Chapter Twenty-Five
Obi-Wan

The air hummed with energy as I stepped through the main entrance of the temple, where Jedi of all forms and colors traversed the expansive halls like currents in a vibrant stream. I could feel the weight of their presence; some were wearied by recent missions, others aglow with the glee of youthful discovery, yet each was united by an unyielding purpose—a purpose that was an intrinsic part of our identity. The echo of footfalls resonated against the high ceilings as I navigated the bustling throng, my mind only partially focused on the purpose that had called me to the Archive Room.

As I arrived at the archway leading into the Archive Room, I halted, captivated by the striking bronze bust of Count Dooku. He loomed amongst an array of other busts, each representing the powerful figures who had shaped the Jedi Order. But Dooku's chiselled features drew me in like a moth to flame. His brow was furrowed, and the sharp lines of his face seemed carved by destiny itself. In that moment, standing there in the glowing light of the data panels that lined the walls like sentinels, I couldn't help but remember the stories of his days among us, the whispers of admiration and regret.

Lighted computer panels stretched into infinity, their soft glows illuminating the vast repository of knowledge around me. In the periphery, I caught sight of five Jedi seated at tables, engrossed in archival material—studying, noting, piecing together the fabric of history like skilled weavers. It felt both serene and overwhelming, a reminder of the depth of our Order and the legacy we were bound to protect.

"Master Kenobi," Madame Jocasta Nu's voice broke through my reverie, her presence a gentle contrast to the room's grandeur. She stood beside me, frail yet unyielding, her eyes sharp and discerning. I could feel the weight of her decades of experience in every word as she regarded the bust. "Did you call for assistance?"

"Yes... yes, I did," I replied, pulling my thoughts together.

"He has a powerful face, doesn't he?" Jocasta continued, and I nodded, appreciating her insight. "He was one of the most brilliant Jedi I have had the privilege of knowing."

"I never understood why he quit," I mused, my fingers brushing against the cool surface of the table before me. "Only twenty Jedi have ever left the Order."

Her sigh was loaded with history. "The Lost Twenty... and Count Dooku was the most recent and the most painful. No one likes to talk about it. His leaving was a great loss to the Order."

"What happened?" I pressed, drawn deeper into the interplay of our shared past.

"Well," she began, gazing at Dooku's bust as if seeking answers hidden within its metal visage, "one might say he was always a bit out of step with the decisions of the Council... much like your old Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

The surprising revelation caught me off guard. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. They were alike in many ways. Very individual thinkers... idealists..." The old archivist's voice trailed off, immersed in her memories.

"Striving to become a more powerful Jedi," she continued, her brow furrowing with contemplation. "He wanted to be the best. There was no match for him, particularly with a lightsaber, in the old style of fencing. His knowledge of the Force was... unique. In the end, I think he left because he lost faith in the Republic. He believed that politics were corrupt, and he felt the Jedi betrayed themselves by serving the politicians. He had high expectations of government—quite high indeed. After he disappeared for nine or ten years, he just showed up recently as the head of the separatist movement."

"Interesting... I'm still not sure I understand," I admitted, though her words resonated within me, swirling with my own uncertainties.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't call me over here for a history lesson," she noted with a wry smile, breaking the weighty atmosphere. "Are you having a problem, Master Kenobi?"

"Yes, I'm trying to find a planet system called Kamino. It doesn't seem to show up on any of the archive charts," I explained, an edge of urgency creeping into my voice.

"Kamino? It's not a system I'm familiar with... Let me see..." Jocasta bent over my shoulder, her fingers dancing over the keyboard.

"Are you sure you have the right coordinates?" she asked, a hint of skepticism lacing her tone.

I nodded, affirming my findings. "According to my information, it should be in this quadrant somewhere... just south of the Rishi Maze."

Her fingers moved swiftly, but her brow furrowed in concentration. "No coordinates? It sounds like the kind of directions you'd get from a street tout... some old miner or Furbog trader."

"All three, actually," I replied, sensing the futility of this search gnawing at my resolve.

"Are you sure it exists?" she queried, casting a doubt that pierced deeper than I expected.

"Absolutely," I asserted, my frustration weaving itself into my words.

"Let me do a gravitational scan," Jocasta said, determination replacing doubt as we scrutinized the star map that flickered to life before us.

As the holographic display brought forth a myriad of celestial bodies, my heart raced. "There are some inconsistencies here," she murmured. "Maybe the planet you're looking for was destroyed."

"Wouldn't that be on record?" I countered, incredulous at the thought.

"It ought to be. Unless it was very recent." She shook her head, her expression grave. "I hate to say it, but it looks like the system you're searching for doesn't exist."

"That's impossible... perhaps the archives are incomplete." A flicker of desperation ignited within me.

"The archives are comprehensive and totally secure, my young Jedi," she replied, her gaze unwavering. "One thing you may be absolutely sure of—if an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist!"

I stared at her, my thoughts tussling with the implications of her proclamation as I cast one last glance at the star map, seeking any glimmer of hope. 

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As I made my way down the expansive hangar, the scent of metal and oil filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of machinery. Ships loomed before me, their sleek hulls glinting under the bright overhead lights like polished gems, each one a testament to engineering marvels. My heart quickened with anticipation; I could sense something shifting in the atmosphere, a familiar presence that tugged at my awareness.

Suddenly, I caught sight of her—Queen Mira. She stood there, framed by the stark lines of the hangar, her beauty almost ethereal. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of silk around her shoulders, catching the light in soft waves, while her striking features radiated an elegance that took my breath away. The glow that seemed to surround her was not just the hangar lights but something more profound, an aura of strength and grace.

A smile broke across my face, one that felt effortless yet genuine. "Your Majesty, what can I do for you?" I asked, my voice steady but imbued with warmth, eager to offer whatever assistance she might need. Her presence had a way of making everything else fade into the background, leaving only the two of us in that moment—a connection that felt significant and charged with possibility.

I was a bit taken aback that she was here. The last time we had spoken, she had called me from Lothal, her voice filled with urgency and determination. But seeing her now, standing before me, felt surreal. Queen Mira smiled softly, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that melted away my surprise.

She stepped closer and gently took my hands in hers, her touch both reassuring and grounding. "I can't let you go to that planet alone, Obi-Wan," she said, her voice steady and firm. "We're friends, and we stand together."

The sincerity in her words struck a chord deep within me. I felt an overwhelming sense of camaraderie and loyalty swell in my chest. In a galaxy fraught with uncertainty, the connection we shared was a beacon of hope. I glanced into her eyes, filled with determination and resolve, and felt an undeniable urge to protect her just as she wished to protect me.

"We'll face whatever lies ahead together," I replied, feeling the gravity of our bond as I squeezed her hands gently. In that moment, surrounded by the machinery of the hangar, I knew I wasn't just a Jedi on a mission; I was part of something much larger—a partnership forged in friendship and trust.