A Fair Offer

Posted on Sat Jan 3rd, 2026 @ 9:56pm by Sotah & Thurius & Rynseh Lahan

3,579 words; about a 18 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant
Timeline: Concurrent with Bespin

The chamber lay far from the familiar halls of the Jedi Temple, buried within levels that had not been altered in generations, the temple top large for the diminished numbers of the Third Republic's ruling Jedi Order. It was not a place of light or contemplation, but of record, judgement, and preparation - a vault of stone and shadow where the Order once stored things it did not wish to remember openly.

The air was cool, dry, faintly metallic. The walls were carved from old Coruscanti bedrock rather than temple marble, their surfaces etched with faded sigils and archive markings whose meanings had long since slipped from common teaching. Narrow light-strips ran in recessed seams along the floor and ceiling, throwing long, angular shadows that refused to soften. There were no windows. No banners. No statues of past Masters watching in silent approval.

They gathered in disciplined silence.

Dozens of figures stood in loose ranks across the chamber’s central floor - Jedi by training, nearly all Shadows by trade. Their robes were different from the norm, cut for movement rather than ceremony, their belts heavy with tools that had little place in the main Temple above: encrypted datapucks, sensor talismans, compact weapons, sealed datacrons bearing restricted sigils. All wore lightsabers.

These were not diplomats, nor mediators, nor philosophers.

They were watchers, hunters, and wardens - inducted into this second purpose anew with the explicit sanction of the High Council, with the quiet approval of the Grand Master himself. In the time since the Bastion Document had begun to circulate through the Republic, their numbers had grown. Former Shadows, investigators, intelligence operatives - Jedi who had learned long ago that darkness did not always announce itself.

Whispers had followed them here.

The Bastion Document.
GalactaWerks.
The Cult of Axion.
The Red Raptor.

And names spoken more carefully now than ever before.

Thane of Caanus.
Bomoor Thort.
And a young Nautolan woman...

Holoprojectors flickered to life along the chamber’s perimeter, displaying still images, partial recordings, fragments of surveillance footage scavenged from archives both public and sealed - some even intercepted from rogue Hutt and Guild transmissions. A figure moving through the Temple corridors months earlier, face obscured but gait unmistakable. It was enough to demand answers.

At the far end of the chamber, a raised stone dais waited, unadorned and severe. It had once been used to brief strike teams during the Second Outer Rim Conflict, when the Order had last turned inward to confront threats that wore familiar faces.

Footsteps approached.

They were measured and unhurried. Heavy enough to carry authority without force.

The assembled Jedi straightened, attention focusing instinctively toward the dais as a tall, scarred figure emerged from the shadows beyond it. Armour plates caught the low light in muted reflections. A presence pressed outward through the Force - disciplined, controlled, and utterly certain of itself, of a tenacity and power that outstripped most compatriots.

Whatever doubts lingered in the wider Order, they did not reach this place.

Master Rynseh Lahan had come to speak.

He regarded the gathering of his loyalists to his left, and to his right, emerald eyes intense, judging, and wary. He turned his directly ahead, his posture perfect, no speech prepared. There was no salute. Only an order.

"Be seated." His voice carried the weight of a wartime general. Every Jedi Shadow gathered went to their knees in seated meditative posture in perfect unison.

"It is written that there is no death," Master Rynseh began, hands clasped behind his back. "There is only the Force. But on this day, I say to all within the sound of my voice that there is no victory without betrayal. No peace without the threat of evil. Each of us stands as the first and final guardians of peace against the onslaught of darkness and tyranny."

To his right, a holoemitter projected the image of an unmasked Jedi Temple Guardsman.

"The face of treachery," Ryn gestured to the pictured face. "I needn't speak his name. Many of you knew him as younglings before he donned the sanctified mask as a protector of our beloved Temple. Even with all of his training and discipline, he gave in to wickedness. He threw away all that is good, that is right, that is decent, to aid in the escape of an agent of evil..."

The Guard's face was replaced with surveillance footage of a Nautolan female dressed as a padawan stalking the halls of the Temple, conversing with other Jedi including Master Sotah.

"We've identified her as Zaracoda Wolph. It shames me to admit, but she is the wayward daughter of Zenarrah Sozo, whom you know was once my apprentice. How one so young gained the power to mask her intentions, even near the most potent among us, is grave cause for concern." He omitted what Zaracoda took from the Temple. "In due time, we will find her, and she will be dealt with. Yet there remains even greater threats."

The image changed to side-by-side portraits of a human man from Caanus, and an Ithorian male from Öetrago.

"For one outside of our Order to learn the secrets of the Force, such power does not come from instinct and raw natural talent; it comes from training that only Jedi Knights can provide. We believe Zaracoda's profound powers of deception comes from Thane of Caanus, and Bomoor Thort, and such power can only be possible through the dark side of the Force."

Rynseh stepped around the stone dais to stand firm as a bastion of hope in the midst of his perilous revelation.

"My brothers and sisters, we must stand ready. We are no longer simply tracking corrupted relics or deranged zealots of a dark cult leader scattered across the galaxy. Today, I speak with firm belief that we now face the sum of all fears in the Republic: the return of the Sith Lords."

More than a few murmurs and exchanged glances of deep concern passed through the gathered Knights.

"The Temple is indeed vulnerable once again. We must--"

His speech stopped as his gaze was seized by the unexpected. All kneeling Shadows shifted and turned to follow Rynseh's line of sight, each beholding the unanticipated arrival of two of the most lauded members of the Reborn Jedi Order.

Through the murmuring throng of Templars, the tall Cerean figure of Master Thurius, in his grey-brown robe, cut a path through the crowd like a silent blade, allowing a path for the ever-calm Master Sotah to flow behind him like water through a channel in the soil.

Thurius stopped several feet from the dias, staring hard up at Rynseh, while Sotah settled in beside him, his shimmering Selkath eyes full of determination.

"This has gone far enough," Thurius did not shout, but stated plainly for all to hear, "We will no longer stand idly by while the fates of Bomoor and Thane are decided behind closed doors. For too long has your secret order overridden the core doctrines we pledged ourselves to under the guise of protection. You cannot be Jedi by day and zealot by night. The Force does not turn a blind eye, so neither can we."

He gestured back towards the doorway they had entered from, "The people outside those doors are not your enemies. We all bear responsibility for those who have fallen from our path, but we do not heal by carving out rot and making ourselves lesser, we heal by restoring our ailing branches and keeping ourselves whole, lest we crumble from within."

Sotah inclined his head slightly, first to Thurius, then to the gathered assembly, his hands folding together at his waist. When he spoke, his voice did not compete with the chamber; it flowed through it, measured and composed, carrying a cadence born of long reflection rather than urgency, even if his Basic was accented by his Selkath lisps. “You stand here because you believe vigilance is virtue,” he said evenly. “Because you believe readiness is wisdom. On those points, I do not disagree.”

His gaze passed across the kneeling Shadows, not accusatory, not pleading - simply present. “But vigilance without reflection becomes suspicion. Readiness without restraint becomes fear. And fear, once given structure and mandate, begins to name enemies where there are only failures of understanding.” A pause followed as his dark eyes examined the other Jedi carefully, sadness punctuating much of his tone. “I have read the same accounts you have. I have seen the evidence you are weighing. I do not ask you to ignore it. I ask only that you recognise what it is - fragments, gathered in anger, interpreted in haste.”

He let the silence settle before concluding, voice still calm, still courteous, even to Rynseh. “If Thane of Caanus and Bomoor Thort are lost to us, then that loss did not occur in a vacuum. It occurred under our watch. If we answer that truth only with blades and absolutes, then whatever darkness we believe we are hunting will have already won - not by force, but by shaping us into something that no longer knows how to listen.” His eyes settled on Rynseh, after an additional scan of gathered Knights. "Your patience in letting this old Jedi speak is welcomed. I know you to be good colleagues - and friends."

Ryn nodded his head slowly, then turned to the young Jedi Shadows, "Return to your training. We will reconvene in two hours. Dismissed."

His agents rose to their feet, again in eerie unison, and left the hall without question or hesitance.

"My patience is at premium, Master Sotah," Ryn said calmly, but with a slight cold edge to his deep baritone voice as he addressed Thurius. " For years, I have been tasked with locating and eliminating all signs and bearers of the dark side of the Force, no matter where they come from..." He turned and pointed to the holoimages of Thane and Bomoor, "...most especially here."

He regarded Sotah again, "'Vigilance without reflection or restraint'? In case you haven't noticed, we are at war with forces of darkness stalking at our heels. A very cold and subtle war, but those tend to be the most dangerous, the most insidious. Vigilance is the price we pay to ensure freedom and democracy. To defend the Republic. Period! You must both be willing to let your former pupils go. End your attachments to them, and let our knights do what must be done."

Sotah inclined his head again, not in submission, but in acknowledgement, his rubbery hands still folded before him. “Then it is as I feared,” he lisped quietly. “Not that you are vigilant, Master Rynseh, but that you are certain. And certainty, once it takes root in the name of protection, leaves no room for return.” His gaze drifted across the chamber, resting briefly where the assembled Jedi has been moments before, so many of their faces familiar and known - many were younger than Thane or Bomoor. “If Thane of Caanus and Bomoor Thort are to be judged beyond recall, then let us at least speak honestly of when that judgement was passed. Not when they fell, but when understanding was deemed unnecessary.”

He drew a slow, wet breath, the sound faint in the vast stone space. “I do not deny failure. I carry it. I will always carry it. My apprentice chose a path I could not walk with him, and another died by his hand or because of him, I am now certain - a dangerous admission, but true. These truths do not vanish because I wish them otherwise.” His dark eyes shifted, appearing more reflective than accusatory, a deep sadness creasing his sloped face. “But what troubles me more than their fall is what rises in its place. A doctrine that answers uncertainty with eradication. We face absolution claimed in advance.”

At last, Sotah’s gaze returned to Rynseh. His expression was imploring, but his tone was resigned. “If this is the path the Order now walks, then Thurius and I, though we remain Jedi, no longer walk it with you. We have not for a time, I fear, even before we were dismissed from the Council. This is not in defiance, and not in bitterness, but in fidelity to what we were taught and what we believed before war taught us to simplify and persecute.” He bowed his head once, gently. “I know you will do what you believe must be done. The Force is older than this chamber... And there is always hope for the Force."

He looked finally to his Cerean companion, his expression making plain he believed their vain attempt at intercession had already reached its end.

Thurius inclined his head toward Sotah, a faint warmth softening the hard lines of his face: “Well said, my friend.”

Then his gaze returned to Rynseh, steady and unblinking, “You have heard our piece and you know now that we will no longer be a part of this, though I realise we can do little to stop you either should you continue on this path.”

He stepped closer to the dais, not confrontational, but with the weary familiarity of an long forgotten friend, “We three have walked similar roads: all our apprentices have drifted from the Reborn Order in one way or another. Some fell, some fled... and some were pushed.”

His voice lowered, losing none of its clarity, “That alone should give us pause.”

His eyes flicked briefly to the empty chamber where the young Shadows had knelt moments before: “Slow your hand, Rynseh. Before more initiates are lost to a crusade that teaches them to fear their own brothers.”

A breath caught in his throat, as he added: “I lost Mykles nearly twenty years ago now and if I had only...”

He stopped himself, jaw tightening, the rest left unsaid. When he spoke again, it was with the calm finality of a man who had already accepted the consequences.

“Do what you believe you must," he stated, "But know that every step takes you further from the path of peace that we pledged to uphold.”

"Peace is a lie," Rynseh spoke softly, yet he said the forbidden phrase with a manner of conviction. "Those are the opening words our Shadows hear when they begin their first lesson. These young people are chosen to hunt darkness because they are willing to become bearers of that burden, to know there is wisdom on both sides of the Force, to understand that they must sometimes touch darkness in order to exterminate it. Sometimes, they succeed and learn to balance themselves and not be consumed by it. And sometimes...they fall..."

He turned and paced away from his peers a few slow steps and added with deep biting regret, "We wish to be the arbiters of peace, to demonstrate our wisdom through our actions which we deem and know to be good." He turned to face them again, "And that is the way it should be. If I could end all battles, all desires for intrigue and violence, I would do so in a heartbeat. But one thing has always proven true: the Force rarely balances itself with kindness and diplomacy. Each era of so-called peace we and our ancestors have lived in have always been forged through war. The three of us have access to the same restricted archives. We have seen the forbidden tomes, the histories obscura, the Sith repositories. You cannot deny the simple reality of conflict. We wear it on our belts everyday. We tell ourselves it is for defense, and not for attack. We both know that not to be as true as it once was."

He patted his lightsaber at his side, his palm touching the inscription that translated to the word, Penitent.

"The two of you know what I'm capable of," he added with no measure of pride, stated plainly as a matter-of-fact. "And there will come a day when I will face Thane and Bomoor again, and there will be no tricks or obstacles or filthy cultists or traitors between us. There will only be a battleground, a dead Sith girl, and the Force. You trained your boys well, and indeed they are some of the finest swordsmen to ever emerge from this temple, but they are not me. I promise you this: I will offer them a genuine opportunity to surrender their swords and come back with me unharmed. Not to indoctrinate them back into the fold, but to give them an opportunity to start their lives over, free of their powers, and the temptations of the dark side. I swear my honor and life on it. If they possess Sith relics, those too must be surrendered. But if they refuse, then I will give them to the Force where they may reap the same rest that Mykles and Loren now enjoy. Does that sound like a fair offer to you?"

Sotah was silent for several long rasping breaths, his attention not on Rynseh alone but on the shape of the chamber itself, on the place where the Shadows had knelt, on the faint disturbances in the Force where certainty had settled like sediment, as well as the echoes of Jedi - and others - long past. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm, neither yielding nor defiant.

“On its face,” he said quietly, “what you describe is restraint. And restraint, in a time such as this, is wisdom.” His dark eyes returned to Rynseh, steady and unflinching. “An offer of surrender... of life preserved - of the chance to step away rather than be cut down. These are not small things, Master Rynseh. They are preferable to eradication, and I will not pretend otherwise.”

He inclined his head a fraction, somewhere in-between acknowledgement and a bow. “If this is truly the path you intend to walk - if your first recourse is mercy rather than annihilation - then it is fair. It is more than many would offer in your position.” A pause followed, deliberate. “And because it is fair, it must be spoken plainly and upheld without exception. Not as a tactic, and not as a convenience, but as a vow.”

Sotah’s hands folded again at his waist. “It is not my place to speak for my learned friend here, but I will not stand in the way of any genuine effort to secure surrender over bloodshed. I will not undermine an offer that preserves life, even when it is extended to those we once taught... and failed.” His voice softened slightly, not with forgiveness, but with gravity. He closed his eyes for a duration, carefully considering. “If there remains a path that spares them from becoming martyrs to certainty, then I would rather see it taken.”

Thurius drew in breath, brows furrowed and seemingly ready to dispute this unexpected agreement but, as he looked at his aquatic friend, his enthusiasm faded and how slowly exhaled again.

"Preserving life..." he echoed Sotah's words quietly, clearly remembering the past again.

He spoke again, firmer so Rynseh could hear, "Agreed," he announced towards Rynseh, before speaking more softly, with different meaning to Sotah, "Agreed."

The Selkath inclined his head once more, to both Rynseh and Thurius. “You have named your terms. We have heard them. And if you hold to them as you have spoken them here, then there is an accord.”

"Good," Ryn said with a curt nod. He reached under his left armored gauntlet and retrieved a small military-grade cryptographic chip and used the Force to gently float it towards Sotah and Thurius. "Take this. It's your backchannel to your apprentices. Before Zenarrah betrayed me a second time at Korriban, I took precautions using the Descent's computers. She made the mistake of using a connection to her daughter's HoloNet alias using outdated protocols. We know they're on an old ship called the Red Raptor. If you can reach out to your apprentices, talk them down, perhaps even meet with them, then we may have a chance to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. And if you happen to see a young Nautolan woman with them, extend my offer of surrender to her. She is wanted as a suspect for the murder of a scientist on Lorrd. She may be my former apprentice's child, but she's a fugitive and will be treated as such."

Sotah accepted the chip with both hands, inclining his head in a gesture that was formal, measured, and deliberately sincere. “Then I accept this provision with thanks, Master Rynseh,” he said evenly. “An offer of surrender, plainly stated and honoured, is preferable to bloodshed.”

He paused, eyes steady on the Cathar master. “If words can still reach them, then they should be spoken now, before certainty hardens into inevitability.” His tone carried no argument, only acknowledgement, but there was an unmistakable sadness in his tone. “We take you at your word, friend.”

Only then did Sotah glance aside to Thurius, the smallest flicker of shared understanding passing between them, and just as quickly gone. He returned his gaze to Rynseh. “If this conflict can be ended before it truly begins - without martyrs, without absolutes - then that is the outcome I believe we all work toward.” A small, tooth-filled smile was demurely offered to the larger Jedi. “May the Force be with you, Master Rynseh Lahan.”

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