Choosing his Prey

The holocron did not teach, it simply remembered. Darth Tempus had expected hidden texts, cryptic lessons, perhaps even the spectral gatekeeper common to most Sith holocrons. Instead, the artifact dissolved into crimson light the moment he placed it within the circular receptacle at the center of his command dais.

Thousands of symbols erupted into the air, each one orbiting the chamber in intricate spirals before collapsing into a single point directly before him. When the light touched his forehead, centuries of knowledge poured into his mind without warning.

Time ceased to feel like a river flowing in one direction. It unfolded into an endless landscape where every moment existed simultaneously, connected by invisible currents that only the Force could perceive. The experience nearly destroyed him.

His knees struck the cold durasteel floor as memories that did not belong to him flashed behind his eyes. He witnessed stars being born and dying within the same heartbeat. He watched civilizations rise, flourish, and crumble into dust before reversing themselves and beginning anew.

He saw Sith Lords who had not yet been born standing beside Jedi Masters who had died thousands of years earlier. Every possibility existed alongside every certainty, each separated by choices so insignificant that entire galactic histories hinged upon a single word left unspoken or a single blaster bolt striking a wall instead of flesh. Most minds would have shattered.

Tempus forced the torrent into order. Hours became days, though he could no longer distinguish between them. He disciplined his thoughts as he had disciplined every other aspect of his life, refusing to drown beneath the impossible weight of eternity.

Slowly, patterns emerged from the chaos. Time was not random. It possessed structure, pressure points, moments where history balanced upon a knife's edge. Darth Chronos had not learned to travel through time by overpowering it. He had learned where its walls were weakest.

When the visions finally subsided, Tempus rose to his feet. The chamber had changed. Or perhaps he had. The countless clocks lining the walls no longer displayed meaningless hours. Each now represented different points along history's endless continuum.

The temporal anomalies drifting through the chamber resembled living currents rather than random distortions. Even the holocron itself appeared different, no longer an object of mystery but a key whose lock had finally been understood. He approached the central console. The holocron responded instantly.

Blue-white holographic panels unfolded throughout the chamber, not unlike the tactical displays aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer, except these contained neither fleet movements nor planetary defenses. They displayed lives, each surrounded by branching timelines that shimmered like veins spreading through the galaxy.

Tempus folded his arms as names began scrolling across the displays. Some vanished immediately. Others lingered. The countless projections filling the chamber collapsed into a new arrangement, discarding generals, emperors, Jedi Masters, and Sith Lords alike until only a handful of luminous figures remained suspended around his dais.

Darth Tempus watched with quiet satisfaction as the artifact reached the same conclusion he already had. Great men altered battles. Great women altered history. They stood at the crossroads where bloodlines, alliances, destinies, and empires converged. Remove one warrior, and another eventually took her place. Remove one of these women, and entire generations bent in unexpected directions.

The first dossier expanded before him; Padme Amidala. Her life unfolded in overlapping streams of possibility that stretched far beyond Naboo or the Galactic Senate. Every significant branch intersected with Anakin Skywalker's descent, the rise of the Empire, and the eventual birth of the twins who would shape the fate of the galaxy.

Countless futures fractured the moment her timeline was disturbed. Some prevented Vader's creation entirely. Others created something far worse. The holocron highlighted her repeatedly, recognizing that she was not merely important. She was a fulcrum upon which history balanced. Tempus allowed the display to linger before dismissing it with a gesture.

Another projection replaced it; Leia Organa..The network surrounding her was even more intricate. Royal blood, rebellion, diplomacy, military command, and family all converged within a single individual. Every decision she made rippled outward into thousands of lives.

Removing her at the proper moment did not simply weaken the Rebel Alliance. It forced countless heroes to assume unfamiliar roles, changing victories into defeats and defeats into catastrophes. He smiled faintly. It was exactly the sort of disruption he sought.

The next display belonged to Ahsoka Tano. Unlike Padmé or Leia, her influence was subtle rather than obvious. She drifted through history like a thread binding separate eras together, appearing wherever destiny threatened to unravel. Jedi, Rebels, Mandalorians, and survivors all found themselves connected through her presence. Eliminating that single thread did not snap the tapestry apart. It caused it to slowly come undone. Interesting.

Bo-Katan Kryze appeared next. Her influence spread across Mandalore through decades of war, occupation, rebellion, and restoration. The holocron calculated dozens of futures in which her disappearance delayed the reunification of her people by generations. Others condemned Mandalore to permanent fragmentation. None remained stable.

Then came Hera Syndulla. Tempus had expected another military officer..Instead, the holocron revealed a nexus. Without Hera, entire resistance networks failed to form. Missions were never flown. Alliances dissolved before they could mature. Individuals who would later become legends died forgotten because the woman who united them had simply never arrived.

Sabine Wren followed. Her profile was unlike any before it; artist, warrior, rebel, Mandalorian. Every identity she embraced connected worlds that otherwise remained isolated. The holocron repeatedly emphasized artifacts, symbols, and ancient traditions that survived only because she carried them forward. She was not merely preserving history. She was creating it.

Then came Rey. The chamber darkened. Even the holocron hesitated. Her timeline shimmered with extraordinary instability, as though history itself struggled to settle upon a single version of events. Every alteration generated hundreds of contradictory futures before collapsing into entirely new possibilities. Tempus watched the projections branch endlessly. She would require patience.

Finally, the last hologram materialized; Asajj Ventress. Unlike the others, her significance did not stem from bloodlines or political influence. It came from choice. Every crossroads of her life represented a decision between darkness and redemption, vengeance and sacrifice. Entire futures shifted depending upon which path she walked. She reminded Tempus that history was not always rewritten by rulers. Sometimes it turned upon the soul of a single survivor.

The chamber fell silent as all eight dossiers remained suspended around him. The holocron had identified them as the greatest temporal pressure points among the women of their respective eras, each one capable of reshaping history through her absence as surely as through her actions.

Tempus slowly turned beneath the constellation of holographic faces, studying each with the detached concentration of a master strategist examining pieces upon a dejarik board. He had not come seeking prisoners for conquest or trophies for his collection. He sought leverage over time itself, and these women were the hinges upon which the doors of history swung. The question was no longer whether they could be taken. It was who should disappear first.