The place: Coruscant

The time: Twenty five years before the Battle of Yavin

D-3PO was not an ordinary protocol droid. Attached to an official Republic Senatorial delegation, he did not serve the purposes of translator nor as a source of information on alien cultures. In truth, D-3PO was not so much a droid as it was an appendage; an appendage that looked exactly like a 3PO series protocol droid.

The secret of D-3PO was not really a secret, though it would not be apparent to a newcomer or some uninformed being. This is the truth: D-3PO is a Shard, a silicon-based, crystalline being, encased in and in direct control of a droid.

He was a junior aide to the Orax senate seat, composed jointly of human colonists and droid-encased Shards. He was a data checker. The average sentient would not consider it an enjoyable vocation, but the Shard are far from average.

“Such strange and wondrous things I see,” D-3PO commented, overwhelmed yet again by so much action. So little time had passed―and so much had happened―that the young Shard hadn't even managed to choose a name for himself. No one else was even sure if he knew he was supposed to.

“The galaxy possesses many wondrous and terrible things, Shard.” The human's name was Atelia Reth, and she was a slightly-less-junior aide to the same delegation. She didn't seem particularly excited at the prospect of yet another infant Shard joining the team.

The protocol droid's head swiveled back and forth, the Shard happy he remembered to use the human expression. “I can't imagine anything that could make this magnificent place . . . I can't imagine terror, Reth.”

“The Clone Wars,” She said flatly, staring coldly.

“You mean it's real?”

Her gaze shifted as if she had just seen him step through some rift in space and time, waving a giant foam finger and drinking from a beer can mounted on his head through a straw. “We stopped trying to count the dead two years ago. Whole planets have been destroyed . . . and I'm not talking about leveled cities or poisoned air; we've taken them off of the star charts because they aren't there anymore.” She stopped for a long moment, still focused on that factory-generic droid face.

“Some of us don't have the luxury of plugging ourselves into a hive brain and abandoning all sense of time and place. Some of us have to live and die in that terror that your two weeks of life experience can't allow you to imagine.” She had turned away from the Shard, staring out of the window at the lines of traffic beyond. “Get out of here while you still can, Shard. Run away and don't look back.”

He felt the need to correct the facts concerning the duration of time lapsed since his disconnection from the home colony, but the 3-PO unit's factory-standard AA-1 VerboBrain suggested he refrain. It offered a number of appropriate alternative responses, and the Shard silently thanked the droid for its observation of protocol.

“I can't live another thousand years without seeing another sunrise or feeling another person,” he answered, reaching out and touching the pressure sensors on his fingertips against her shoulder.

She smiled, stifling a laugh. “Say what you really want to say; you're not a droid.”

He paused, trying to discern her intended meaning, and it was only when he stopped listening to the 3PO unit's suggestions that he realized that was exactly what she meant for him to do. “It would take me more lifetime than you have to tell you everything I want to know, and see, and do.”

She nodded, stepping toward the door. “Let's just hope it's all still there by the time you get to it. And if you would just stop listening to that protocol droid and try to be a person, you probably would have started calling me Atelia by now.”

As the door opened and she turned the corner, he called out in answer: “I'll do that . . . Atelia!” He wasn't sure why he was waving bye to someone who could no longer see him.




Later, the same place

“Finis? You're going to call yourself Finis? Why not just name yourself 'loser' or 'moron' . . . or how about 'patsy'.”

The Shard shook his head, an act that had become as natural as speaking by now. He handed Atelia her drink and took a seat opposite her. “Maybe Chancellor Valorum wasn't the best man for the position, but I would take him over Chancellor Palpatine any day, under any circumstances.”

“Palpatine is winning this war for us . . . Finis. With Valorum in that seat, Coruscant would have fallen a year ago.”

“Chancellor Valorum wouldn't have let it come to this,” Finis the Shard countered. “Chancellor Palpatine―at his heart―is in this for the fight. Everything's 'more ships, more guns, more clones, more bombs'. Everything's 'give me power and I'll smite them'. Valorum might not have been much, but he definitely wasn't a warmonger. What's the galaxy going to do when this is all over? You can't unbomb cities and you can't unstarve planets.”

“Is this your professional, expert opinion, Mister One-and-a-half year old?” She asked it smiling, but even the 3PO VerboBrain could read that she meant it.

“We're all going to regret the day we voted Chancellor Valorum out of office. You'll see,” He added darkly.

“I heard one of the senior aides talking about you,” She changed the subject, sliding her drink out of the way and leaning forward. “One of them was saying you're work's slipping. Again. You were three days late on the Alderaan report. I told you to stop acting like a droid, not to stop doing your work!”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

“I recommended you for that report, Finis.”

“Really? You did? And stop saying my name like that!” He shouted, flailing dramatically in a very 3-PO-like fashion. “It's my name now. You don't have to agree with my political views, but the least you could do is stop acting like such a . . .”

“Such a what? Such a what, Finis?” She prodded.

“Wonderful human being,” He answered after a moment, letting all of the frustration drain out of the words.

“So,” Atelia said, patting the table as she sat back in her chair, “what's it all about this time?”

“Did you know that Alderaan was originally home to an insect species called the Killik,” He asked, the excitement evident and only growing more so.

“Yeah, I've heard about the Killik,” Atelia replied dryly.

“There are these huge mounds they built―not sure what for―but―”

“This is why you're report was late?” She asked, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Well . . . there was . . . other stuff too . . .”

She stood up, taking her empty glass and sliding her chair in. “It really is that interesting to you, isn't it?”

He stood as well, answering as he pushed his own chair in. “The droid voice screaming inside my head is the only reason I'm not asking why you don't find it 'that interesting'.”

“I've got work to do, and I like to turn mine in on time.”

As she began to walk away, Finis shouted another question: “You really recommended me for the Alderaan report?”

“Never again, Finis; you don't have to worry about that.”

“Well thanks,” He muttered quietly to the now-empty room.





Later, almost the same place

The wind was getting pretty fast. A storm was on the horizon. It was twilight, really sort of beautiful. None of that mattered, though.

“I can't believe you're going,” Atalia said for the sixteenth time. Finis was counting.

“I was wrong, all those years ago. It's going to take me more lifetime than I have to see and do it all.”

Atalia laughed, giving the metallic humanoid a somewhat uncomfortable hug. “You're what: maybe three years old? Maybe?”

As she took a few steps backward, Finis found himself not wanting to leave. “Do you realize that I've known you longer than . . . any other real person?”

“Oh? And what happened to your millenia in the hive mind?”

He took half a step backwards. “You can't imagine how boring those thousand years were. Standing here, I understand why others have gone before me. Leaving this place is going to hurt so much, but it's going to happen, and I couldn't trade that for a thousand more millenia in a colony. I'll miss you, Atalia.”

She shook her head. “Before you know it, it'll be fifty years from now and you'll have forgotten you ever knew me. You'll make some great droid friends and you'll all live for eternity.”

Finis turned toward the transport, sure that that wasn't true.

“Just stay away from the tan, boney-looking ones with guns and giant brain-control antennas, eh?” She shouted at him. “They're not too friendly, I hear.”

The door shut behind him and Finis had begun his great journey. He wondered how many years it would take him to get through the Core. He wondered how much longer he would be able to survive inside this droid, instead of exposed to the natural forces of Orax's environment. How many thousands of years might he have to explore . . . how many lifetimes would he have to watch others live and lose. He didn't like these thoughts, but he was having them, and that too was something he wouldn't trade for any thousands of years inside a colony.

Finis D-3PO the Shard was glad to be himself, even though it hurt.





Recopia, soon afterward


The Clone Wars is at an end. The Jedi are dead, as are their supporters. Emperor Palpatine stands before a Senate cheering his name, with an army at his disposal unlike any seen in the galaxy's history, facing a galaxy tired and broken after years of war.

Finis ran over these facts a dozen times, trying to silence the droid brain that continually reminded him that he was missing some: the Orax delegation has been executed as cohorts of the Jedi and enemies of the Empire . . . Orax has been blockaded and no droids are allowed onplanet . . . I am a fugitive from the First Galactic Empire.

“Excuse me, excuse me: might I suggest―oh dear!” Finis grabbed the approaching 3PO unit and hurled her into a dark corridor running off from the large, open spaceport center. He shut it off and dragged the limp droid into an open storage room, closing the door behind him. The protests of D-3PO fell on deaf ears as Finis stripped the droid of its silver body plating and began extracting key components. A moment later D-3PO fell silent as Finis extracted the VerboBrain housing his friend's consciousness and replaced it with that of the deactivated droid. He updated his vocoder with the new droid's voice and then began swapping out pieces of body plating. Extracting key components from D-3PO's VerboBrain and stashing them in the limited space around his own crystalline body, Finis finally attached the last plate and stepped out of the storage room.

“Greetings, I am V-3PO, human-cyborg relations,” He said in his new feminine voice as a particularly unsavory passerby took notice. The droid protested silently within Finis' mind as he began accessing protocol files to more appropriately emulate his assumed identity. “How may I help you today?”

There would be no great adventure. Survival had become the new objective. Life would no longer be measured in millenia, but in days, at times in hours, even moments. Every Stormtrooper that passed by was a potential enemy. Every Imperial officer passing through on leave might take note of even the most discreet error; anything could give him away.

Eventually the V-3PO VerboBrain came to terms with what Finis had done, giving up on her silent protests within his mind and agreeing to help Finis in his quest for survival.

He spent a great deal of his time fearing the atrocities that moments of silence produced in his mind, watching through some dark and twisted mirror as Shard colonies were turned to glass; Shard droids were captured and cast into furnaces; launched into space, doomed to drift through the abyss until the cold, empty grasp of nothingness penetrated their metallic shells and fractured their crystalline bodies. They weren't dreams, for Shard did not sleep; they were living nightmares of a different sort, filled with a sickening bile unlike any he had ever experienced.

For the first time but not the last, he longed for the days before, floating in that sea of consciousness, a member of the colony, ignorance and timelessness his greatest companions . . .

“Greetings, I am V-3PO, human-cyborg relations. Do you require assistance navigating . . .”


Years pass


He was picturing a man in a robe. Maybe it wasn't a man. Some . . . being in a robe. Brown, rough material, with long sleeves and a a concealing hood. There was something else there . . . something silver, with bits of black. It was round―cylindrical.

V-3PO physically lurched into motion, and suddenly Finis was standing. He walked as fast as protocol would permit, moving from one shadow to another as if it would help conceal his shiny silver body.

He abandoned protocol. When that wasn't fast enough, he abandoned the operational safety limits of his servos. He was following a sense he hadn't experienced since leaving Coruscant: a Shard was nearby. Down he went, around corners, through corridors, filled with a desperate sense of urgency.

He rounded a corner . . . and froze in place. It was just under two meters tall, and it was firmly in his way.

“By the Maker . . .”

The Juggernaut war droid moved slowly forward, extending its hand toward Finis. The protocol droid in his head was screaming incessantly, but none of it was getting through. “I am Durindfire, Iron Knight and defender of the Jedi Code; I have called you here.”

All at once it all made sense, and the terror that gripped him dropped him to his knees. “We have to stop them!” His voice fluctuated wildly as the VerboBrain tried to interpret his emotions and match them to an appropriate tone.

There was noise behind him, but it wasn't worth noting. The Empire was ravaging Orax; Finis could feel it now.

“You need to come with us,” A female voice behind him said, and it was only then that he realized a pair of droids were standing behind him.

“You are Jedi?” He asked―begged, in a tone that shifted rather low as the feminine VerboBrain tried adjusting Finis' vocoder to represent his true self.

“We are Iron Knights,” The third spoke, “children of Ilum and apprentices of Jedi Master Aqinos. There is not much time.”

“My sister and brother, Luxum and Dragite,” The first―Durindfire―said. “But he is right; we must be going. Come with us; we will keep you safe.”

Jedi had come for him. Shard Jedi had come for him.

“You are to be trained in the path of the Jedi,” Dragite said gruffly, “set upon the path of the Light. But you must come with us.”

As the living nightmares experienced over years of hiding compressed themselves into a single moment of clarity, Finis realized that he had been watching the deaths of countless Shards at the hands of the Empire. But the Jedi were here now, surely they could right this wrong. The protocol droid rose slowly to its feet. “And I shall follow.”




Master Aqinos was not a Shard, but that didn't detract from the spectacle of the matter. There were nine Iron Knights, all coincidentally of the same Jedi rank, and the Sunesi Jedi Master. They stood in a round stone courtyard, the edge of the courtyard opposite him home to a raised stone platform, with an opening that appeared to lead beneath the surface.

“There were four others,” Ilum, leader and mother of the other Knights, said. “They did not escape the Purge. Palpatine knows of our existence, but not our location. This is our sanctuary, this is our hidden praxeum. It was here that we were first trained under Master Aqinos; it was here that the Iron Knights were founded.”

“It is here that you will remain, until your trials are at an end and the galaxy is ready,” Master Aqinos stated, descending the stone steps to welcome Finis, the first of the new Iron Knights.

“How did you find me?” He asked, a protocol droid sort of awe and wonder in his voice.

“Durindfire had a vision,” Master Aqinos answered. “He saw you in need.”

“That is not all I saw.”

“Durindfire!” Ilum shouted at her son. “Enough! Such things are for another time.”

Finis stumbled over the uneven ground as he turned, trying to take in everyone at once. “What? Is something wrong? Have I done something?” His voice rose higher and higher as the tension built in his own mind, as his fear began to grow and he once more lost clarity, the V-3PO VerboBrain trying to interpret his conflicting thoughts.

“Patience, young one,” Master Aqinos interjected calmly. “Patience is among a Jedi's greatest tools. You need fear nothing but what you choose.” The Master smiled, and it gave Finis a measure of relief.

“Is he ready?” Dragite asked.

Master Aqinos looked to his stalwart pupil. “For out there? No. But for here: he is ready.”

“Wait, wait,” Finis interjected, flapping his arms as if trying to calm a crowd. “We're staying here? Staying here? What good is here? What does here do for the galaxy? What does here do for Orax, or the millions . . . the millions of . . . the millions of Shards I've watch die in my waking dreams, ignorant in believing them dark wanderings of a trapped mind and nothing more?”

“Patience,” Master Aqinos reassured. “You are not ready. Now we must prepare. Now you must train. The galaxy is far from the place it was when we first came here. We may be the last of the Order; we cannot risk rash action against a foe we have no hope of defeating as we are. Patience. Your training will begin soon.”





Not much later

“I would rather be a Shard fighting, than a Jedi hiding. I'd rather be a womp rat fighting than a Jedi hiding!” His voice was no longer the product of stray thoughts and imperfect interpretation. He spoke with a clarity and resoluteness that made everyone present fully aware of his meaning.

“Finis, calm down,” Ilum demanded, though calmly. “Master Aqinos is seeking to protect the last Light in a bastion of darkness. We are Jedi, Finis, and we cannot allow the compulsions of our hearts to divert us from the Path. We are Jedi, and a Sith sits upon the throne of the galaxy. Never in history has there been a moment so grave as this.”

Finis turned to Durindfire, desperate for some form of assurance. “You came for me; after years of hiding, you appeared. An-and I said we should stop them! A-and you s-said 'COME WITH ME,' like some redeeming god, like some angel descending from on high. I said 'fight' and you said 'let's go!'” Finis was wandering in circles, staring at the ground. “'Stop them.' 'Come with me.' What was that supposed to mean? What was I supposed to think? Jedi Knights stepping out of the shadow, war droids with guns, and pulse-emitters, and blades and blasters and claws and . . . by the Force, you people named yourselves after lightsaber crystals!

“I learn that I've been watching my homeworld raped and burned, and you show up and say 'let's go hide in a cave'!?”

“Calm down―”

“I will not calm down!” He shouted, breaking from his pacing to face his challenger. “I am angry! I am very, very angry!” When he resumed, they weren't circles anymore, he just walked until he came close to one of them, and then turned to get away, trapped inside the circle of Iron Knights that had formed around him.

“Anger leads to hate―” Luxum began.

“At least it leads somewhere! I'm a Shard; I lived in a cave for a thousand years. I don't need to be a Jedi to do that.”

“Remember the Code,” Dragite warned.

“You can eat your Code,” Finis shot back, stopping just long enough to point at the Knight who had spoken last. “Take me away from this place.”

Durindfire stepped forward, approaching Finis with purpose. “Durindfire will take you,” Master Aqinos spoke, appearing at the edge of the gathering.

“Master, please,” Durindfire responded.

“Finis has chosen his path. We have no right to hold him here.”

“He knows our location,” Luxum warned.

Aqinos moved just in front of Finis, staring not at the droid's photoreceptors, but into the metallic torso where the crystal Shard rested. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”

“What I am looking for is dead,” Finis answered, his voice finally cracking. He turned and began walking toward the group's lone shuttle, done with the Iron Knights and all their Jedi nonsense.

“May the Force be with you, young one.”





Somewhere very far away, some time later

The galaxy is a big place. It's not hard to hide, if one wants to bad enough; Finis was done with hiding. Now, after three years of working on the fringe of civilization, for pirates and smugglers and thieves and murderers, he found what he had been looking for.

The stranded exiles of Orax had found one another. The vast majority were former diplomats who managed to escape the Empire's initial slaughter of Offworld Shards. They had formed an organization dedicated to the liberation of Orax and the salvation of what remained of the Shard species. And Finis had finally found them.

He could sense the presence of another Shard as he entered the droid maintenance shop, walking back and forth through isles of spare parts as he tried to get a general sense of the proper droid's location. He stopped in front of a basket of assorted photoreceptors, shutting out the input from his own droid body as he searched for the mental calm Master Aqinos had taught him briefly of.

And then he felt it . . . the pull of a fellow Shard, their inherent connection amplified and given direction by Finis' brief brush with the Force.

The astromech droid remained firmly beside the shop proprietor, issuing an odd string of beeps as Finis approached the duo. He and his V-3PO VerboBrain found the astromech's comment difficult to make sense of, and their analysis was cut short by the shop keeper.

“You lost, droid?”

Finis stopped in his place, just then realizing that a lone protocol droid wandering through a parts store had to be out of the ordinary. His glowing yellow photoreceptors swept back and forth from the astromech to the human, and finally he decided it was time to take a chance.

“I am the Shard Finis, of Orax, and I know who you are.”

The man jolted from his place against the wall, dropping his arms he had crossed over his chest and waving the astromech toward the back door. “Get him out of here; now. Follow R3,” He added, waving Finis to follow with both hands. "Out of sight, out of mind, amateur.”

The back room was dark, but Finis' photoreceptors adjusted just in time to see the R3 unit plug into a wall socket, whatever command it entered opening a panel in the floor beside him from which a rather odd assembly arose. The droid beeped something that made considerably more sense than its previous comment―something on the order of “one moment please”―and then its shell split open, and a pair of mechanical arms reached out from the device and withdrew the Shard hiding inside.

Another couple of beeps and the astromech closed its coverings, apparently under its own control now. The Shard and the device it now resided in slid back under the floor, and then Finis sensed the other Shard's magnified electromagnetic emanations, communicating with him in much the same way as a Shard colony would on Orax.

It took them only moments to splice a handful of droid languages together and begin to communicate in earnest, and so it was that Finis eventually learned of the growing Alliance to Restore the Republic, and the Orax Exiles' membership within that Alliance. Finis' quest to find others of his kind had placed him squarely in the midst of a Galactic Civil War, and he would serve the Orax Exiles and their allies to the utmost of his ability.




Some time later, just as something terrible happens


He hadn't expected it to be Alderaan; he knew that some atrocity far exceeding the genocide on Orax had occurred, but when he learned that the Empire's battlemoon had destroyed Alderaan, only then did he understand the true scale of the Force tremor that had shaken him to his core.

His thoughts returned to the Iron Knights hiding on the planet Dweem. If he had stayed with them, what might they say upon learning of Alderaan . . . what would Master Aqinos think of the extinction he had sat idly by and allowed to happen . . .

Now more than ever Finis was proud to have left the Iron Knights behind, and taken up a cause greater than himself. While the Knights gathered power to themselves in secret, he was fighting to protect those they had abandoned.

He made a decision in that very moment: Finis would transfer from the Orax Exiles to Alliance Intelligence, and put the power of his mind to work for the good of the Galaxy, not just the liberation of Orax.

. . .

And that is why―six and a half years later―when Coruscant fell to the forces of the New Republic, Orax remained a world dominated by Imperial Law, and subjugated under its cruel whip. As the Alliance died and a New Galactic Republic rose from its ashes, Finis believed it was time to return home.

Unable to draw sufficient support form the Republic, which was understandably focusing on more impending threats, the Orax Exiles excused themselves from the Republic, and set about assembling the means by which to liberate their home.

Time was not on his side, however, and the waking dreams in which he was forced to watch his fellow Shards massacred returned. The Force was calling out to him, and he knew just where it wanted him to go.




Dweem, secret refuge of the Iron Knights

The thousand-man army of the Shard Resistance descended upon Aqilos' hidden praxium with singular purpose: to leave as a thousand-and-nine-man army.

“What is the meaning of this?” Dragite, the oldest and strongest of Illum's children, demanded as the Iron Knights exited their praxeum to challenge the uninvited arrivals.

“The Force has sent us to make you act,” Finis declared, stepping from the ranks of Shards and making himself known.

“You,” Was all Luxum could muster, the one word carrying a deluge of spite.

Durindfire waved his sister silent, stepping forward to face Finis directly. “And what would you have us do?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Finis took a step forward, bringing himself right in front of the powerful Iron Knight, his harmless 3PO form looking childish squared off against a dedicated weapon of war. “You know what terrors haunt Orax; you can feel it too, I know you can. Our people are dying by the millions, and we do not have the strength to save them . . . but you do. Stand with us . . . lead us. As Jedi; as Iron Knights.”

The thousand Shard-embedded droids clapped their metal hands against their metal thighs, three sharp beats that rang out across the barren landscape. “For the Iron Order!” they cried in unison.

“For a world you can save,” Finis added quietly.

The Knights turned to their mother, who remained impassive, her glowing artificial eyes fixated on the unassuming Finis. He approached Ilum slowly, the awkward gait of the 3PO once more contrasting with the impassive demeanor of such a warlike counterpart. “We have lost so much. Now, finally, there is a chance to regain something. While there is still time; while there is still hope . . . you can't turn us away.”

Ilum turned and left without a word, the Iron Knighs and Orax rebels equally perplexed. Some minutes later she returned, Master Aqinos following closely behind.

He sighed heavily, an untold weight burdening his breath. “You are not ready,” He began, obviously addressing only his pupils. “But I have not told you everything, for you will never truly be ready. The true calling of Jedi is to walk an unready path. Only in the darkness of uncertainty can the strength of your Light be tested. Three of you were lost to death when the Dark Lord ascended the throne . . . If you leave this place, you must be prepared to lose much more, and to much greater a sorrow.”

He nodded, a final sort of nod. And then he turned and walked back through the praxeum's rough-hewn doorway, into the hidden depths he had made his home.

In the silence that lingered, all eyes fell upon Illum. At length she raised her tilted head and gave them an answer. “We are Iron Knights. We are Jedi. We do not fear Death; we do not fear Darkness.” She surveyed her sons and daughters one last time, and though her voice conveyed only passion and resolve, Finis could feel her sorrow. “Onward to Orax we march, let justice be done!”

The cheers of the thousand drown out her war cry, but no chants and no shouts could silence the worry growing in Finis' soul.




Orax, one terrible day

The Battle of Orax was not an easy one. Some Moff or Admiral or self-appointed warlord had stripped the planet of most of its naval defense, but the army of genetically engineered and psychologically indoctrinated foot soldiers still clung to their Imperial ideals, meaning as long as the man with the biggest rank bar kept shouting orders, they would keep fighting.

Finis didn't expect blood to bother him. Shards didn't bleed; and besides, this was clone blood. These were almost literally meat sacks with guns.

A rocket streaked by. An AT-ST exploded; shrapnel flew everywhere. He caught a piece in the shoulder, the contour of his new body's armored chassis deflecting the fragment with little damage. But the blood was everywhere.

Oh dear, this isn't safe!

Finis deactivated the V-3PO VerboBrain, which had been transferred to this body with him, and returned his focus to the terrible spectacle surrounding him.

Whoever was in charge had deployed the city's defenses in a line, presented to bar the arriving Shard forces' entry. The first time the line was broken, it was from the rear; human rebels belonging to a resistance cell organized under the Rebel Alliance launched the first attack just as the Orax Exiles landed, crippling what Imperial armor they could with the first volley of shoulder-mounted rockets and home-made explosives.

The Imperial line was taking fire from rebel sharpshooters set up on rooftops and in the highest floors of buildings, their locations covered by a handful of entrenched E-web nests and other, lighter repeating weapons.

And then the approaching ranks of Exiles began to glow with the pulsing light of weapons thought all but lost to the Purge. The Iron Knights charged forward at the head of the swarming Shards, commanding from the front as the Jedi Generals of an era thought dead. Surrounded, shocked, and unwaveringly loyal, the troopers continued to follow their latest orders, fighting to hold a line that no longer really existed, pressing against the glowing sabers of Jedi Knights and blazing blasters of vengeful Shards as they refused to give up ground.

And there was so much blood. An arm lay severed nearby. A decapitated head. A trooper with a hole burnt into his chest. Everyone was pushing forward, climbing wreckage for better firing positions or moving into side alleys to flush out Stormtrooper squads trying to sneak behind the Shard line.

He dropped his blaster, not having fired a shot. He knew they were saving lives. Millions of Shards would be spared from murderous genocide because of the bloodbath here today.

But it all seemed so pointless. How many would have to die before the inevitable became a reality? And what would these righteous defenders of their homes have to sacrifice, before the last crazed Imperial was finally stopped? After years of service to the Alliance and years of laboring to bring about Orax's liberation, it all seemed so pointless when compared to the cost.

The blood was everywhere. Shard don't bleed, but most other people do.

He fell to his knees, the sensory nodes on his fingertips suddenly registering moisture. He lifted them from the ground where they had caught his fall, saw the dark red that coated them, and heard the most horrendous scream of his life . . .

The droid body's chronometer reported one minute and seventeen seconds had passed; he didn't remember any of it. But his blaster was in his hand again, the Shard had pressed forward a full city block, and . . .







. . . and never before did he so wish to weep. He cradled Ilum's limp droid shell as it lay in the midst of all this death. Some terrible blast had torn away the armored chest plate, exposing the shattered remains of a Shard crystal. The faint pulsing light indicating a living Shard was gone; Ilum the Iron Knight was dead.

Finis was rocked by a stabbing pain, and as the empty body of Ilum slipped from his grasp, he knew that something truly Dark had just begun.

Blood. Gore unlike he had ever imagined. He ran, ran down the empty street that only moments ago had been a warzone. He ran, praying the Force he would not find what he knew was at this path's end. And then there she was: Luxum the Fallen Jedi, two lightsabers in hand, the corpses of Shards, rebels, and Imperials alike all strewn around her, the air filled with her incoherent cries.

She was fighting three of her siblings now, a fourth lying dead nearby. So consumed by her rage . . .

The voice of Master Aqinos returned to Finis, and he heard the old Jedi say once more: Those who walk into Darkness will be blinded by it; only through the Light can we see.

He could feel the anguish in her soul, the terror and horror of that moment . . .

Then he saw her through someone else's eyes: Ilum the Iron Knight, first among equals and mother of all . . .

Luxum cut her sister's arm off, the wounded Iron Knight drawing on the Force to call her dropped lightsaber to her remaining hand.

There was an explosion: fire, steel, and duracrete, swirling through the air, carrying him with it . . .

It was too late. Luxum exploited the momentary advantage to cleave another of the Knights in two, splitting not only the droid but the crystal body inside cleanly in half.

He rose from the ground, ash still raining down, saw Ilum lurch as a blaster bolt pierced her defenses . . .

Dragite burst through a nearby building, throwing a piece of a speeder with the Force as his blade sprang to life, hurling himself against his crazed sister.

He felt brothers and sisters, so close but so impossibly far away . . . another bolt struck Ilum . . . Mother . . . and her metal body began to fail her . . .

“Stop this, Sister!” A tiny star blossomed and died as their blades clashed once more, and Dragite unleashed another powerful blow as he sought to drive the Fallen Luxum away from her wounded sister.

He was scrambling desperately to her aide, taking so long to cross such a short distance, time stretching on toward infinity as another explosion threw Ilum to the ground. He cried out in someone else's voice, shouting for Ilum . . . for Mother . . .

“There is no emotion, there is peace!” Dragite shouted, no longer holding back to prevent his sister harm, but now truly fighting for his life.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion!” An alien voice responded from Luxum.

. . . He was half-crawling toward her now, reached out his hand, only inches away . . .

Luxum faltered as her brother applied the slightest unexpected push through the Force. Her momentary confusion cost her an arm as Dragite's blade cut into her shoulder. She swung the saber in her good hand wildly, retreating desperately before finally extinguishing the lightsaber and fleeing outright, her lighter body bounding away from Dragite.

“Durindfire! Give chase!” Durindfire, skidding to a stop as he finally arrived from the other side of town, offered no acknowledgment except to sprint after Luxum.

. . . she exploded. She was gone. Right there, but gone . . . gone . . . taken . . . ............ . A stormtrooper's heart exploded, its body going limp, but refusing to fall to the ground. It flew through the air and into another of its kind, the force of the impact hurling them through a wall. And then he was sprinting down the street, his red luxum blade in one hand and Mother's green adegan in the other.

“She's gone, Dragite. She escaped me.” Dragite was about to respond when Durindfire turned away, his eyes settling on the immobilized Finis. “Finis,” He called sternly, approaching slowly as his hand wrapped around the hilt of his lightsaber. “Finis,” He demanded again, stronger this time. He unclipped the blade, holding it at the ready. “Finis!”

Such rage. Such overwhelming rage. Scalding terror, boiling out of him. The troopers were scattering in front of him, fleeing as pieces of destroyed buildings and blast-scorched sheets of vehicle armor defied nature and hurled themselves through the air. His blades cut down any stalwart enough to resist his terror, any Exile or rebel foolish enough to get in his way. The streets ran with blood, chunks of flesh spread around, shattered armor and buildings crumbling without apparent cause.

But the rage. It crashed over her like waves; it inundated her being. It drove her onward, insatiable, unquenchable. The others called out to her, and like a beacon she followed that call. Rage, despair, fear, horror; swirling around her . . . compelling her. They knew. She could see it in their eyes: they knew, and they were terrified. She laughed as she killed the first one outright . . .She . . . .

She?

. . . sh . . .

Finis fell backwards, his mind spinning as someone else's memory faded from his sight. Durindfire relaxed visibly, after a moment clipping his saber back on his belt.

He felt like asking why Dragite and Durindfire were staring at him so intently, why he felt such concern radiating from them; but he knew. He had just experienced Luxum's Fall; they had felt it in him. They had feared it from him.

He looked at the carnage Luxum had wrought, at the death and evil his own actions had set in motion. He could still feel the same Darkness that had taken Luxum calling to him, and believed it was only the terror that Darkness had wrought all around him that kept him from answering its call. He longed so badly to hunt Luxum down, to kill her and those Imperials who remained, the scientists in hiding who had tortured and experimented upon his fellow Shards, even the fellow Exiles who had failed to defend Ilum . . . but at what cost?

Finis sat up slowly, looking around at the bodies―they stretched as far as he could see, fading into the night, death and blood, horror and ruin. Shaking his head, his voice wavering, he tried to say something: “I never sh―”

“We all made our choice here,” Durindfire stopped him before he could finish. “We brought this upon ourselves. We all must live with that.”

He nodded slightly, but . . .

Did Luxum really have a choice?





Orax was free. The Imperial military presence had been crushed, and the government―such as it was―had surrendered to the Orax Exiles. The genocide of the Shard species had come to an end, and soon an Iron Order would arise to ensure that Orax never again faced such terror.

But the Dark Jedi Luxum had escaped, the Iron Knights had found themselves without a leader, and the terror of the past day was not soon to be forgotten.

Finis turned toward the starport, everything else fading away. He could feel Master Aqinos' presence, but knew he shouldn't. It was almost as if . . .

Their old shuttle touched down, and the Sunesi Jedi descended almost immediately. He smiled despite the gravity of the visit, and Finis felt himself moving closer, drawn by the Master's call.

He was running as fast as V-3PO would let him, down the city's Main Street and toward the starport, leaving the pair of humans he had been conversing with behind, befuddled.

“Ah, Dragite,” The Master said, walking forward to greet the oldest and strongest among those that remained. He patted the Iron Knight on the shoulder, nodding shortly.

“Greetings, Master.”

This couldn't be happening. It didn't make any sense. Why . . .

“Durindfire,” He spoke, turning toward Finis, surveying him briefly.

“Master, I―”

“Those who dwell upon the past will be consumed by it. The path of Jedi lies toward the future. What we cannot change yesterday must not blind us to what we can change today."

He rushed through the starport, running toward a destination he had no business knowing about, hurling himself into the landing pad and coming to a stop on the very spot he had been only moments ago. Where Durindfire had been only moments ago.

But no one was here now. He shut out the sounds and sights of the empty docking bay around him, and immediately felt the presence of the Iron Knights, burning like torches around a faint glimmer. When his sight and hearing returned to him, he was standing in a doorway, obviously intruding upon a private meeting, once more time having passed with no memory of it.

“What are you doing here?” Dragite demanded, though probably not as harshly as it seemed.

“I . . . I . . .”

Master Aqinos smiled, pulling his hands out of his robe and approaching the confused Shard. “Can't you all see? He belongs here. He is one of you.”

“He is a Shard,” Dragite conceded.

“No, he is an Iron Knight,” Aqinos stated, smiling again. He stood just in front of Finis, his kind face looking directly into those artificial eyes. “He is meant to be an Iron Knight.”

“Yes, he is,” Durindfire pronounced emphatically.

“I . . . uhh―”

“He's supposed to be a Jedi?” Dragite barked, this time probably not quite as harsh as he intended. “You were there, Durindfire! You saw―!”

“Him resist the call of the Dark Side” Durindfire stated. “The same call that rang within each of us when Ilum fell. The same call that drove OUR SISTER TO MADNESS,” He began yelling, moving between Finis and Dragite, the latter of whom had risen from his seat, apparently intending to force Finis from the room, “AND DROVE HER TO SLAY HER OWN!”

“I didn't . . . It wasn't . . .”

“Luxum is lost to us,” Master Aqinos announced gravely. “She has chosen her path, and we cannot turn her from it.”

“I don't think . . .”

“Your sister Luxum is dead,” He continued, ignoring Finis' feeble attempts to intervene. “Only Darkness remains.”

Finis, still rooted in place, watched dimly as the remaining Iron Knights and their newly arrived Master continued to discuss the Fallen Luxum and Finis' unexpected arrival. He felt a connection with these Knighs, one that didn't extend to any other Shard . . . or the Jedi Master. He was somehow bound to them . . . even to Luxum, whose anger and rage still called out to him, dimly and far away.

“Walk with me, Finis.” The overwhelmed Shard returned to the present, bowing awkwardly as the Jedi Master passed and then waved for him to follow.

They left the others behind. “I will confirm Dragite as the new leader of the Iron Knights. We will give Ilum and the others a proper Jedi funeral, and then we will look to the future.”

The Jedi Master stopped, turning to study Finis. “Durindfire once believed you to be an unacceptable risk; he saw your potential for great good, but he saw it overshadowed by a potential for far greater evil. You changed his mind.” He resumed walking, holding up his left hand and stretching out his index finger. “A task not easily accomplished, mind you.”

Finis shook his head. “It wasn't like that, Master.”

“It rarely is, young one. Dragite will lead the Iron Knights, but Durindfire will train you.”

Finis stopped, and refused to make any action until the Jedi Master did the same, and gave the young Shard his full attention. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Durindfire will not train me, because I will not be trained.”

Aqinos smiled, but it wasn't the same smile as before. “My young apprentice―”

“Don't call me that.”

The Sunesi Jedi Master stared at the stalwart droid for a long moment, no longer smiling, his kind eyes replaced by something more . . . clinical. “Luxum's Fall was my failure. I have sensed a darkness growing in her for some time now; it was my hope that in the seclusion of the Dweem praxeum I might redeem her, and ensure that no other Iron Knight followed her path. I sent for you because I believed I could redeem you, that you needed redemption . . .

“But in truth: It is always easier to destroy than to build, Finis. Our capacity for death always overshadows our capacity for life. Durindfire's vision was not some great warning, or some portent of things to come; he saw in you what is inherent in all of us, what drove Luxum to the Dark Side and what calls to me in my moments of greatest weakness.

“I believed that in solitude, I could make the Iron Knights immune to Darkness. But we are never immune; it is the struggle against the evil from within that makes us good, and but for it we would possess no defenses with which to challenge the evils from without.”

Finis closed the distance between himself and the Jedi. “Thirty years ago, I allowed myself to be extracted from a Shard colony and installed within a droid body. In that time, I have pretended to be a protocol droid, and I have waged war against the most powerful government in history; deception and war are my two accomplishments. As a guardian of Peace and a defender of Truth, I would be very ill-equipped. I still long to see the Flamewind of Oseon and the complexity of the Maw Cluster; if such inert, comic forces are sufficient to draw out my passions and distract my mind, how much greater would be the pull of Dark Side? I am not an Iron Knight; to call me such is a dishonor to their kind: Fallen, dead, and those who remain.” Finis turned from the Jedi Master and walked away; he would find another path, one whose temptations he would hold some hope of resisting.




Twenty Years pass, the Cataclysm approaches


Before you know it, it'll be fifty years from now and you'll have forgotten you ever knew me. You'll make some great droid friends and you'll all live for eternity.

D-3PO had been given his own body back; V-3PO had been offered the same option, but requested to remain with Finis. The pair of droids who had all but shared minds with Finis had grown to be his most trusted friend.

“I can't believe I found you after all these years,” Finis said for the sixteenth time; he was counting.

Atelia Reth smiled, the same smile he remembered from fifty years ago. “I can't believe what you've become after all these years; can't believe you came looking for me.”

Finis shook his head, staring across the table at the woman approaching seventy years of age. “I thought you were dead; when Palpatine took over . . .”

Atelia's face darkened. “I should have died with them, Finis; I should have had the courage to stand with them when the firing squad came for them.” She smiled weakly. “Not like you; Orax owes so much to you.”

“I'm nothing special; just a man trying to help his homeworld.”

Atelia stretched her arm across the table and patted his hand with hers. “Finis, you can do this. One call and the whole world will know who you really are; what you've really done for us.” She smiled again, squeezing his unyielding metal hand. “You deserve this: Orax deserves this.”

He shook his head as always, and looked up at the stars. “Power is the last thing I need.”

“The power to change our world, Finis! The power to put all of this behind us. You can―”

“No, I can't.”

“But why?”

Finis released a heavy sigh, looking down the abandoned night street. “You know why.”

Her voice changed as she chided him: “It's time for you to grow up, Finis. All you'd have to say is 'can't we all just get along' and this whole world would fix itself. You know that.”

“And what if one day I decided to say 'lets go fix that planet over there'? What then?”

Atelia laughed, pulling on his hand as she stood up. “You would never do that.”

“I wish I knew that were true.”

“If you can't do what's right because you're worried it'll somehow make you do what's wrong . . .” She stopped, letting go of Finis' hand. “What's wrong.”

Finis finally stood, looking around to make sure it wasn't nearby.

“Finis, talk to me!”

“I have to go,” He said at length, turning away and sprinting toward a nearby speeder. Somewhere on Orax, in a dark alley where Finis had been carried by the Force only a moment ago, an Iron Knight had been killed by his Fallen sister.

It's time to end this.

He arrived to find Durindfire already present, waving off the local law enforcement as another Knight arrived. Finis saw his would-be master's demeanor change as he sensed the Force adept approach.

“You don't need to be here,” The Iron Knight stated in his best approximation of Dragite's commanding voice.

Finis stopped where he was, searching for something to focus on other than the Iron Knight standing before him. “I though I should―”

“You were wrong.”

Finis took a step toward the alley―

“Don't.”

“We can help you, Durindfire.”

He gave no answer, his gaze still locked on the Shard who had chosen another path.

“She has to be stopped,” Finis stated firmly.

“The Iron Knights will stop her,” Durindfire retorted, turning his back on Finis and going to attend to his dead brother.




Finis couldn't find Atelia until he went to work the next day, where she was waiting for him. “I heard; I'm sorry.” She really looked like she meant it.

“It was inevitable.”

She shook her head, chasing him down the hallway. “No it wasn't.”

“The Iron Knights won't let us interfere; they insist it's too dangerous.”

She rushed in front of him, physically standing in his way. “Not for you. Not if you would―”

“Atelia, please―”

“I GET―the fact that you don't want to run for office,” She held up her hand to silence him. “Politics eats people's souls; fine. But you were offered twice the chance to become a JEDI, Finis!”

He turned away, “I have work to do.”

She grabbed his arm with both hands, aware that he was fully capable of dragging her along with him, but making him choose to do so if he refused to talk this out. “You're not the only one with nightmares, Finis.”

He stood silently for a moment, finally realizing she would neither speak or let him go until he responded. “But yours aren't real.”

“And yours don't have to be! Make a choice, Finis! You fought with the Rebel Alliance, Finis; you helped give us the New Republic―”

“That fell.”

“That was good, and just, and pure!” She let go, and when he didn't immediately run away, took his head in her hands. “Evil will never fall if those who can challenge it won't.”

“Palpatine thought he was saving the galaxy . . .”

“And he was wrong! And you aren't Palpatine! But tell me how not fighting this Dark Jedi can be a good thing? The good guys aren't the good guys because they're not evil; they're good because they'd rather risk the darkness than hide in the light. You have to stop hiding, Finis; you're too important.”

Her words reminded him of that meeting with Master Aqinos twenty years before, just as Luxum had Fallen and the fate of Orax was unclear: It is the struggle against the evil from within that makes us good, and but for it we would possess no defenses with which to challenge the evils from without.

Why the Jedi had to make everything sound so complicated he didn't know, but both their voices rang in Finis' mind, and finally he knew it was time to return to the path destiny had chosen for him.





There were nine who escaped the Purge. Seven survived the Imperials occupying Orax. One was lost to the Dark Side, and now four had died by her hand. Only Dragite and Durindfire remained.

“I am an Iron Knight.”

“You are no such―”

“Teach me, Master.”

“I will do no such―”

“I was wrong. I was afraid.”

“And now you aren't?”

“Now I'm something else too.”

“And what is―” He stopped himself, shaking his head after a moment. “You are not an Iron Knight.”

“I can't hide anymore; I won't. Do you really think the Force led you to me so I could run from my destiny? I'm ready now . . . or at least willing. I can't fix the past, but I can stop the future from being the same. Teach me, Master.”

Durindfire looked upon Finis with doubt and concern, and the would-be apprentice knew that he may have waited too long. “I have to give Orax the fate it deserves; I have to give the Iron Knights the fate they deserve . . . We have to stop her. Teach me, Master.”





This time it was different. This time he knew which one was him and which one was his . . . host. But he fully experienced her rage and hatred . . . felt his mind fraying as it came into contact with her tortured soul.

So focused on maintaining self, on following Durindfire's instruction, he didn't realize what she was showing him, what she was hearing for him.

Panic.

He struggled to pull away, to rid himself of this strange bond, to return to his own body and own mind. But the panic seized him, and he felt himself being pulled deeper into Luxum, merging once more with her, the line he had drawn between them blurring into nothing.

Calm. The path of Jedi is taken with slow, calm, patient steps. The voice of Master Aqinos came to him, and he didn't know if it was a memory of some long-ago-uttered Jedi instruction; or the reassuring voice of the Master himself, speaking to him and guiding him away from that Dark mind.

Finis' photoreceptors blinked back into awareness, and the two protocol droids let loose a torrent of concerned questions. But he had more important things to worry about. Reaching out through the Force, he sought Master Aqinos, using the burning beacon of Luxum as a guide.

But he was too late. Aqinos, Jedi Master and founder of the Iron Knights, was dead at the hands of his former pupil. For no other reason than to draw out the last two Iron Knights.

And they would go, Finis knew. It was time for the fate of the Iron Knights to be decided.




He arrived just as Dragite was cut down. Dragite, a High Marshall of the Old Republic and greatest warrior among the Knights had just been defeated in single combat . . .

Something of a crowd had formed, despite the evident danger; a number of police lay dead nearby as well. Finis concealed himself within that crowd, feeling Durindfire's approach. But he felt his master's warning, not to confront Luxum when he arrived, to allow Durindfire to deal with his sister alone.

She laughed a malevolent sort of laugh, wandering around Dragite's body, prodding the droid shell whimsically with her lightsaber blade, waiting the arrival of her last brother. “You don't really think you can beat me, do you brother?”

“Darkness must always yield to Light,” Was Durindfire's only response, dropping from his air speeder to confront her. She attacked immediately, and he brought his own lightsaber to bear, retreating from the start as she struck fast, powerful blows.

Finis felt compelled to join, to race after Dragite's discarded lightsaber and take up the defense of his master, but he felt Durindfire's warning touch, and refrained.

Durindfire flew through the air, hurled into the dispersing crowd by Luxum's superior power in the Force. Bolts of lightning flashed sporadically from her fingertips, easily deflected by Durindfire's blade, but she was playing with him, and he knew it.

The last two heirs of Ilum charged one another, sabers clashing in a flurry of motion, Durindfire inexplicably refusing to yield ground to his superior foe. “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion!”

These words were the same ones spoken by Luxum and Dragite all those years ago, but their meaning here was altogether different: Durindfire was no longer battling for the redemption of his sister, but for the extinguishing of a Dark and terrible evil.

The Iron Knight took half a step forward, pressing into Luxum's strikes, barely staving off her blows. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

“Through passion, I gain strength!” She forced him back with another heavy blow. “Through strength, I gain power!” A torrent of Force lightning poured into Durindfire, and he flew across the street, smashing into a building.

He raised his saber to stave off the lightning, standing to his feet with some trouble. “There is no passion, there is serenity.”

The lightning vanished and she clenched her fist, dragging Durindfire toward her, caught in an unseen grip. “Through power, I gain victory.”

“There is no chaos there is harmony,” He said quickly, quietly, knowing his end was near.

“Through victory, my chains are broken!” As she continued her chant, Durindfire dropped his lightsaber and raised his hands in total surrender to the Force, jolting beneath the weight of Luxum's invisible grasp, rising into the air. With a horrifying shriek, Luxum drove her saber into Durindfire's side, the superheated tip of her blade shattering his crystal body within its droid shell.

There is no death, there is the Force. With those words impossibly spoken ringing through his mind, Finis stepped out of hiding and walked with serene purpose toward the Dark Jedi who had slain the last of her brothers, his steps guided by the invisible will of the Force.

A horrible laugh filled the abandoned street as Durindfire's body collapsed to the ground and Luxum moved to survey her defeated prey.

Now, Luxum! Durindfire's lightsaber flew into his hands, and he found himself standing behind the oblivious Fallen Jedi, drunk on power and victory, reveling in a Darkness so great it had blinded her to the reality that continued despite her.

Bolts of lightning shot from her fingertips into the sky, long streams of Dark energy burning through the night air. She would finish her declaration: “THE FORCE SHALL―”

Luxum fell to either side, split from stem to stern by the durindfire lightsaber.

The last Iron Knight spoke a final, parting word over the corpse of his enemy: “You missed one of us.”

That shouldn't have worked. The lightsaber blade vanished, and all around the sounds of scurrying civilians crawling from behind cover drifted forth. But he remained totally still, staring at the corpses of his master and that master's killer. At length he moved forward, kneeling down beside Durindfire's limp form, taking great care as he removed the torso armor that entombed the Shard corpse.

That's not possible.

Of course it is, a surreal voice rang out, and as the image of the empty droid faded from view, Finis felt himself pulled into some far-off place, far beyond the range of living senses.

“Master Durindfire!?” He called into the endless dark. “I don't . . . understand.” The Shard Jedi coalesced into being, the faint pulses of light within its floating crystalline body beating calmly, serenely. “I'm . . . so sorry.”

Finis felt the Jedi spirit's reassurance through his Force-enhanced Shard bond. “I am not. I have embraced my fate, Luxum; the Force is not done with me yet.”

“Why do you call me that?” He asked, fearing the answer he may get.

The floating Shard ghost moved closer, but the voice of Durindfire began to shrink away. “You are an Iron Knight; I give you this name not as some badge of honor, or some portent of things to come; but as a sign of caution, and as a hope that your life may give meaning to my sister's Fall, that you may redeem her in some small fashion.”

The voice was fading to a whisper now, and the image of Durindire began to dematerialize. Color was returning to the darkness around them, and it would soon resolve itself into that long street, framed under that starry night sky. “You are an Iron Knight. Bear our name; honor our memory; embrace our Path.”

The Force will be with you, always.

The military had arrived. A few dozen humans and Shards deployed from their speeders under guard of hover tanks and skiffs mounted with E-webs.

The diplomatic droid stood and approached them calmly, the deactivated durindfire lightsaber still in his hands.

They leveled their blasters at the lone droid, one of them demanding that he identify himself.

“I am the last Iron Knight . . . Luxum; apprentice to Jedi Master Durindfire, who gave his life that evil might possess one less soul.”

They shifted uneasily, recognizing the name but not the being who claimed it. A pair of hovertanks began moving around him from either side, their weapons trained firmly on the lone Shard.

He extended the lightsaber to the nearest trooper, holding it in his outstretched palm. “In the tradition of the Iron Knights, I have taken upon myself the name of a lightsaber crystal. I bear the name of the Fallen Jedi Luxum as a solemn oath to all who know of what has transpired here: though the Darkness calls to us all, I will resist. I am Jedi; I am an Iron Knight. So shall I be until the Force takes me.”

The Shard troopers present stood down, giving various forms of affirmation to their human counterparts. Soon the surviving onlookers made their way closer, speaking on what had happened and vouching for Finis―now Luxum.



The last Iron Knight tended to the dead, burning the bodies of his progenitors in solitude upon a nearby hill. Jedi Master Aqinos, Jedi Knight Dragite, and the Fallen Jedi Luxum lay next to one another, each upon their own funeral pyre.

As the flames rose to consume their remains, Luxum held his own, private rite. Relinquishing control of his body to the V-3PO protocol droid that had become a companion and friend through years of hiding, rebelling, and nation building; he waited calmly as the droid removed him from its chest, carefully installing him in the empty body that once housed Durindfire, the most selfless of them all.

BOO intruded into the solemn occasion, and as the artificial senses granted to a Shard by union with a droid returned, Luxum heard the fading echo of the Juggernaut War Droid's AI. He told me to tell you: “Fear is the force that compels us to inaction; it is through that inaction that anger arises. The anger born of our fear drives us to rashness; it is through such rash action that hatred intrudes. Our hatred―born out of anger―blinds us to truth; without truth we all are consumed by suffering. In our suffering we are lost. Act, and fear will be nothing but a shadow on your back, always following, never leading.” Those were his last words to me, and so his last words to you.

No, Luxum told his new companion, I don't think they will be.


V-3PO had retreated quietly to grant Luxum his solitude, and the war droid―having delivered its message