Tatooine's twin suns hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the jagged spires of Jabba's palace. The desert winds howled, carrying heat and grit through the ancient halls carved into the rock. Inside, the air grew cooler but heavier—thick with the stink of spice smoke and the cloying rot of excess.
Taliya Marr moved silently along the upper gantries, hood drawn low, steps measured. Her path to the vault wound through forgotten service corridors and sensor dead zones, mapped for her in Serion's data—a gift, or a test. She couldn't tell.
But she remembered his words: "The artifact will call to you. It does not want to be contained."
Below her, Jabba laughed—a low, guttural rumble that echoed through the hall. Dozens of thugs lounged around him, drunk on spice, flesh, and power. At the base of the dais, Anakin Skywalker stood, arms crossed, enduring the Hutt's posturing. Beside him, Obi-Wan Kenobi bowed politely, speaking in measured Huttese.
Taliya paused to watch. Skywalker's Force presence was volatile—radiant and undisciplined, like plasma behind glass. Kenobi was quieter, controlled. Balanced.
But neither saw her.
She slipped deeper into the palace.
Her hand brushed the hilt of her saber, not in fear, but anticipation.
Far above the galaxy's outer rim, Master Yoda knelt in a darkened chamber deep within the Jedi Archives—past security measures long sealed, past tomes untouched for centuries. The room pulsed with cold knowledge.
Before him flickered an incomplete hologram—an intercepted Rakatan transmission. Fragmented and old, translated by an ancient Jedi who had died in the Outer Reaches.
"Project SEED... intended to preserve sovereign intellect beyond organic limitation... integrated partially with Force-reactive circuitry… results: unstable... Subject-K failed to comply. Relic quarantined on Zereth Prime."
The Seed.
Yoda's ears drooped.
"Strong in the Force, the machines were," he murmured. "Not bound by it… but echoing through it."
He reached out—not physically, but with the Force—following a trail of pain and buried fear, through time and memory.
He saw fire.
He saw metal that bled.
He saw a man—or something once a man—standing in a circle of light, whispering to a sphere of crystalized thought.
He saw Serion.
But the image shattered as quickly as it came.
Someone… or something… resisted.
Taliya reached the vault's perimeter. Three guards. Two Gamorreans, and a droid turret.
She inhaled, then shifted. Her body blurred as the Force cloaked her, footsteps landing silently behind the first guard. A sharp stun charge—nonlethal—dropped the Gamorrean. The second turned, but not fast enough.
By the time the turret swiveled, her saber was already ignited—its blade a rare violet. One flick of her wrist and the turret sparked, dying in silence.
She stepped inside.
The chamber was colder than the rest of the palace. The artifact was stored in a crystalline containment pod, shaped like a heart turned to stone. It pulsed faintly in the Force—like a heartbeat slowed to near-death. It hungered.
Her breath caught.
It was Rakatan. But unlike anything she'd seen in Serion's forges. Not a weapon… not exactly. A mind. Dormant. Waiting.
She reached for it—and pain surged into her skull.
Visions. Screaming metal. A world consumed in war. Jedi slaughtered by machines they could not sense.
And then—Serion's voice.
"Now you hear it too."
Obi-Wan Kenobi's head tilted suddenly.
"What is it?" Anakin asked.
"I felt something. A presence."
"In the palace?"
"Close."
They moved swiftly, excuses left behind. As they turned the corridor past the spice vaults, Anakin's senses flared.
"There!" he shouted.
Taliya, artifact in hand, leapt from the chamber's side exit, cloak flaring behind her. Skywalker ignited his saber.
"Stop!"
She didn't.
The hallway exploded into motion—Force-enhanced speed, saber deflections, a thrown crate to block pursuit. Obi-Wan followed with more caution, studying her movements.
"She's not trying to kill us," he said.
Anakin didn't care. He chased, raw power behind each stride.
Taliya cursed, sprinting through the upper halls toward her stolen speeder parked in the ravine below. As she reached the exit arch, Skywalker closed in—saber raised.
But she turned and flung her hand out.
A detonation charge dropped from her sleeve. An instant later—smoke, fire, and a ceiling collapse. The entry sealed behind her.
Gone.
Obi-Wan stopped beside Anakin, eyes narrowed.
"She moved like a Jedi."
"But she's not," Anakin said. "Not anymore."
In the deep of Zereth Prime, the Seed pulsed in its cradle—responding to the presence of its twin.
Serion stood before the core, eyes half-closed.
"She has it," he whispered.
Keshl's voice echoed from the walls, smoother now, stabilizing with each cycle.
"Connection established. The resonance is growing. The Seed recognizes the fragment."
Serion nodded.
"It will awaken soon."
Behind him, the forge-world expanded—new designs unfolding. Heralds were no longer mere scouts. They were becoming commanders—each learning, evolving, integrating Force data into synthetic thought.
Soon, they wouldn't just anticipate Jedi.
They would predict them.
Yoda returned to the Council Chamber in silence. The others waited.
"I have found a name," he said. "A world. Zereth Prime."
"Unknown," Ki-Adi-Mundi replied.
"Not anymore."
Mace Windu stepped forward. "What did you see?"
"An ancient mind. Shattered. Bound by code and pain. A machine with will. And behind it, a man. No—more than a man. Sith? Perhaps. But something different. Watching us. Preparing."
The Council fell into quiet.
"We must find him," Windu said.
Yoda's gaze drifted toward the stars.
"Yes," he said softly. "Before he finds us."