Engines of Heaven: Holy Walls

Posted on Sun Apr 19th, 2026 @ 9:44pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort

2,567 words; about a 13 minute read

Chapter: Additional Stories
Location: Within the Cathedral of the Firmament, Ord Yutani
Timeline: After "The Cathedral"

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This post takes place in 1,213 ABY, around four years before Thane and Bomoor encountered the Cult of Axion on Nar Shaddaa, during their earliest years as Jedi Knights.

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"And on that day, Her Prophet beheld whispers of heathens moving within the holy walls.
Yet he did not fear, for he knew that Her Terrible Glare would pierce stone and sinew alike,
revealing the traitors wherever they did hide.
So he called upon Her light, and the hidden foes were dragged screaming into the open,
that they might stand bare before Her judgement.
Blessed was the hand that struck them down,
for through righteous purgation was the sanctuary made whole."

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The room broke.

Shouts snapped into being, sharp and panicked, the calm efficiency of the Cathedral fracturing for the first time since they had entered it. Weapons were drawn with scraping metal and sudden violence, the irregular guards reacting fastest, their polearms and chainblades coming up in instinctive arcs, managing it as best as possible as the oversized ship struggled to rise.

Thane moved before any further thought could settle. The lightsaber came free into his hand, but he did not ignite it yet. His other hand rose instead, fingers tightening as the Force answered him without hesitation. The nearest guard was already stepping forward, weapon raised, and Thane caught the motion mid-stride, redirecting.

The man’s momentum twisted violently sideways, his own weight betraying him as he was dragged off-balance and slammed shoulder-first into the bulkhead. The impact drove the breath from him in a single, sharp exhale before he collapsed, weapon clattering harmlessly across the deck.

Another came in from the left whilst Bomoor managed his own fracas. Thane stepped into the attack, pivoting just enough to avoid the downward sweep of a shock-maul. His hand snapped out, catching the haft for a fraction of a second before the Force surged through him again. The weapon tore free from its wielder’s grip, spinning end over end before striking a second guard across the thigh with bone-cracking force. The man went down with a cry, clutching at the shattered limb.

Non-lethal - but decisive.

The hum of the Cathedral deepened again, a low, oppressive vibration that made every movement feel heavier, slower, as though the air itself resisted them. Thane pushed through it, drawing the Force tighter around his body, forcing clarity where there should have been disorientation.

Two more guards rushed them together. This time, Thane did not meet them directly. Both men were yanked forward at once, boots skidding violently across the metal as their own charge was turned against them. They collided hard, armour plates ringing together, weapons tangling between them before one blade drove awkwardly into the other’s side.

Not deep or fatal still, but enough.

A flash of movement at the edge of his vision. Thane turned, just in time to see another guard levelling a compact blaster toward Bomoor. This one was faster, steadier, wearing the brighter golds and reds of higher rank.

There was no time to disarm cleanly. Thane’s hand tightened and the man’s body lifted from the ground in a single, abrupt motion, feet leaving the deck as though gravity had simply been revoked. For a heartbeat he hung there, eyes wide, weapon still clutched in his hand, then Thane drove him sideways. The impact against the wall was brutal, the sound of it echoing through the chamber as the man struck hard and slid down, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Thane exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to keep moving as Bomoor similarly tackled his own foes. There were no pauses and no time for real hesitation from either of them.

Another figure lunged in, vibroblade whining to life. This time, Thane's lightsaber ignited. A sharp hiss cut through the noise as the blade flared into existence, violet light carving a clean arc through the dim interior. Thane met the incoming strike once, precise and controlled, severing the poorly-engineered weapon at its midpoint without carrying the motion any further. The truncated blade spun uselessly away as he stepped inside the guard’s reach and drove a Force-assisted strike into the man’s chest.

The impact broke several ribs and lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing backward into the bunks, where he lay still.

Around them, the initial rush faltered. Many of the faithful that had not attacked simply watched on in fear, cowering, hiding or simply staring.

Thane’s chest rose and fell steadily, his stance low and controlled, blade held close rather than extended. He could feel the pull of the place pressing against him, urging something harsher, something more final. He tried to ignore it, but the sensation was growing more and more akin to some manner of headache

"We haven't got long," Thane said as Bomoor dispatched the last of his enemies, and the pair were alongside one another, both lightsaber blades humming in sync. Both of them were still carefully managing their balance as the ship continued its slow ascent.

Bomoor’s gaze swept the chamber once more, taking in the trembling settlers, the fallen guards, and the faint hum of the ship’s ascent. He exhaled through his twin mouths, the sound low and deliberate, before turning to Thane.

"Agreed. Why don't we avoid the command centre and head straight for the engines," he said, voice steady despite the tension, "From the feel of it, this vessel’s held together with little more than durafiber bands and synthglue. There are probably numerous ways we could initiate a cascade failure. Ideally one we will have time to escape from."

Thane’s eyes flicked briefly toward the deeper corridors, then back to Bomoor, weighing it only for a moment as the deck shuddered beneath them. He gave a short nod. "Fine," he said quietly. "If we can bring the ship down, we can deal with whatever’s left of them after. Fastest way to end this."

Bomoor turned back toward the settlers, trying to soften his tone, "Stay here," he urged, "We’re not your enemies. When this is over, you’ll be free of them.”

But his words only deepened their fear. The non‑Humans shrank further into the corner, clutching one another, and one Human spat a curse: something about heretics and false prophets. Bomoor’s throat tightened. He gave a small nod, accepting their bitter response before turning away.

They moved out into the corridor, the air thick with a blend of incense and rust. The ship groaned around them, metal flexing under strain. Glarist enforcers appeared from side passages, their non-uniform armour painted with devotional Glarist sigils. Most of them carried melee weapons, but a few carried blasters, casting bolts at them sparingly through the wide corridors, with few spots with cover. But the Jedi needed no cover; their lightsabers raised answering with brilliant violet and green arcs deflecting the laserfire back at their attackers.

The fighting was brief, efficient, but relentless. Each clash drew more attention, and soon the alarms began to wail, echoing through the decks like a hymn of warning.

Still, they pressed on.

The corridors narrowed, the light dimmed, and the hum of the engines grew louder: a deep, rhythmic pulse vibrating through the floor and into their frames with every footstep. When they reached the final bulkhead, the door slid open with a hiss, revealing the cavernous engine room beyond: pipes coiled like veins around a massive reactor core, its glow casting long shadows across the walls. Waiting there, framed by the light, stood a Human in oil‑stained robes with sleeves rolled up, hands blackened with grease and thick dark eyebrows framing a deep frown set upon his face.

"So," the man said, voice echoing off the metal, "You’ve got the whole sacred temple to play in, and you choose my little chapel."

He tapped a control panel beside him and the alarms abruptly died, leaving only the steady thrum of the reactor. He didn’t even look at the display; his fingers clearly knew the system by touch.

"Let’s silence that racket, shall we?" he said, as he turned back to them, chestnut eyes still and focussed, "I take it you want to tear my work apart. Figure it’ll be that easy, eh? You’ll find I’ve built more than a few redundancies into this place and I doubt you'll find them all, even with your special senses.”

He stepped closer, wiping his hands on a rag, "Tell you what - you two are the Jedi, right? Rather than making a mess down here, how about I take you to the great leader of our order: Archprelate Contispex the twentieth. I personally know he’ll be more than happy to grant you an audience. He’ll make Her vision clear to you, just as he did for me years ago."

The man suddenly offered a small, one sided grin. Clearly a rarity on his face as the muscles of his face creased as they resisted the motion, “And if you’re still not convinced after that… well, I’ll help you shut down the systems myself. How does that sound?"

Thane did not yet answer the unknown man - obviously a Glarist of some manner - immediately. His blade remained raised for a moment longer than necessary, its purple light cutting cleanly through the dim, industrial glow of the chamber. The hum here was different. It pressed into him, into his chest, into his bones, as if the entire structure were drawing breath around them.

His gaze fixed on the man: another Human, but unarmoured and unafraid. That alone set him apart from everything else they had encountered since entering the star system, even. Slowly, Thane extended his awareness through the Force, not probing aggressively, but feeling. Testing the edges of the man’s presence.

What he found gave him pause, as there was no frantic zeal and no fevered devotion. Importantly, there was no instability. The man’s will sat firm and grounded, structured like the systems surrounding him. Not closed, but strong, ordered and resistant - something that could be bent with the Force alone.

Thane drew his awareness back, expression tightening faintly as he considered it. Whatever this man believed, it was not blind. It had been built, reinforced, chosen. After a moment, Thane lowered his lightsaber and retracted the blade. He glanced briefly toward Bomoor, a silent exchange passing between them, before returning his attention to the man.

"What’s your name?" Thane asked, voice still dry from the desert.

The man finished wiping his hands and tucked the rag under his utility belt before crossing his arms, "Hm, yes. That's a good place to start. A man ought to know who he's dealing with. What he stands for."

He met Thane's gaze firmly, "Name's Shurley. Jon Shurley and I don't bother with any titles. I let my work speak for itself."

"And that work would be this floating palace of destruction?" Bomoor probed further, "You're their engineer?"

Shurley's eyes flicked to Bomoor, not hostile or disgusted like his brethren on the ship. Just plain and measured: taking him in the way a mechanic sizes up a new component.

"One of several, yes, but certainly the one with the most vision," he cocked his head, as if that were simply a fact rather than a boast, "The one who sees past the rust and the age of this old Devastator to what it can be, what it should be, for Her fleet."

He uncrossed his arms, posture loosening, one hand settling on his hip while the other hung free, "But I suppose I needn't talk to Jedi about vision. That's your domain, much as this is mine. We all have our roles to play under Her Great Glare and I am told it is her will that you be brought before our leader and... the other one."

He looked away as he spoke the last words, slightly bitter in his mouth. A quiet disagreement.

Thane held Shurley’s gaze for a moment longer, searching for the fracture that should have been there and finding none. That, more than anything, unsettled him. Zeal could be broken and fear could be redirected, but this was something else: a man who had chosen his place and reinforced it with reason. Thane gave a short nod, not in agreement, but in acceptance of the path it offered, for now. His eyes flicked once to Bomoor before returning to Shurley, posture easing just enough to follow without lowering his guard.

As they moved, Shurley guiding them through narrower service corridors and maintenance routes that forced Bomoor to angle his frame carefully through tight bends, Thane let his gaze work the surroundings. Old metal and new, slightly improvised, systems layered over it.

"Devastator," he repeated at last, voice low but steady as the hum deepened around them. "We saw the Old Empire markings and the readouts. Heard them speak of a 'First and Final Flight'" His eyes shifted briefly to Shurley. "What is this thing, really... it's no cathedral... an ark?"

"An ark?" Shurley repeated, thoughtful and with interest at the suggestion as he dropped back slightly to answer the query, "Yes and no: this was once a vessel of the Galactic Empire that sought to harvest every ounce of the galaxy to turn to their own designs. Efficient, ruthless, but ultimately sightless."

He seemed to regain some of his zeal, the more he revealed, as though it was good reinforcement to him to speak it aloud, "Those that wielded its power then were no better than those they stole from - parasitic governors, power-hungry war-lords. The true majesty of this vessel's design is in shaping something new, not merely tearing it down: reclaiming what has been wasted by the sprawling masses as they pinch and scrape at the dirt."

He stopped at a doorway, "It will be an arc in as much as it carries us away from that doomed world and reshapes it with a higher, perfect vision." Shurley's heavy fingers balled into a square fist and slammed at the access button, "Her vision!"

The door slid open revealing a turbolift interior. Bomoor's eyes gazed at the cramped interior.

"This new vision..." the Jedi Consular began, drifting his gaze back until it snapped to Shurley's focussed glare, "Is it not for people like me? What makes me unworthy of shaping better worlds?"

The engineer did not move his body, but just the faintest rise of his brow spoke of him reconciling something buried within.

"I've worked with many different folks," he answered carefully, "From many different worlds and there were those few that saw things right. Made something of themselves so they stood above the rest."

He cocked his head at the thought, "It's not impossible," he murmured, "Just harder."

The door started to close again and Shurley slammed down his fist again on the panel so it reversed course.

"Now please," he said more firmly, gesturing his other hand into the turbolift, "Head on up. They'll be waiting to escort you at the top..."

 

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