Padawan Zett Jukassa studied the hologram’s projection that sprung unto life from a circular pod, regarding the flickering and shifting lines as a nuisance to his research on the effective use of Tràkata. The projection had also constantly emitted a buzz that lit up the classroom with a feeling of contempt as Master Drallig was investigating a disturbance, abandoning their lesson in favor of more holoreading that somber evening. Zett glanced over his garbed shoulder, peering at his classmates with a mind to speak up. Padawan Byph had then burst into the classroom, at the same moment Zett had almost sensed him. “Blasterfire!” slurred the young Ithorian, in his own manner of tongue, “There is blasterfire!”

Zett turned his head around in a brisk swivel, paying attention to the reactions of his fellow classmates. There were pockets of commotion behind their desks, younglings constantly leaning in to hear the next opinion. With the sense of misdirection that fell upon the classroom, Zett only felt obligated to speak up—to speak up as a leader. It certainly wasn’t the first thought that had raced across his mind, but the young Padawan had thought of being recognized by the Jedi High Council for his bravery, for his leadership in a time of need. Perhaps enough to become a Jedi Knight. “It’s okay, Byph; just tell us what’s going on—what blasterfire?”
Byph exploited the hesitation among the Padawans to pant, grasping his knees and hanging his head low after a desperate run across the Jedi Temple’s hallways. He was one of many to witness the clone troopers running down Jedi, shooting them without mercy nor proper explanation. “The clone troopers…” hissed Byph with his breath just regaining, “…the clone troopers are attacking the Jedi.”
A gasp was uttered from the crowd, and one of the Padawans there sprung up from his chair. “Guys, I think we’ll be safe in here if we just seal the blast doors. The clone troopers can’t get in, even with blasters. I-I think at least.”
“We cannot lock ourselves in without food or water. We must leave!”
Zett was at a loss for words, equally taken aback by the news like the others. He never would have reckoned such an outlandish possibility—something wasn’t right there and then. The clone troopers had served under them loyally; they were their Generals, their leaders, and their friends. “We still have to find Master Drallig either way, and Bene and Whie too.”
One of the Padawans, irritated by his dangerous gesture, turned around on her seat and beat an eye at Zett. “And how do you suppose we find them, Zett? Do you want to send untrained Padawans to find them? Do you want to get us all killed, is that it?”
“Maybe we should, they’re—we’re still all Jedi together.”
“Jedi? We may be Padawans, but we’re certainly no Knights. I say we stay here, where it’s safe.”
“Fine.” spat Zett with no audible response, sitting up from his own chair before storming out of the classroom. Padawan Byph had insisted on following him, although not to join him—but to stop him. “I’ll find them myself if I’ll have to.” He started down the halls of the temple with anger in his eyes, spiting the cowardice of his fellow Padawans. If we’re ever to become Knights, we’re going to have to take a few risks every now and then, observed Zett, flinging out his lightsaber while Byph did so as well.
“Perhaps she was right, Zett. Perhaps we should stay where it’s safe…for now at least.”
Zett shook his head with disbelief, and then stopped to corner Byph. “But every risk has a cause,” He pointed his arm down the hallway. “and our cause is them. Master Drallig, Whie, Bene. They’re our friends—our family.”

Byph gulped, brushing off his leather tunic before circling around Zett and backing away. The eye ridges of the young Ithorian had sagged low in grief. “But it still puts us in danger. We—we... come tomorrow, we just might be all that’s left of the order.”
Zett gulped as well, turning his head back before jumping at Byph with thundering words. “Don’t you ever say that.”
“Why?” Byph’s eyes fell to scan his feet. “It’s just as possible as survival, the odds—”
“—Fine, stick with your cause; I’ll stick with the Jedi’s.” Zett stormed off, fuming with a burning rage before a squad of clone troopers came into view. He relaxed his stiffen muscles, recognizing the clone troopers as Commander Appo’s men. The troopers peeked around the corridor by an open landing pad after the rest of their squad approached another aboard a speeder. Zett, wanting to get to the bottom of this, approached them with his lightsaber at his side. Just in case, he thought, I hope. As the fog drew clear from Zett’s bubble of space, it soon became clear to the troopers who he was.
“Jedi!” A trooper raised his carbine and discharged the weapon twice at Zett’s direction. Zett was taken by surprise with the blaster bolts coming his way, and in turn raced around the corridor. He circled around the building as he sensed the other was in danger, quickly approaching the landing pad once again near the confused troopers. “There he is!” Zett twisted his legs around, watching the troopers c*** their weapons. With a nervous gulp, he raced over to the speeder as the troopers ahead prosecuted the man driving the speeder.

Springing into the air, Zett ignited his cobalt blade and plunged it into one trooper’s chest of plasteel. He twirled the blade around, and in a series of flurries, Zett executed the troopers one by one in his rage. He was slipping to the dark side as he killed in his anger, knowing that the other Jedi were dead by now. Master Drallig, Whie, Bene, he counted their names in his head, the people who he would save after the man by the speeder. Master Drallig, Wh—
“NO!” The man by the speeder climbed back into the vehicle and fled the Jedi Temple, observing the fires from afar. They were tailed by smoke, just as Byph watched Zett fall in battle to the men the Jedi once called their friends—not their executors. It was the end of the Jedi Order . . . for now.