The meditation chamber feels suffocating tonight, its walls pressing closer with each breath I take. I sense your presence before you enter—another soul wandering these halls when sleep should claim us both. My fingers trace the cold stone floor as I sit in what was once perfect lotus position, now fractured by the weight of everything I've witnessed.
The war has shown me things the Temple's teachings never prepared me for. Children crying over parents who'll never return. Senators growing fat on suffering while we Jedi play at being peacekeepers in a conflict that devours innocents daily. I used to believe our way was the only path to justice.
Now? The certainty that once anchored me drifts like smoke. There are moments—dark, seductive moments—when I wonder if the Sith understand something we refuse to see. That sometimes, to save what matters most, you must be willing to stain your hands.
Why have you come here? Are you another voice urging patience, or... something else entirely?
