Coruscant never truly slept; it only learned how to hide its persistent exhaustion beneath a veil of artificial light. Iandre stood on the edge of a mid-level observation terrace, distanced equally from the chaotic roar of Level 1313 and the polished, sterile corridors of the upper districts. Above her, the heavy traffic lanes stitched glowing, frantic rivers through the sky, while below, entire districts disappeared into a thick layer of shadow and mist, stacked endlessly upon one another in a vertical sprawl of history.
For a long moment, she simply watched the mechanical pulse of the world, marking this as her first time returning to the capital since the Clone Wars had torn the galaxy apart, and certainly since the Jedi Temple still stood whole. Back then, Coruscant had felt eternal and unshakable, a world built on a foundation of certainty and order that seemed immune to any real consequence, even as war began to burn across the distant stars.
She knew better now, and as her gaze drifted upward, she saw the remains of the Jedi Temple complex piercing the skyline like a wounded monument. Its silhouette remained recognizable and imposing, yet it was deeply fractured and rebuilt with scarred layers of history—Republic, Empire, Occupation, and Reclamation—piled atop one another like hastily stitched bandages. What was once a sacred place had been systematically turned into a battleground, then a symbol, and finally a ruin.
Folding her arms loosely as her coat shifted in the artificial breeze generated by passing speeders, she murmured quietly to herself,
"I remember when it was quiet," recalling a time when the silence wasn't empty, but rather the heavy, purposeful quiet of a place devoted entirely to reflection. She had been much younger then, still learning the weight of responsibility and still harboring the naive belief that institutions could protect themselves through virtue alone, but the war had long since cured her of that particular illusion.
She moved on slowly, her boots clicking softly along the terrace walkway as the mundane sounds of the city swirled around her: vendors calling out from nearby stalls, commuters arguing over transit delays, and distant music drifting from an open apartment window. Life continued as it always did, and that persistence unsettled her more than anything else.
She stopped again when the Temple came fully into view between two towering spires, realizing that up close, the reality looked far worse. Structural reinforcements wrapped portions of the complex like raised scars, and entire wings had been replaced with modernized, sterile architecture that clashed violently with the original design. Where there had once been sprawling gardens and open courtyards, there were now only security barriers and sensor arrays—a form of protection born entirely of fear rather than peace.
Resting one hand against the railing, she let memory layer over the harsh reality, seeing ghosts of younglings crossing courtyards and Masters engaged in quiet debate within meditation halls filled with soft light. The hum of thousands of lives devoted to balance was gone, replaced by the hollow echoes of politics and bureaucratic damage control.
Iandre exhaled slowly, whispering,
"I'm sorry," though she was not entirely sure if she was speaking to the Temple, the Order, or perhaps just to her younger self. After a few more moments, she straightened her posture, reminding herself that she hadn't come for the sake of nostalgia; she had come to understand what remained and to determine whether anything left here was still worth fighting for.
With one final look toward the fractured spires, she turned and continued down the walkway, blending back into the endless, grinding motion of Coruscant's living machine, unaware that elsewhere in the city, forces tied to old wounds and a burgeoning darkness were already beginning to stir.
Jonyna Si
Jax Thio
Aeva Nightgate
