A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...
Star Wars: Fractured Force
Nearly three hundred years after the defeat of the Empire and the First Order, the galaxy again teeters on the edge of division. The newly formed Galactic Assembly struggles to maintain unity as alliances falter and war-torn worlds demand aid. Across countless systems, the sudden emergence of Force-sensitive individuals has thrown societies into turmoil. Untrained and unaligned, these new Force wielders disrupt fragile recoveries, sowing fear and instability in their wake.
Many look to the reformed Jedi Order for guidance, but their efforts are stretched thin, and their methods are seen by some as relics of a bygone era. Determined to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past, the Order remains cautious, reluctant to wade into the galaxy's political conflicts. Divisions within their ranks have slowed decisive action, while distrust and rejection of their teachings have further marginalized their influence. As the fractures deepen, vulnerable worlds are left to fend for themselves against this rising tide of chaos.
In the shadows, unseen forces manipulate events, uncovering ancient secrets and forging dangerous alliances. As chaos spreads and the balance of power shifts, the fate of the galaxy hangs by a thread.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"In the Force I saw a grand tapestry, intertwined yet unraveling. Each thread pulled in a different direction, some fraying, some snapping, until only a fragile few remained. But even in its brokenness, the tapestry still held light."
— Words of Rey Skywalker, recorded by Jedi Knight Alorra Del, 2 days before her death on 65 ABY, the 19th day of Selona.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
1
The steady hum of the ship's engines filled the cabin, a rhythmic vibration that seemed to blend with the swirling streaks of light beyond the viewport. Jedi Knight Odo Volayn leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the endless tunnel of hyperspace. His short, dark hair was slightly disheveled, and a faint crease formed between his brows—a telltale sign of his wandering thoughts.
Across from him, Master Kaiden T'ress sat in meditation. The Togruta's striped lekku and montrals framed his face, their blue and white patterns stark against the muted tones of his brown Jedi robes. His sharp, angular features carried a calm wisdom, but there was a subtle warmth in his expression that softened the intensity of his presence. The faint glow from the hyperspace lane reflected off his skin, giving him an almost ethereal quality as he sat with his hands resting lightly on his knees. Without breaking his meditative posture, Kaiden opened one eye and regarded his former Padawan with a small, knowing smile. "You're restless."
"You're perceptive," Odo countered, his tone light but tinged with genuine unease. "It's just… the Concordia. The Assembly. All those people arguing about how to fix the galaxy. It feels—"
"Monumental?" Kaiden suggested.
"Overwhelming," Odo admitted.
Kaiden opened his eyes fully and regarded Odo with a steady look. "The galaxy is always in flux, Odo. The Assembly is a reflection of that—chaotic, divided, yet striving for balance. Much like the Force itself."
"That's comforting," Odo said dryly. "Chaos and division are exactly what I want to walk into."
Kaiden smiled—the kind of serene smile that Odo found both irritating and oddly reassuring. "And yet, that is where the Jedi are needed most. In the midst of chaos, we find clarity. In division, we seek harmony."
Odo raised an eyebrow. "You're starting to sound like one of those holovids with idealistic Jedi from centuries ago."
Kaiden chuckled again, a deep, warm sound. "Perhaps they were onto something."
Odo shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. "I suppose I should prepare for your usual brand of cryptic wisdom."
"Preparation is always wise," Kaiden said.
The swirl of hyperspace resolved into pinpricks of starlight as the transport dropped into realspace. Odo leaned forward as the Concordia came into view. Even from a distance, the station was a breathtaking sight—a massive cylinder attached to enormous engines, its surface alive with light and motion, rotating steadily against the backdrop of the galaxy.
"There it is," Kaiden T'ress said. He remained seated, his hands resting lightly on his knees, as though the spectacle were a routine occurrence.
"It's… enormous," Odo said, his voice filled with awe as he leaned closer to the viewport. His eyes roamed over the Concordia's intricate design, marveling at the precision and scale of the structure. The central hub shimmered like a jewel suspended in space, its reflective plating glowing with the light of holographic displays that projected navigation data, Alliance insignias, diplomatic banners, arrival schedules, and trade routes. Encircling the hub spaced equidistantly, four massive docking rings stood stationary, each lined with rows of meticulously spaced docking bays, their faintly glowing markers guiding vessels into position. Beyond the rings, the cylindrical body of the station rotated gracefully, its motion generating artificial gravity for the inhabitants within. The surface was a mosaic of metallic panels interspersed with observation windows, maintenance hatches, and faint seams where modular components had been fused into a seamless whole. Gravity plating embedded throughout the station worked in concert with its rotation, ensuring stability even as thousands of ships and millions of beings moved within its confines. It was more than a station—it was a world unto itself, vibrant and alive, suspended in the endless void.
"Bigger than you imagined?" Kaiden asked, a faint smile on his lips.
"Bigger, brighter, more alive," Odo admitted.
"The Concordia mobile station is forty kilometers in length and ten kilometers in diameter. It is capable of housing millions of beings," the droid pilot provided helpfully.
The transport adjusted its course, heading toward one of the station's massive docking bays. Ships of all sizes flitted around the Concordia like bees near a hive—freighters, personal transports, and diplomatic vessels, all moving in coordinated harmony.
A calm, mechanical voice filled the cockpit. "This is Concordia Docking Control. Transport vessel AX-17, you are cleared for Bay 14. Proceed along designated approach vector."
"Understood, Docking Control," replied the pilot.
Kaiden rose smoothly, motioning for Odo to follow. "Come. You'll want to see this."
As the transport descended into the docking bay, Odo caught his first real glimpse of the Concordia's interior. The bay was a cavernous expanse, bustling with activity. Workers in uniforms representing various Alliances guided incoming ships to their designated platforms, while droids zipped between docking stations, loading and unloading cargo with mechanical precision. The towering walls were lined with maintenance platforms and access hatches, and the floor resonated with the steady hum of engines and the crips tones of automated announcements. Overhead, massive observation windows revealed the breathtaking interior of the cylinder. Entire cityscapes and sprawling greenbelts curved upward along the station's surface, creating the illusion of an endless, inverted world. The sight disoriented Odo for a moment, his sense of gravity faltering as he took in the rivers, parks, and towers that stretched toward the stars in perfect harmony.
"It's like being on a planet," Odo murmured as he stepped off the transport. He craned his neck, trying to take in every detail. "But… turned inside out."
Kaiden nodded. "Perspective is everything here, but what seems strange now will soon feel familiar."
The vastness of the Concordia pressed against Odo's senses as he followed Kaiden through the bustling corridors. The sheer scale of it—the people, the architecture, the carefully choreographed chaos—was almost overwhelming. Every step seemed to carry the weight of a galaxy's worth of voices, each vying for attention, for survival, for a place in the grand narrative this station symbolized.
"This place," Odo murmured, glancing at the holographic map displaying the Concordia's layout, "it's almost… too much."
Kaiden, walking calmly beside him through the bustling corridors, didn't break stride. "It reflects the galaxy, Odo—beautiful in its complexity, but fragile in its balance. Remember that as we listen today. You're not just observing speeches and debate; you're witnessing the soul of the galaxy trying to find its way."
He wasn't sure what to make of that, but Odo followed, his eyes shifting between the map and the polished halls that led them closer to the Assembly Chamber. The walls gleamed with a metallic sheen, adorned with banners representing the seven Alliances, their colors vibrant and distinct. Delegates of countless species passed by, some engaged in animated conversations while others walked with quiet determination. Holographic displays hovered at regular intervals, projecting schedules, Assembly updates, and the shimmering insignia of the Galactic Assembly. The subtle hum of the Concordia's systems was a constant presence, blending with the rhythmic clatter of boots and the soft tones of distant announcements. Every detail spoke of purpose, of urgency, and of the weight of decisions made in this monumental place.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Advocate Rynn Kaelor sat in the circular tiered seating of the Assembly Chamber, her hands folded neatly on her lap as she leaned slightly toward the holographic display in the center of the room. Around her, the chamber buzzed with quiet murmurs and subtle gestures as tens of thousands of representatives adjusted translation devices or whispered to aides. At the podium below, an Advocate from the Core Alliance delivered a polished but weary argument.
"There are limits to what we can allocate," the human Core Advocate said, his voice steady and authoritative. "Resources are finite. Prioritizing destroyed worlds without ensuring the safety of stable ones leaves the galaxy vulnerable to the rogue Force users who continue to wreak havoc."
Rynn's jaw tightened, but her face remained composed. Beside her, Advocate Senna Malorr, a colleague from the Displaced Worlds Alliance, leaned closer and muttered just loud enough for Rynn to hear.
"Finite resources," Senna said dryly, rolling her eyes. "As if the Core doesn't hoard enough already."
Rynn allowed herself a faint smirk. "Their surplus could rebuild half the Outer Rim, and they'd still complain about tightening their belts."
Senna crossed her arms, her expression skeptical as the Core Advocate continued. "What they really mean," she said quietly, "is that they'd rather let our worlds rot than risk moving resources away from their precious trade lanes." She exhaled sharply, her frustration evident. "You'll say something when the floor opens, won't you?"
"I always do," Rynn replied.
The Core Advocate concluded his speech with a call for "pragmatism over sentiment," a phrase that drew polite applause from some sectors of the chamber and muted grumbles from others. Rynn straightened slightly, scanning the Ministers seated on the central dais. Their faces betrayed little, though she could sense the subtle power dynamics at play. Her gaze lingered on Drev Tarkannis, the Mandalorian Prime Minister who represented the Alliance of Independent Systems. He sat with his hands steepled in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. Rynn had worked with him enough to know he was weighing the argument—likely calculating how best to frame his response to appease his own constituents.
"Do you think they'll vote with us?" Senna asked, her voice low.
Rynn smiled faintly, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I trust that they'll act in their own interest. It's our job to make our interest align with theirs."
As the next speaker approached the podium, Rynn allowed herself a moment to glance around the chamber. Her eyes landed on the observation balcony, where two figures in Jedi robes stood silently. She recognized one immediately—Master Kaiden T'ress, his calm presence unmistakable even from a distance. Beside him stood someone much younger, less composed but equally observant. A Padawan perhaps, or newly promoted Knight.
"Looks like your Jedi are here," Senna said, following Rynn's gaze.
"They're not my Jedi," Rynn replied lightly. "I've been sending requests to the Order for months—pleas for help, guidance, anything. All unanswered, until this week."
Senna raised an eyebrow. "And now they send… what? Two of them?"
Rynn allowed herself a wry smile. "Not even two. Just one. An 'observer,' they called him. He's supposed to travel with me to Zaryth and 'assess the situation firsthand.'"
Senna let out a humorless laugh. "An observer. That's what they think your world deserves?"
"I don't think it's about Zaryth," Rynn said, her tone thoughtful. "It's about the Assembly. They want to see what's happening here, to understand the fractures they've spent so long ignoring."
Senna's expression soured. "They've spent decades pretending the galaxy's problems aren't their problems."
Rynn's smirk faded, replaced by a quieter, more determined expression. "If there's even a chance they'll listen—if there's even a chance they'll help—I'm not about to turn them away."
The murmurs in the chamber grew louder as the next Advocate approached the podium. Rynn leaned forward slightly, her hands clasped together. High above, the two Jedi stood still, their presence understated but impossible to ignore.
"Do you trust them?" Senna asked after a pause.
Rynn didn't answer right away. She kept her eyes on the Jedi, the weight of her requests and her world's desperation pressing heavily on her shoulders. "I trust that they'll see," she said finally. "And if they see what Zaryth has become—what the galaxy is becoming—they won't be able to ignore it."
Senna glanced at the small display embedded in the armrest of her seat. The text flashed briefly: Floor Open for Debate – Requests Accepted. She nudged Rynn with her elbow, her voice low but urgent. "They're taking requests. You're up."
Rynn pressed her palm against the console, her name and credentials appearing in glowing letters on the central hologram hovering above the Assembly floor: Advocate Rynn Kaelor – Displaced Worlds Alliance.
The room grew quieter as her request was acknowledged. The Prime Minister's voice cut through the low hum of conversations.
"The Assembly recognizes Advocate Rynn Kaelor of the Displaced Worlds Alliance," he announced.
Rynn exhaled slowly, rising from her seat. Senna gave her a sharp nod, her expression carrying a mixture of encouragement and expectation.
"Give them hell," Senna said, winking.
Rynn didn't reply. She stepped forward to the podium, her hands gripping its edges as she surveyed the Assembly, filled with thousands of beings representing the diversity of the galaxy. Her voice, steady but impassioned, carried through the vast chamber's acoustics as she began.
"Prime Minister, I thank you for allowing me the floor." She inclined her head politely toward the Mandalorian who returned the gesture. She turned back toward the podium. "Honorable Ministers, fellow Advocates, and esteemed guests, I stand here today not as a politician but as a voice for those who no longer have one."
Rynn tapped an icon on the podium screen, and her home planet as seen from orbit shimmered to life as a hologram beside her, which then projected much larger in the center of the chamber. Lush continents showed a patchwork of emerald-green forests, sapphire-blue rivers, and golden fields. Towering mountain ranges with snow-capped peaks wove through its landscapes, standing like guardians over cities that sparkled like constellations, interconnected by faintly visible transport networks crisscrossing the globe. "I represent Zaryth, a world that only a decade ago was a thriving beacon of culture and community, but now mostly exists only in ruins."
The hologram shifted to depict the planet's current state. Audible gasps rippled through the chamber as delegates leaned forward in their seats, their expressions a mix of shock and quiet horror as the full extent of Zaryth's devastation came into view. The once-vibrant world was now marred by vast, jagged scars stretching across its surface, like deep fissures carved into its very crust. Large swaths of the planet appeared dark and lifeless, their natural colors replaced by ashen grays and sickly browns. The atmosphere, tinged with a faint, eerie hue, swirled with dust storms rising from the barren wastelands below. A network of faint, unnatural lights flickered sporadically—remnants of survival outposts or makeshift shelters clinging to life in the chaos. Zaryth's oceans, once shimmering blue, were now streaked with murky green and black, polluted by the scars of war and unchecked destruction.
"But my words are not just for Zaryth—they are for the countless worlds like it. Worlds that this Assembly claims to serve yet continues to ignore." She paused, letting her opening words settle and the room slowly fell silent again, save for the faint hum of holographic displays and translation devices.
"For sixty years, we have witnessed the profound and extraordinary changes wrought by the Force in our galaxy. What was once the gift of the few is now the burden and calamity of the many. And yet, despite this unprecedented shift, the worlds most affected by these changes remain forgotten, their cries drowned beneath the bureaucracy of this Assembly as it remains paralyzed by debates over sovereignty, resources, and responsibility.
"Consider the worlds we've lost entirely: Eriadu, Nar Shaddaa, Tatooine—names that now echo as tragedies, their stories cautionary tales of what happens when we turn away." As she spoke each name, a hologram of the planet shimmered into view beside her, each one even more devastated than her own. "Millions displaced. Entire cultures erased. And still, we ask: Whose responsibility is it to act?" She paused for a moment to let the body politic fully absorb the absurdity of the statement.
"Today, the Displaced Worlds Alliance calls on this Assembly not for words, not for promises, but for action. We cannot continue to treat these crises as isolated incidents. They are symptoms of a larger, systemic failure—a galaxy unprepared for the democratization of the Force."
Her tone softened, becoming almost pleading. "I am not asking for miracles, but I am asking for courage. For the courage to pass legislation to establish and fund galaxy-wide programs to train Force-sensitive individuals—not to control them, but to guide them. To empower them to protect their communities rather than destroy them. I'm asking for the courage to offer reparations to those whose homes and lives have been destroyed. Lastly, I'm asking for the courage to stand as a united galaxy, not as fractured alliances squabbling over resources and influence."
Her eyes swept the chamber, lingering briefly on Minister Alaric Venn of the Core Alliance. "Some of you claim we lack the resources. That the galaxy cannot afford such endeavors." Her voice hardened as she leaned slightly forward. "To that, I say: The galaxy cannot afford not to. Every day we delay, more worlds fall into chaos, more lives are lost, and the seeds of future conflict are sown. Let me ask you, Minister Venn: how many trade routes must remain secure before we acknowledge the plight of those who have no trade left to protect?"
Venn's expression remained carefully neutral, but a ripple of murmurs passed through the chamber. Rynn pressed on, her voice gaining momentum.
"Some believe this to be a problem for the Jedi to solve. The Jedi Order, for all their wisdom, cannot shoulder this burden alone. Nor should they. This is not just a crisis of the Force; it is a crisis of governance, of leadership, of our collective responsibility. If this Assembly continues to stand idle, then it becomes complicit in every life lost, every world destroyed. I refuse to believe that we are incapable of better. I refuse to accept that the legacy of this Assembly will be one of apathy and indifference."
Her tone grew sharper, more impassioned. "I am not here to plead. I am here to demand that this Assembly take responsibility for the galaxy it claims to represent. Again, we must establish and fund galaxy-wide programs to train Force-sensitive individuals—locally, within their own cultures, so they can serve their communities without fear or exploitation. Additionally, we must provide aid to the worlds that have borne the brunt of this chaos. Not scraps, not charity, but a commitment to rebuild what was lost." She turned slightly, addressing the Ministers directly. "And above all, we must stop pretending that this is someone else's problem."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the chamber. "If we do nothing, we condemn ourselves to repeat the mistakes of the past. But if we act—if we lead—we can forge a future where the galaxy's diversity and strength are not liabilities, but assets."
Rynn Kaelor straightened and softened her voice. "The galaxy is watching. The people are waiting. What will we do?"
She stepped back from the podium, her heart pounding as the room erupted into a mix of applause, murmurs, and dissent.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The Prime Minister's voice cut through the rising noise of the chamber, his tone firm and commanding. "This session is adjourned for the day. The Assembly will reconvene tomorrow morning to continue these discussions. Ministers, Advocates, and their guests are encouraged to use the recess for reflection and consultation."
A low murmur swept through the room as delegates began to rise from their seats, some moving to confer with their colleagues, others filing toward the exits. From his vantage point on the observation balcony, Odo watched as Advocate Rynn Kaelor stepped away from the podium and joined her colleague. Even from this distance, he could see the tension in her posture, though her face remained composed.
"That was… passionate," Odo said, breaking the silence.
Beside him, his former Master turned his gaze from the chamber below. "Passion has its place," he replied, his voice measured. "But so does perspective."
Odo leaned against the railing, his brow furrowed. "She made good points, though. We can't just ignore worlds like Zaryth. The Assembly seems too bogged down in politics to actually do anything."
Kaiden nodded slowly, his lekku shifting slightly with the movement. "You're not wrong. But change does not come easily, especially in a body as divided as this one. Rynn speaks with conviction, but conviction alone won't solve the galaxy's problems."
Odo glanced at the Master, a trace of skepticism in his expression. "So what, we just sit back and meditate on it while worlds fall apart?"
Kaiden's lips curved into a faint smile, though his amber eyes remained serious. "Patience, Odo. The Force moves in ways we cannot always see. Our role is not to act rashly but to guide where we can and trust in the greater whole."
"That's easy to say when it's not your home being torn apart," Odo said, his tone sharper than he intended. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I just… I don't see how sitting on the sidelines helps anyone."
Kaiden regarded him for a moment. "You're frustrated because you care. That's good. But remember, the Force does not demand we solve every problem ourselves. Sometimes, our task is to help others find the strength to act."
Odo crossed his arms, his eyes drifting back to the chamber below. Rynn had moved to one of the side corridors, her posture more reserved as she spoke quietly with another Advocate. The fire that had fueled her speech seemed tempered now, replaced by a sharp, deliberate focus. The energy in her presence, though subdued, was still palpable—a coiled determination that refused to wane.
"She's not going to stop," Odo said quietly, his tone almost admiring. "Not until someone listens."
Kaiden followed his former Padawan's line of sight, his calm expression betraying a hint of curiosity. "And if no one listens?"
Odo didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on Rynn, watching as she nodded curtly to her companion before turning away, her steps purposeful. The faintest smile tugged at his lips. "Then she'll find a way to make them."
Kaiden's eyes remained on Odo, his voice thoughtful. "A quality worth admiring. And worth cautioning against."
"Always cryptic, Master. It's difficult to argue against you when you take every side."
Kaiden chuckled. "It's a skill perfected through years of frustrating young Jedi like you. Ambiguity is a powerful tool, Odo. It keeps you on your toes—and me entertained."
Odo let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you're just making this up as you go."
"Sometimes," Kaiden admitted. "But the best plans are the ones that seem improvised. It keeps everyone guessing, including me."
Odo rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a reluctant smile. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Kaiden tilted his head slightly, his calm expression unchanging. "Impossible? No. Improbable, perhaps."
"Improbable," Odo repeated softly, his gaze drifting back to the Assembly Chamber below. The swirling movement of Advocates and Ministers felt chaotic, even from a distance, and the weight of it all pressed against him. "It's hard to see how any of this holds together," he murmured, half to himself. "So many voices, so many agendas. What if it's not just improbable, Master? What if it's already falling apart?"
"Even a tapestry with frayed threads can endure, Odo. The question is whether we're willing to mend it—or let it unravel." For a moment, it seemed as if Kaiden might say more, but his words faded into silence, leaving a curious tension in their wake.
Odo paused, his brow furrowing as a faint vibration rippled through the Force. It was subtle, elusive, like the whisper of something he had forgotten or perhaps had not yet known. He glanced at Kaiden, whose calm expression remained unchanged, though something unspoken lingered in his voice. He let it go and trusted that his former Master would inform him of anything that he needed to know.
The chamber below blurred slightly as Odo's focus drifted inward. It felt, inexplicably, as though the galaxy itself was holding its breath. For now, he could only observe, but the sense of inevitability clung to him like a shadow. Something was coming. Odo couldn't say what, but the feeling gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, and he knew with certainty that he wasn't the only Jedi who sensed it.