Covert Route
Various points
in recent history
Michael, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Uriel,
Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
They say that there are moments that brand themselves into the soul. They are the moments that define us, shaping our memories and influencing our future. These experiences, whether joyous or painful, become a part of who we are, leaving an indelible mark that we carry with us forever.
The day the Core fell was one of them.
Coruscant burned. Tython screamed.The Temple cracked open like a wound, all in one fell swoop.
They never forgot the sound of the air splitting open above the Grand Spire as the Empire returned — not as the ghosts of history, but as a storm with banners. They never forgot his voice, Caltin Vanagor’s, calling for evacuation, holding the line, buying every second he could with a fury that could halt an avalanche. A Boulder holding back an avalanche. The survivors would remember the chaos, the screams, the deafening silence that followed. The Core's fall was not just a loss of a place, but of hope, unity, and the future they had fought to protect. It became a scar that would never fully heal… at least for now.
They never forgot how Connel fought across the massive city, tearing down Sunfyre bit by bit, piece by piece. How he hacked a planetary broadcast in hopes of rallying anyone, everyone he could, how he had carried his father’s broken body — not as a warrior, not as a Jedi — but as a son. That was another moment…
Nothing mattered at that moment, other than the last words Caltin had spoken to his son, through the Force. “Play the holovid”.
Static at first. Then that voice. Booming, powerful, wise.
If you’re hearing this… it means I didn’t make it. And that’s alright. The image of the old man standing there, in his ship, putting his gear on, Coruscant in the background, it was prophetic. Did he know? Probably. It didn’t matter at this point.
Connel, my son... I always knew your path wasn’t mine. You were never meant to carry the shield like I did. You were meant to be the blade in the dark. The shadow that shelters others. You are my legacy. You are my hope. You are what the Jedi were always meant to become… and if you need to disappear for a time… do it. But promise me you’ll come back when they need you most.
The recording ended. The silence after it was louder than any war cry.
Omega Squad was larger now. Command had just handed them a new “second” and a new “Infiltrator”. No word to them, no question of what it might do, just “plug and play”, right? Whatever. They listened to the message, all of it, sat in silence and wondered “what next?”
So they disappeared.
Not because they were broken. They did because they needed to be reborn. They needed to find clarity, to shed their past and embrace what lay ahead. The silence was their cocoon, a space to reflect and grow stronger. When they emerged, it would be with purpose, ready to face the challenges that awaited them.
And in the shadows of forgotten moons, in cold forests and hollowed asteroid holds, they trained. They bled. They rebuilt. They reforged. There was no ill will towards the new “Gabriel” and the infiltrator “Raguel”. It was not their fault, in fact they felt the same sentiment. They just wanted to do the right thing. They wanted to make something stronger out of something that wasn’t broken, but bending.
So they disappeared.
So they trained.
Not as soldiers.
Not even as Jedi…
… but as something
else.
Something better or worse? That depends on what side of their weapons you are on.
They became edges honed against inevitability.
A squad with one mind, one pulse.
Their armor black as midnight. Identical, save for the nuance of function — a taller silhouette, heavier plating, sniper lenses, a medic's emitter light — but in every other way? Indistinguishable. Inhuman. Ominous. Their movements were synchronized, their purpose singular. They were not bound by emotion or hesitation, driven only by the cold precision of their mission. To those who faced them, they were not individuals but a relentless force, a shadow that consumed all in its path. Even Connel was not simply “The Jedi we trust”, he was completely one of them… “Uriel”... each of them named for a specific reason.
If you know, you know, if you don’t? It’s better that way…
They disappeared as seven… they became one… one soul… one movement… one essence…
And yet?
Alive. Each one burning beneath the armor like a furnace… and none burned brighter than
him.
Connel.
He didn’t speak of the past. He didn’t need to.
They felt it in the way he trained, in the quiet anguish of his movements — how he made even the Force seem like a weapon of restraint rather than wrath.
And then — then came the message. No return code. No source, well, the source was bounced off of too many ping signals to trace. The important thing was that this was from a signal and on a frequency that only 2, maybe 3 sentients in the galaxy had. He was one of them.
Code:
Source: Unknown
Frequency: Designated “Shadow 0” — Legacy Channel
Decryption Key: Aurek-Besh-Forn
Timestamp: Unknown. No stardate.
[Static crackle]
“...This is not the end, Connel. It only feels that way.”
“The Core has been consumed. Fire and silence now rule where freedom once stood. Names like Tython, Coruscant, Kuat — they echo like tombstones.”
“The Jedi Temple is gone... but not the Jedi. The Senate collapsed... but not the will to resist.”
“I know you’re still out there. I know what you’re doing. Training. Preparing. I hope you are — because we’re going to need you.”
“The old ways failed. The orders, the alliances, the sanctuaries... all of them were compromised before the first starship ever fell from orbit.”
[Brief silence, faint sound of waves]
“But there are new ways now. Hidden paths. A spark the enemy cannot trace. They think they've wiped us out. Let them.”
“We're gathering in the places they ignore. In the shadows between systems. Beneath the ruins. Inside the Force.”
“Some call it foolish. Some call it hopeless. But I know your kind, Vanagor. I know you were born for this — bred in the fire of loss, forged in the silence of duty.”
“You don't have to answer. You never did. But if you're ready... if you're done waiting...”
[Distorted static overlay with coordinates faintly visible — grid sequence resolves to: ODESSEN]
“We’ll be watching the horizon.”
End Transmission.
A ghostly signal on a frequency only two or three beings had ever used. It played for them alone… and in the silence that followed, none asked for orders. They just moved. The signal faded, leaving a void that felt heavier than silence. In the stillness, they moved with purpose, their actions synchronized as if guided by an unspoken command. Each step echoed their shared resolve, a silent acknowledgment of what must be done.
Odessen
The forest planet breathed. Cloudlight filters through shifting trees, wind drawing shapes across the cliffs where ruins sleep and watchers wait. The Annunaki Mk III landed in silence. Then the doors opened, and seven shadows stepped out.
Armored.
Quiet.
Unflinching.
Each step sounded like a prophecy fulfilled. Each breath through the voice filters sounds like the end of denial. The forest seemed to hold its breath as they advanced, the weight of their presence bending the air. The ruins stirred, as if awakening to the rhythm of their march. In the distance, something ancient stirred, drawn to the inevitability of their purpose.
All heads turned. Conversation halted.
The Jedi, the exiles, the survivors — they saw them. Felt them… and for the first time in far too long, there was hope, at least in the team’s hearts.The air hummed with an unspoken tension, as if the forest itself recognized the weight of their arrival. The team moved forward, their steps deliberate, each moment carrying the promise of change. For the first time, the ruins seemed alive, resonating with the purpose that had brought them here.
Valery Noble didn’t seem to move.
Neither did her husband, Kahlil.
Not Aiden. Not Tarw.
And then—he, Connel, saw him.
Thurion Heavenshield.
“The Lion of Midvinter”. His father's brother in soul.
It happened slowly.
Connel stepped forward and removed his helmet.
His face wasn’t the one they remembered.
Older. Sharper. Shadows under the eyes like sleep is a luxury he no longer allowed himself. His hair was shorter, shaved but unkempt, and the scar beneath his right eye said everything about what he’s endured.
But his
aura—his
presence—radiated like a sun drawn through a prism.
Dark to the eye.
Light in the soul.
He saw them all. Nodded. Once.
Then…
His gaze shifted.
A woman.
Speaking with another. Familiar. Connel stopped. She turned. His mother, Chrysothemis Atreides Vanagor. Caltin’s widow and love from “their time”.
… and the man beside her —
Thexann Pehnataur
— didn’t speak.
He simply stepped back.
Mother and son collided in an embrace that melted the armor, melted the pain. It was brief. Powerful. Wordless.
… and for a moment, the galaxy felt whole again.
They came from the shadows but do not belong to it. They were vengeance. Now? Now they will become the reckoning.
And when Connel was ready to speak next…
Even the Force will listen.
