was nothing more than a fugitive in a smuggler's freighter, flying toward a planet haunted by bitter memories and old ghosts.
And in the silence of the cargo bay, a thought took shape — painful, inevitable:
"I am a traitor"