Engines of Heaven: Ascension

Posted on Tue Jun 2nd, 2026 @ 9:56pm by Bomoor Thort & Darth Serus

4,031 words; about a 20 minute read

Chapter: Additional Stories
Location: Cathedral of the Firmament, Ascending
Timeline: After "Cathedral"

---

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.

---

---

"Do not be conformed to this galaxy, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind in Her Glare…"

---

---

The doors parted, but not smoothly - more with a kind of finality, as though something within the mechanism had decided the moment was correct and not a second sooner. The light beyond had a pale, unwavering glow that flattened shadow and stripped colour from the threshold as Thane and Bomoor stepped through.

The space beyond was vast enough that it resisted immediate comprehension, completely contrary to all they had seen on the lower levels. It was not a chamber in the conventional sense, but a constructed void, an interior shaped to evoke something older than even the ancient vessel itself. The ceiling vanished into height and light, supported by columns that rose like the ribs of some immense, hollowed creature. Surfaces were not merely metal, but layered and reworked, old structure buried beneath deliberate architecture that forced the eye upward, inward, toward a singular focal point.

It was only after a few measured steps that they realised the chamber was not silent. The sound was low, almost beneath hearing at first. A sustained note, held without tremor or breath, joined by others in slow, deliberate succession - a classical choir.

Hidden from immediate view, but present throughout the space, their voices carried along the architecture itself. There was no variation between them, no falter and no individuality or variance. Each tone aligned perfectly with the next,either out of utter devotion... or fear of what failure would bring.

Thane slowed by a fraction without meaning to. The Force here was no longer a pressure, nor even a current. It felt arranged, directed along unseen lines that converged ahead, drawn into a single locus that dominated the chamber as surely as its physical structure - the dark side, thick and oily, felt pervasive, even as the beings around them had no true aearness of it. The choir voices did not disrupt that sensation, but rather reinforced it.

The sound resolved itself only after a few more steps. Low, sustained, and perfectly held, the voices carried through the chamber with unnatural precision.

Thane did not look for its source; his attention had already been drawn forward. Far across the chamber, elevated upon a broad dais and framed by the pale radiance of the great window beyond, stood a solitary figure. Too distant for detail, yet unmistakable in posture alone.

Contispex.

Even at this distance, there was a certainty to him that matched the space itself. He did not shift or gesture. He simply remained, as though the chamber had been arranged around his presence rather than the other way around.

Between them and the dais, the space was not empty. Along the flanks of the chamber, arranged with rigid symmetry, stood the elite of the Nea Glarists, nothing like their ramshackle brethren below. Their armour was uniform and immaculate, wrought in burnished gold and deep bronze that caught and held the ambient light without glare. Each figure stood at perfect stillness, feet set at identical angles, heads aligned forward in disciplined unison. All were Human and male.

Heavy repeating blasters were held across their chests, industrial weapons built for sustained fire rather than mobility, their weight borne without visible strain. At their sides rested long spears, the edges dulled to a faint, unnatural sheen where cortosis weave had been worked into their construction, a quiet answer to the presence of lightsabers without needing to name it.

Thane’s gaze passed across them once, measuring distance, spacing, the lines they formed without conscious effort. The calculation slowed as the same sensation returned, sharper now, no longer diffuse.

The Force narrowed further, and for a fleeting instant, it felt as though something within the chamber had become aware of him in turn. Not a surge or pressure, but a precise and deliberate attention, as if a hand had been placed lightly against the edge of his thoughts without yet pressing inward.

His hand hovered nearer to his hilt, but his posture remained composed, unchanged to any watching eye, but the ease of the lower decks had gone, replaced by something more deliberate.

Bomoor slowed beside him, the Ithorian’s steps losing their usual certainty. Thane didn’t need to look to feel the shift; it pressed faintly against the edge of his awareness, a ripple of unease that did not come from the chamber alone.

"This isn't right..." Bomoor’s voice was low, the twin tones subdued in a way Thane rarely heard from his companion, "I preferred it when they were blasting at us. At least that felt honest."

Thane kept his gaze forward, but he felt Bomoor’s eyes move across the immaculate ranks of guards, then upward toward the distant figure on the dais. The Ithorian’s breath tightened, a subtle constriction Thane had learned to recognise over years of training together.

"This sudden reverence they offer us cannot possibly be good," Bomoor murmured, shifting his weight, the sound barely audible over the choir’s unsettling harmony, "That strange mechanic before was off enough, but there's something darker up here: an anticipation, an expectation."

Thane felt the truth of it. The attention. The pressure. The sense of a presence that had already marked them long before he stepped into the chamber.

Bomoor’s voice dropped further, almost swallowed by the vastness around them, "You feel it too. Like an unseen gaze in the back of your mind."

Thane did not have a chance to reply before the chorus of voices rose to a crescendo before being suddenly silenced as the figure before them struck a hand firmly in the air. Contispex held himself there for a moment, eyes closed. Perhaps in prayer, or simply in quiet appreciation.

"Children of the Republic," he finally spoke, his words softly tumbling down the modest steps up to the altar at the far end of the chamber, "Adherents of the Jedi. Welcome to our construct to Her Great Glare, the pinnacle of the Nea Glarist church. Welcome... to the Cathedral of the Firmament"

He smiled and brought his other arm out from under his black vestments, revealing a simple cane, with which he began making his way down towards them. As they approached, they saw he was a man of advanced years - heavy lines stretched down below his cheeks and creases rippled his forehead. His eyes were obscured by dark rounded glasses; perhaps his aged eyes had developed a photosensitivity over time.

Yet, he did not drop the soft smile as he drew closer. It served to melt away the rough lines of age and speak of a genuine openness.

"Do not worry," he chuckled under his breath as though indulging in a half-recalled limerick, "Few see the splendour of Her design at first glance. It is as Adinorr writes: 'And, lo, the travellers did turn their heads away for her Glare was too much for their mortal eyes. Yet, Her warmth still sat upon their hearts and they knew they were among friends.'"

He nodded firmly as his head turned to Thane and then to Bomoor before raising his arms up just slightly, bringing the cane up with it.

"And you are indeed among friends here," his voice grew louder, straining against leathery vocal chords to echo across the hall as he gestured to the assembled, "Our choir sings the song of Her embrace as she asks us all to open our hearts to you. It seems you too felt Her song as you find yourselves here, though I am sure you know not why. No... not yet."

He dropped his hands again and settled them both on the cane before him.

"Then let me be your guide as you discover her ways, as I have to so many before you," his voice once again soft and gentle, "I am Archprelate Contispex, the twentieth of my name. But, more importantly, what names should I call you, my young friends?"

Thane's eyes had narrowed long before Contispex reached them.

The older man's smile, the softness in his voice, even the warmth he attempted to project across the impossible scale of the chamber - all of it felt carefully measured. Not false, precisely, but deliberate. Like every word had been rehearsed until it carried exactly the weight intended, and it reminded him very much of the Senate sessions Sotah had taken him to observe countless times over the years. Thane remained still as the Archprelate approached, one hand resting loosely near his belt whilst the choir's silence settled heavy around them.

The young Jedi finally inclined his head the barest fraction, enough to acknowledge the title offered to him without reciprocating the warmth behind it.

"Archprelate Contispex," he replied evenly, his voice carrying cleanly through the vast chamber despite its dryness, "Jedi Knights Thane and Thort of the Third Galactic Republic." He let the names settle in the silence between them. "And you must realise," he continued, tone calm but firm, "that you are presently under arrest on behalf of the Third Galactic Republic for the unlawful blockade of Ord Yutani, the attacks against civilian shipping, and the atrocities committed against the population of this world in the name of your... faith."

His gaze drifted briefly past Contispex then, taking in once more the immense chamber around them. The choir and the towering architecture, as well as the armed ranks standing in reverent silence beneath the artificial glow of the great window. That same dark presence continued to press upon him, even as he could not place it. It certainly did not emanate from this foolish old man.

"This vessel may impress pilgrims and frightened senators," Thane said, returning his attention to the pontiff, "but draping scripture across an ancient war machine does not make it a cathedral any more than calling myself a Dark Lord of the Sith would make me one."

Thane continued to feel that unseen attention, closer now.

Angling his head more towards the centre of the conversation, Bomoor added, "Of course, we appreciate your cessation of hostilities towards us and would demand that you also halt all hostilities above the planet against the Republic fleet."

Contispex' hands pressed harder into the cane, pressing it more firmly into the crimson carpet under their feet. His smile remained soft, but his brow lowered just a fraction.

"This... reception is extended only to the two of you," the break in his words emphasising something unspoken yet nonetheless palpable, "It does not extend to your friends in the Republic ships that attempt to dismantle our holy protection of the planet."

Bomoor's own friendlier voice dropped and he angled his eyestalks backwards, "That's a funny way of describing a blockade."

This time the cane jumped several inches off the ground before stamping down again.

"And your Republic has a curious way of stewarding what it so proudly calls a 'New Golden Age,'" Contispex replied, the words soft, yet carrying with them an unmistakable weight, "One in which complacency is mistaken for peace, and equality for virtue, whilst those of true merit, those touched more keenly by Her Glare, are asked to dim themselves for the comfort of lesser souls."

His own gaze drifted aside slightly, as though looking through layers of durasteel into the invisible battle raging in the skies.

"No… I do not think I shall show mercy to those who reject the divine hierarchy set before them. Nor can I acknowledge the authority of a profane senate, led by a blasphemous chancellor."

Thane's expression did not shift much as Contispex spoke. His criticisms of the Republic were not entirely unfamiliar to him. Corruption existed and complacency existed - and he long remembered the lessons learned on Onderon, when he and Bomoor were but padawans. The Senate too often mistook speeches for action and symbolism for sacrifice, as did many of the Reborn Jedi, it seemed. The so-called New Golden Age rang hollow in parts of the galaxy where suffering simply occurred further away from the Core and therefore became easier to ignore - but that did not make this righteous.

He had seen how they had treated their own people in Marathon, of how the non-Humans had been reviled and treated as lesser beings. Even on this vessel, slaves toiled in servitude to this warped religion.

"The Republic is flawed because people are flawed," Thane then began to say, drawn into addressing the other Human. He had been civil and had invited discourse - even though he was certain none of this would change the inevitable outcome where blades were drawn. "Because civilisation is difficult and compromise ugly and progress uneven - yet people still try. Worlds still struggle toward something better in spite of greed, fear and exhaustion. We've seen enough good within the Republic, enough decent beings trying to hold it together, to know that its failures did not justify this grotesque imitation of order."

His blue eyes drifted slowly across the chamber again, measuring distance whilst trying to be sutble. He clocked the guards and the choir stalls, as well as the narrow spaces between the columns. He logged the elevated dais and the firing angles surrounding it. If this devolved into violence, they would have only moments to act decisively before the entire chamber became a kill-zone - and that was not what any of them truly wanted, he was now sure of that.

"I think you've mistaken control for enli-"

The words stopped in his throat, and Thane could not explain why. A sudden stillness passed through the chamber, subtle enough that it took the Jedi Guardian half a heartbeat to recognise it. The choir had not ceased singing, but rather, they had fallen silent so perfectly that the absence itself seemed unnatural. Even the vast mechanical hum of the slowly-rising Cathedral felt momentarily distant beneath the pressure now settling over the hall.

The Force tightened around him as he tried to speak and look, and only his eyes could shift instinctively toward one of the great columns lining the chamber as a figure emerged slowly from behind it, as though he had been standing there from the beginning and reality had only now chosen to acknowledge him.

He was yet another Human, tall and emaciated. The ancient figure moved without visible weakness despite the obvious ruin and advanced years of his body. Tattered pale robes hung from him in heavy layers, once magnificent garments now stained, frayed and trailing like funerary cloth. Long white-grey hair spilled over narrow shoulders and merged into a beard that obscured much of his hollow face, whilst deep within that ruin burned two molten gold eyes that fixed themselves immediately upon Thane and Bomoor.

The chamber seemed dimmer around him, and not just metaphorically. The light itself appeared weaker where it touched him, shadows stretching too far across the crimson and gold gilted carpet beneath skeletal feet.

This being's was an ancient presence. Hungry and certain and, for the briefest instant, Thane felt something brush against the edge of his thoughts with horrifying intimacy - not forcing entry, but parting through his concentration like fingers through shallow water. He had not felt anything like this since his earliest years training as a youngling, in those earliest lessons where they learned the ways of Jedi mind tricks and subtle mental manipulation, only this was far more severe - and not something he suspected could ever be done to a fully-fledged Knight.

A hint of panic started to fester, as the dark summoning entity they had sensed across the desert was now literally apparent before them.

Ah.

The word did not sound aloud - but both Thane and Bomoor heard it anyway.

Thane's spine stiffened almost imperceptibly.

The old man tilted his head slightly, studying the two Knights with the quiet fascination of a scholar finally uncovering a long-sought text.

"There you are," the ancient being said softly.

The voice was deep enough to feel physical, resonating through the chamber and into bone alike. Every word seemed carried upon some unseen current within the air itself.

"You have begun asking the correct questions," the ancient figure continued, taking another slow step forward. "I wondered how long the Renunciates would keep you blind to them."

Thane could feel Bomoor take a deep breath beside him, clearly sensing the aura of the old yet powerful Human even more acutely than himself.

"You're..." Bomoor began, with a pause of confused concern, "You're a Jedi."

The ancient man’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a snarl, as though the word Jedi were a memory he had not tasted in centuries. He swept around them like a spectre, the age on his face not translating into his movements as it clearly did with Contispex. They turned their heads to him, meeting his pale, icy eyes as he measured the pair.

It was Contispex that spoke next, addressing Bomoor's statement.

"He is so much more than a Jedi," the man spoke, angling his body slightly aside to grant the other space to move between them, "You stand before the first light of our resurrection - a truth hidden from all but the chosen few, whose power stands second only to the Goddess Herself."

The ancient man's expression did not change immediately.

For a few moments he simply regarded Thane, those molten golden eyes fixed upon him with unnerving intensity. Then, slowly, his head tilted to one side.

"You mocked 'Dark Lord of the Sith'."

The words emerged almost thoughtfully, and then he laughed. The sound was low and resonant, devoid of warmth yet carrying genuine amusement. It echoed strangely through the vast chamber and seemed entirely at odds with the gaunt ruin of the man before them.

"Is that what they still fear?" he asked softly. "Ancient ghosts and forgotten tyrants?" His gaze drifted upwards briefly towards the false stained-glass glare that dominated the chamber. "How very small they have become."

The old man turned his attention back.

"Jedi."

This time the word was spoken differently.

Not with hatred - but with disappointment.

"Do not diminish me with that title. The Jedi are custodians. Archivists. Caretakers." The ancient man's lip curled faintly. "Children entrusted with a fragment of divinity and taught to apologise for possessing it." His eyes moved between both Knights. "You touch what you call the Force and call yourselves servants." The last word sounded almost obscene. "You inherit power beyond kings, beyond armies, beyond the petty politicians whose approval you spend your lives seeking, and yet you willingly bind yourselves to their failures. You preserve broken systems. You mediate disputes. You stabilise decline and congratulate yourselves for your restraint."

Something in the old man's voice changed then changed.

"You could lead... You could shape worlds. You could spare entire generations from ignorance, war, corruption and suffering."

Thane found himself frowning despite himself, and despite how he felt in this room, from whatever power felt like it was subsuming him in that moment, from this husk of an old man who exercised such remarkable power. Despite all of that - the haggard man was not entirely wrong. The Republic was flawed. The Senate was flawed - and the Jedi Order itself was flawed, all of these institutions built and modelled after ones that had fallen before, or shaped into something more sinister and dangerous.

But ,that did not justify-

His thoughts stumbled, and it was enough. The ancient man's eyes narrowed slightly, as though he had noticed... or perhaps approved.

"You see it already." The words were directed solely at Thane. "The rot."

The young Jedi's jaw tightened.

"The Republic isn't perfect," he replied evenly, forcing focus back into his voice as best as he could. "Nobody claims it is."

"No." The old man nodded. "No one claims it... They merely demand that everyone pretend otherwise."

A silence followed before the eldest Human decided to speak again.

Then the Proselyte finally spoke.

"Master... Olr-Ohm Wiseld." The name sounded ancient, as if the man speaking it had almost forgotten it himself. "I wore that name when I still believed enlightenment could be achieved through patience. When I still believed lesser minds wished to be elevated." Something dark crossed those golden eyes. "I was a Jedi Master when your Order still remembered what that title meant - but the Faithful call me the Proselyte, as I have called millions unto Her Glare."

Only then did his attention finally shift toward Bomoor and the Proselyte extended one long, skeletal hand. The gesture was almost gentle, compassionate.

Thane felt the contact before it happened, even as it happened to his friend. It was a type of crossing, as though invisible fingers had slipped into the space between thoughts themselves.

"You see violence." The Proselyte's voice softened. "You see domination." His hand remained extended. "But tell me, young Ithorian... if a hateful mind can be made kind... if fear can be removed and if suffering can be eased... then why spill blood at all?"

Thane blinked as the other Human gently sought to invade Bomoor's mind, his own knees somehow becoming weak in that moment. His concentration was slipping and everything felt strangely far away, but then the entire Cathedral shuddered.

A fanfare sounded from hidden speakers throughout the immense ship.

"Faithful of the Cathedral of the Firmament." Cheers erupted faintly somewhere beyond the chamber, audible through the even the deck. "Optimal orbit has been achieved."

The deck vibrated beneath their feet and the Proselyte lowered his hand. A smile appeared upon his ancient face - one, perhaps, of joyous anticipation.

"By Her divine will," the old man said, perfectly in time with the announcement, "conversion now commences."

Deep beneath them, the ancient machinery changed tones as different mechanisms engaged, as the world below them suddenly cried out within the Force - the Cathedral had begun to feed on Ord Yutani.

As the deck lurched again beneath their feet, Bomoor’s finally allowed his steady composure to crack. His twin voices rose with a force that surprised even Thane.

"This isn’t conversion," he thundered, the words echoing off the vaulted ribs of the chamber, "It’s consumption!"

For the first time, Contispex turned fully toward the Ithorian.

"Ah," he murmured, "You still see only the surface of Her design."

The Cathedral shuddered again, harder this time. The choir answered it with a rising, trembling harmony almost matching the furious engines, as though the ship and the singers shared a single breath.

Contispex lifted his cane, the gesture slow and reverent.

"This is how it must be, young one," his voice swelled, carried by the chamber’s impossible acoustics, "Her Glare is too pure for many. But, fear not, those who close their hearts to the light do not perish - they are transformed. Their essence becomes fuel for the faithful, as it was written."

Behind him, the Proselyte had already begun to drift away from the conversation, turning toward the great window as though drawn by a sound only he could hear. His skeletal arms rose slightly, fingers trembling with something like rapture.

The light around him dimmed further, bending toward his form like threads pulled taut.

A deep, resonant groan rolled through the Cathedral - ancient machinery shifting into a new configuration. The Force itself seemed to scream from the world below.

Contispex closed his eyes, breathing in the vibration as though it were incense.

"This will be your final lesson, little Jedi,” his voice but a whisper against the choir, "Behold: the beginning."

The choir erupted into a triumphant, wordless cry.

The floor jolted and Ord Yutani began to die.

 

RSS Feed