The Padawans’ training area was all but deserted that time of day. Other apprentices would be preparing for missions or dining with their masters. Reath, who had no assignment and no master, went there because he had no place else to go.

They’d already reassigned his quarters. Already! It wasn’t like one room in the Padawans’ dorm was greatly different from the others, and the room he’d been assigned as a temporary measure was a lot more luxurious, actually—the sort of place usually occupied by a visiting Master from another temple. But his old room had been near the hall that led to the Archives. Its small window looked out on the sunrise, or what of it could be seen through the thick cityscape. Most important, it was home. Familiarity was what Reath needed more than anything else. Instead he had a finely woven bedspread and a grand vista that looked out on the Galactic Senate, and to him it might as well have been a blank durasteel wall. So he planned to remain in the practice area until he was so tired he could no longer grieve, or even think, and return to his temporary quarters once it was no more than a place to collapse.

He donned a helmet with a blast shield and tipped the shield down over his eyes. With one flick of a finger, Reath ignited his lightsaber; at the very edges of his shield, he could see the faintest green glow. Its hum was familiar in his ears and hand. “Sparring droid,” he called, “activate at level five.”

He heard the whirring of the sparring droid’s treads. While no droid could fully replicate the experience of dueling a sentient opponent, they could test reflexes and aim. Reath sometimes felt he hadn’t sparred against them enough; time to rectify that.

Finding center was difficult. If he had lost only Dez—or only Master Jora—no. Each of their deaths had shaken him deeply, crumbling the very foundation of his life. To have lost them both…

But they would want him to become a good Jedi. A great one. Reath intended to earn that in their honor.

Reach out with your feelings, whispered Master Jora’s voice in his mind. The pain that sliced through him nearly distracted him from the concentration of energy within the sparring droid—

But not quite. Reath swung his saber up, parrying the blast. Ducked low to avoid the spinning bar that had dispersed just enough air for him to hear. Deflected two more blasts, leapt to his feet, and struck. His lightsaber slashed into the droid, igniting a rain of sparks that he could just glimpse at his feet.

When Reath pulled off his helmet, he looked at the droid. He’d very nearly hacked off its head. They were designed to take damage, but maybe not quite this much damage.

“Well done, sir,” said the droid’s dangling head in a surprisingly deep voice. “I would advise your next practice begin at no lower than a level seven setting.”

“Got it. Sorry about, um, your neck.”

“It can be repaired. But I must see to it immediately.” The droid carefully supported its head in one of its clawlike hands as it turned to wheel out of the room again.

Once again he was alone with his thoughts, the last place he wanted to be.

I can’t stop thinking about Master Jora, he thought. Maybe that’s what I’m called to do.

So Reath went down to one of the many meditation chambers within the Temple. While some meditation spaces were small and cozy, others had soaring ceilings and vast open space. This was the latter. And stretching the length of the cavernous white chamber, arching over it all, stood the Kyber Arch.

He stepped silently through the room, taking care not to disturb the half dozen Jedi who sat on various benches or cushions, deep within their trances. While most meditation areas were nearer the center of the temple, this one, nearer the top, actually had windows looking out on Coruscant. At a certain hour in the early morning, sunlight hit the Kyber Arch at just the right angle to dazzle the whole room with rainbows. Reath had missed that hour. Now the arch simply looked dark and jagged, like something that might’ve been made out of plain old rock.

He went to the base of the path—nearly two meters thick, at that point—and grasped firm handholds. The kyber crystals were cool against his palms. Reath took a deep breath, found his first foothold, and began to scale the arch.

At first the ascent was so easy he could’ve imagined himself on a climber in the younglings’ playroom. As he moved higher, however, the arch narrowed. His footing became trickier to find. Reath climbed without fear; even if he was too shocked to catch his own fall, one of the other Jedi in the room would do so. Still, the task called for dexterity. For concentration. While Reath was doing this, he could think of nothing else.

At last he reached the very top. There, the crystals were fused together in a curve hardly ten centimeters wide. Reath walked steadily across it, then pivoted to begin finding his way back down. By this time, however, his concentration was far less sure.

I did it, Master Jora. I crossed the Kyber Arch alone. It’s possible. It’s not even difficult. So why did you—what did you mean by—

He jumped the final meter to the floor. Frustration welled up in him again, combined with the grief he wasn’t supposed to feel, and he somehow felt farther from the Force than before. Probably he should find the nearest cushion and try to meditate, but that kind of serenity seemed out of reach. Before he could think of anything else that might serve as a distraction—some gymnastics, maybe?—his comlink buzzed. He hurried out of the meditation chamber to answer. “Silas here.”

“Padawan Silas,” said Master Adampo, of the Council. “We are glad to have reached you.”

He could think of only one reason the Jedi Council would want to talk. “Have I been assigned to a new master?” As much as it hurt to think of replacing Master Jora, there was nothing else for him to do. Unless, maybe, the many problems on their mission had led the Council to decide that Reath had no business training to become a Jedi at all.…

“Not yet. We’ll discuss this with you soon.”

“Then—”

“Communications packets from Starlight Beacon have arrived,” said Master Adampo. “They include new and potentially critical information about the sector. As one of the few Jedi to have returned from that sector, your insights may be significant.”

“Send me the location and I’ll be right there, master,” he said. “Thank you.”

Surely Master Cohmac would be more useful in the briefing, not to mention Orla Jareni—but then Reath realized that they would soon be busy with the idols. A shiver went through him as he imagined those things in the very heart of the Temple. Although he’d helped set up the Force containment, it made perfect sense that more experienced Jedi would handle the rest.

Just reporting on what they’d encountered over there, still parsecs away from Starlight Beacon, on the far side of the sector? Sure, Reath could handle that, even if it came down to saying “Mostly we saw a bunch of plants.” It would keep him busy, and that was all he wanted.

As big and confusing as Coruscant was—very, and very—spaceports were spaceports everywhere. Affie Hollow hurried through the Central Senatorial Hangar, counting off all the similarities with a huge grin.

Droids directing huge cargo loads? Check. Pilots wearing their flashiest jackets and talking smack at each other? Check. Some ancient freighter that hardly seemed like it could remain in one piece, much less fly into space? Check. A huddled group of travelers hauling too many bags and trying to figure out which was their transport? Check. (In this case, a group of Trandoshans, growling in their confusion.)

At least one huge, top-of-the-line freighter, gleaming as though it had just been polished?

That wasn’t something you could find in any old spacedock. But Affie had just located Byne Guild number one-seventy-one, the Spiderspun.

She ran up the ramp, long braid streaming behind her. A couple of the crew droids chirped or called to her as she went, but she couldn’t stop. Not yet. She just waved and kept running.

The Spiderspun was too new for Affie to have many fond memories of it, or very many memories at all. Yet already it felt like Scover’s ship: clean down to the tiniest rivet, precisely calibrated, smelling of cleanser rather than grease. Affie was probably tracking in grime. But she knew Scover wouldn’t mind.

Finally she ran onto the bridge. A few crew members remained at work even in dock, partly for security reasons, partly because equipment function could never be perfect enough. In the center of it all stood a Bivall woman, her ridged head cocked as she studied the readouts, until she heard the footsteps and turned. At the sight of Affie, Scover Byne smiled. “There you are.”

Affie wrapped her arms around Scover, hugging her as tightly as she dared. Scover hugged back—not as tightly, because Bivalls didn’t let themselves get carried away about much. Still, it was a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” Affie said. “When we heard about the hyperspace disaster—what happened to the Legacy Run—”

“My travels had concluded by that time.” Scover studied Affie’s face. “I trust you did not let your fears distract you.”

“No. Leox got me to see reason pretty quickly, so I was able to keep working.” Affie pretended not to notice the small crinkle on Scover’s brow at the mention of Leox Gyasi. Scover just didn’t get Leox. A lot of people didn’t. Despite their recent disagreements, Affie wanted to stick up for him whenever possible. Eventually Scover would realize what a great pilot he truly was. “That doesn’t mean I’m not glad to see you.”

“As I am glad to see you. We had no confirmation of the Vessel’s safe location.” Scover’s voice was cool, but she combed stray strands of Affie’s hair away from her face as she spoke. “You could have delivered neither of your cargoes under these conditions. Let Captain Gyasi know it will not be counted against him in the Guild metrics.”

“I will.”

“But—” Scover paused slyly. “May I take it that one of your cargoes went undiscovered by the other?”

Affie pieced that together. “Oh. No worries. Our secret remains safe in temperature-controlled storage.”

Even Scover had to smile at that. “We have some days before the hyperspace lanes will be fully opened again. Shall we use some of this time to explore Coruscant together?”

“Absolutely.” Affie basked in the attention from her foster mother; as the busy manager of a shipping guild, Scover could rarely devote her full attention to Affie or to anyone. Now, however, they’d have a chance to spend quality time together.

And a chance for Affie to finally ask Scover some serious questions.

Within the heart of the Temple of Coruscant, in the Shrine in the Depths, the idols seemed to glow. Their burnished surfaces caught the candledroids’ light, and the jewels’ color brightened against the dusky gold. Cohmac stood amid them, trying to understand their nature and their secret histories.

What darkness is contained within these idols?

When he reached out with the Force, he could sense nothing but the shield he, Orla, and Reath had conjured. It held strong and steady as an energy field, so distinct Cohmac imagined he could visualize the bubble around the idols, even put his finger on the exact place where the barrier ended. This was an illusion—the way a living being’s mind tried to make sense of the formless, unknowable boundaries of the Force. But it was an illusion that served a purpose. It made the barrier more real in their minds, which in turn made them better able to confront the powers imprisoned within.

Orla stood by his side, as did a few experts in Jedi arcana. The Council had chosen a handful of other Jedi to join them for the group meditation, each one a Master, each one possessing unique knowledge and abilities that could help. Poreht La, a Lasat, was an expert on ancient techniques. The human archivist Tia Mirabel had learned more about Force-imbued objects than anyone else in the Order. And Lurmen Giktoo Nelmo’s power spoke for itself.

Had Master Yoda been present, undoubtedly he would have led the team. But they would have to manage as best they could without him.

“Are we ready?” Master Giktoo said, smoothing her fur. The other Jedi drew closer, forming a ring around the idols. Cohmac forced himself to have no future, no past—no questions, no anger, no doubts—to exist in nothing but the present as Giktoo continued, “Let us begin.”

Affie made her first attempt while they were eating at one of the stranger local establishments, a place with checkered floors, shiny red seats, and waiter droids that rolled around on impractical wheels. “Did you read our report? About the Amaxine station?”

“I have not had time to review all materials about your journey yet,” said Scover, which was not the same thing as no. “How is your arm? Captain Gyasi should not have forced you to be the one taking on a hazardous mission.”

“I volunteered to go down in the tunnels. Leox couldn’t have stopped me. Anyway, my arm is fine. See?” Affie flashed her all-but-healed wrist.

“Now, try some of this,” Scover insisted, holding out a small dish of something called barafuraha—though Affie had heard most people ordering it as just baha. It was apparently a great favorite on Coruscant, but…

“It’s made of ice,” Affie said. “Who wants to eat ice?”

“We made it once in a while, in my family. We came from the Core originally, you know. And baha is pleasing to most sentients’ palates.”

Scover had used the casual name for something, which Scover never did, so she actually must like the stuff a lot. Affie cautiously took a spoonful, winced as the shock of cold hit her mouth, then opened her eyes. “Oh, this is amazing.”

“The cold is actually part of the enjoyment, as I trust you now recognize.”

“Okay, okay, I admit it. I was wrong. Get me more.”

Scover smiled, and the moment for pressing questions had passed. Only after finishing her second dish of baha did Affie wonder if that distraction had been intentional.

Her opening for the second attempt came as they toured a holographic shipyard. The sales droid tottered along, bringing up images of new freighters, all of them faster and safer than any before but astonishingly affordable, according to its patter.

“As you can see, it does not sacrifice style for function.” The droid enlarged the holo from a whole-ship view that would’ve fit in Affie’s outstretched arms to a life-size image of the bridge. Holographic shimmer masked the shipyard in translucent models of seats, controls, and even a faux star field ahead. “If you would wish to see the crew quarters—”

“Send me the specifications for future study,” Scover said. Many people might’ve snapped at a droid, especially one using hard-sell tactics. But Scover remained polite with everyone at every time. It was a trait Affie both greatly admired and hadn’t yet mastered.

“Right away, madam. I’ll include packets on our special upgrades, as well.” The droid rolled away to transfer the full data packet, leaving them alone amid the holographic image of a ship that did not yet exist.

“Buying freighters in bulk?” Affie began. “Republic freighters? Are we really doing that well?”

Scover always preened a bit when she got to talk about her ever-increasing profit margins. “We have seen a substantial increase in business lately. Yes, the Legacy Run disaster has caused delays, but these are temporary. Many people wish to move cargo soon, rather than after the Republic expansion, for various reasons with which we need not concern ourselves.”

“You’re sure of all our pilots’ loyalty, then,” Affie said. “Cargo isn’t, uh, coming in short?”

That got Scover’s full attention. “Do you have knowledge of dishonesty within the Guild? Is this about Leox Gyasi?”

“No. Leox is clean, totally. It’s just—” The story spilled out of Affie then: the Amaxine station, the lines of strange code, the symbols of the Byne Guild, and the fact that an otherwise empty system had its coordinates preprogrammed within the Vessel’s navigational computer. Scover listened with keen, silent interest, saying nothing until Affie finally took a pause long enough for it to seem plausible that she was done.

“This is not evidence of a corrupt wing within the Guild,” Scover said. “Such written code is occasionally used by pilots in locations where standard messages would be difficult to deliver. The practice is mostly archaic by now, but it lingers in certain locations, including the Amaxine station.” Her explanation was as impersonal as any a droid would’ve offered. That was how Scover always talked, and usually it wouldn’t have struck Affie as odd.

But this felt…off.

“I’m glad nobody’s trying to cheat you,” Affie said, genuinely relieved. “Still—that station is dangerous, Scover. The helix rings, the poisonous plants, even the little gardener droids attack you, and that’s not even getting into all that dark side stuff.” Maybe that was nothing but Jedi mumbo jumbo, but given the terrible luck they’d had on the station, Affie was beginning to wonder if they were on to something. “Our pilots shouldn’t be using it.”

“It is their free choice,” Scover said, “to use the station as they see fit, or not. I do not dictate methods to pilots who prove their capability.”

Which was true. Affie had always thought it showed remarkable open-mindedness; like most Bivalls, Scover valued rules, definitions, precision. The fact that she gave her pilots freedom meant she could see things from multiple points of view.

For the first time, Affie realized—it also meant that sometimes Scover didn’t have to ask questions that might have difficult answers.

“It is only a way station,” Scover said. “You are still shaken by the experience and so giving it undue importance in your mind. With time you will gain greater perspective. Put it out of your mind for now.” She smiled. “Would you like to get some buttersweet puffs? I know they are your favorites.”

Affie managed to smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”

But she couldn’t forget what Scover had unwittingly told her, by denying something she had not been asked to deny:

The Amaxine station, whatever else it might be, was much more to the Byne Guild than a way station.

As isolated as Reath had been before, he wished he were alone again.

He sat at the edge of the briefing, saying nothing, and yet he might as well have been bathed in a spotlight. The other Jedi kept a respectful distance, so markedly aware of his bereavement that they magnified it. Reath felt as though he had to simultaneously show the full weight of his sorrow and hold it together.

No one here is judging you, he reminded himself. This wasn’t yet another exercise he could practice to the point of mastering. He’d always prided himself on his ability to excel, but no longer. Who cared? Why had he ever thought that was worth caring about?

He and Dez had attended a briefing together in that room once, perhaps three years before. What had it been about? Raiding parties harassing Kashyyyk? Reath couldn’t recall. All he could think of was the easy way Dez had sprawled in his chair, confident in his new Knighthood, while Reath had wondered whether he’d ever feel that brash, that assured of his future.

Dez’s future had ended in the middle of nowhere, for no reason at all.

Master Adampo walked to the front of the chamber, and the crowd went still. Gratitude swept through Reath. Once the lecture began he could finally escape the echo chamber of his thoughts for a while.

“Today we must examine an enemy element that has caused great trouble on the frontier—a marauder group known as the Nihil,” said Adampo as the room fell dark. “Although the Republic had already identified the Nihil as a significant threat to settlements and shipping, it has now been established that the group certainly caused the Legacy Run disaster.”

Reath sat upright as murmurs of dismay filled the room. If the Nihil were capable of that, what else could they do? That didn’t matter as much as what they’d already done, not to Reath.

If not for the Legacy Run disaster and the subsequent conflict with the Nihil, Master Jora would still be alive.

It was as though the rage descended on him—he wouldn’t have believed he had the capacity for that kind of hate in him. They killed my master, whispered an unfamiliar, undeniable voice in his head. The Nihil murdered her. His entire body tensed until he nearly shook.

Turn away from hatred. This is the dark side, whispered a more familiar voice—not his own, but Master Jora’s. It was only Reath’s memory of her, but that was a lifeline to the light.

Slowly he exhaled. Banishing all the tension was impossible, but he resolved to direct that energy toward learning more about these raiders who had caused so much harm, and not only to Master Jora.

“Therefore the group requires more in-depth study than has been conducted of late,” Adampo continued. “The Nihil’s origins are mysterious; they comprise numerous species from widely disparate worlds. However, we have no solid count on the species included or of the proportions represented, due to their masked faces.” Adampo brought up the first holo, an image of a fearsome Nihil warrior with a huge breathmask strapped to his head, storming some hapless ship. The Nihil wore blue battle stripes painted from his hairline down to his chest, over the mask itself. Reath was reminded, bizarrely but affectionately, of the blue streaks in Nan’s hair.

Maybe he had become too fond of her.

“Nihil ships are uniquely dangerous because they can join together or separate into smaller sections,” continued Adampo. “Therefore no opponent can be sure whether he will be facing a storm of small fighters or a massive dreadnought. The ships are generally constructed from pieces of other vessels, like this.”

Another holo filled the space, this one showing a pieced-together patchwork spacecraft—one that was far too familiar.

Reath’s eyes widened as he realized, That looks like Nan and Hague’s ship.

Looks exactly like it.

Their vagueness about where they came from. The violent deaths of Nan’s parents. The carbon scoring on the plates of their ship. The blue streaks in Nan’s hair.

He whispered, “They’re Nihil.”