I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C244 War on the Horizon!

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The common area of Atlas was unusually quiet, the tension between Peter and his girlfriends had momentarily vanished thanks to the news Rocket brought. 

‘Nothing like a civil war to put things into perspective…’ Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words. “Look, I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have been so harsh earlier. I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just… I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I didn’t handle it well. And now I have even more on my mind with this war…”  

“I care about you—all of you. But sometimes I get so caught up in everything that I forget to… I don’t know, talk to you about it. And I’m sorry.”  

Natasha glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “You’ve been acting weird ever since you got back from Dagobah. What’s going on, Peter? Besides, you know, the war…”  

Before he could answer, his commlink buzzed. He glanced down to see a transmission from Yoda. Frowning, he activated it, and the Grandmaster’s holographic form appeared.  

“Peter,” Yoda said, his tone calm but urgent. “To the Jedi Temple, you must come. A meeting of the Council, there is. Immediately, you must arrive.”  

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, Master Yoda, what’s this about? Is it the war? The Separatists—”  

But Yoda’s hologram flickered and disappeared before he could finish. Peter stared at the empty space where the transmission had been, his mind racing.  

He turned back to Natasha, Mikaela, and Padmé, his expression apologetic. “I have to go. I’ll explain everything when I get back, I promise.”  

The three women exchanged glances, their anger giving way to concern. Natasha sighed, her tone softer now. “Just… be careful, okay?”  

Peter nodded, offering them a faint smile. “I will.”  

He turned and hurried out of the room, disappearing down the corridor, heading for the hangar.  

————

The Jedi Temple loomed before him as Peter’s shuttle touched down, its towering spires casting long shadows over the bustling courtyard. He moved quickly through the halls, his mind racing with possibilities. What could the Council want with him? Was it about the war? The Separatists? Anakin?  

When he reached the Council Chamber, he found it packed with every member of the Jedi Council. Even Mace Windu was present, his holographic form standing tall among the others. The room fell silent as Peter stepped inside, the weight of their gazes pressing down on him.  

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, his tone wary. “Is this about the war? The Separatists?”  

Yoda shook his head, his expression unreadable. “About the war, it is not. A decision, the Council has made. A seat on the Council, you have been granted.”  

Peter froze, his mind struggling to process the words. “Wait… what? Me? On the Council?”  

Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward, his tone measured but laced with skepticism. “Your abilities and insights are… unique. In these uncertain times, the Council believes your perspective will be invaluable.”  

Peter’s initial shock gave way to reluctance. “With all due respect, Masters, I’m not sure I’m the right person for this. I’m not exactly a traditional Jedi, and I’ve got a lot on my plate already.”  

Windu’s hologram stepped forward, his deep voice carrying the weight of authority. “This isn’t about tradition, Peter. It’s about survival. The galaxy is on the brink of war, and we need every advantage we can get. That includes you.”  

Peter’s mind raced as he considered the implications. A seat on the Council would mean more responsibility, more scrutiny, and less freedom to act on his own. But it would also give him the influence he needed to protect Anakin and guide the Jedi through the coming conflict.  

He thought back to the Jedi’s downfall in the movies, the Temple burning, the Order crumbling. The Temple had become a home to him, and the idea of losing it—of losing the people he cared about—was unbearable.  

“Alright,” Peter said finally, his tone resigned but resolute. “I’ll do it. But I’m not going to play by the old rules. If I’m on the Council, I’m going to push for change. The Jedi need to adapt if we’re going to survive this war.”  

Yoda nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Agree, we do. Change, necessary it is. Welcome to the Council, Knight Quill.”  

The other members murmured their assent, though some, like Ki-Adi-Mundi, still seemed uneasy. Peter took a deep breath, the weight of his new role settling on his shoulders as he took his seat among the Council members. 

Instantly, the room went silent as all eyes turned on him. “…” He glanced at Yoda, silently asking for guidance, but the Grandmaster simply smiled, his expression almost mischievous. Windu’s holographic form stood nearby, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if he, too, was enjoying Peter’s predicament.  

The rest of the Council, however, was not so amused. They stared at him expectantly, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, realizing they were waiting for him to say something.  

‘Great,’ he thought, his mind racing. ‘First day on the job, and they’re already putting me on the spot.’  

He considered bringing up the reforms he’d been thinking about for years—the need for the Jedi to adapt, to become more compassionate and less rigid. But now wasn’t the time. The galaxy was on the brink of war, and the Council needed to focus on the immediate threat.  

Taking a deep breath, Peter leaned forward, his tone calm but firm. “Masters, I know this war seems like a straightforward conflict between the Republic and the Separatists. But I sense something deeper at play here. A great darkness, one that’s coming from both sides.”  

The room fell silent, the Council members exchanging uneasy glances. Ki-Adi-Mundi frowned, his skepticism evident. “What are you suggesting, Knight Quill?”  

Peter met his gaze, his expression serious. “I’m suggesting that this war isn’t what it appears to be. It’s a scheme, a carefully orchestrated plan to destabilize the Republic and plunge the galaxy into chaos. And the ones pulling the strings? Count Dooku and his mysterious Sith Master.”  

Shaak Ti tilted her head, her tone measured but curious. “You believe Dooku is behind this?”  

“I know he is,” Peter said, his voice steady. “Dooku’s connections and influence have shielded him from the consequences of what he tried to do to Master Yaddle. But this war? It’s his doing. I know it. And if we don’t act now, he and his master will use it to seize power.”  

Plo Koon leaned forward, his modulated voice resonating with quiet resolve. “And what do you propose we do? The Senate is unlikely to act on mere suspicions, especially without concrete evidence.”  

Peter nodded, his mind racing as he formulated his response. “We can’t wait for the Senate to act. By then, it’ll be too late. The Jedi need to take a more proactive role in this war. We need to step up and assume major positions of power within the Republic’s growing military. If we’re in control of the army, we can ensure that it’s used to protect the galaxy, not to further the Sith’s agenda.”  

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. “This isn’t just about winning battles. It’s about safeguarding the Republic from within. If we let the Sith manipulate the Senate and the military, we’ll lose more than the war—we’ll lose everything.”  

The room fell silent, the weight of Peter’s words hanging in the air.

Before anyone could respond, the chamber doors hissed open, and a Jedi guard stepped inside, his expression tense. “Masters,” he said, his voice urgent. “The Senate is summoning the Jedi Council. They’ve requested your immediate presence.”  

The Council members exchanged uneasy glances, the tension in the room thickening. Yoda’s ears twitched, his expression grim. “Troubling, this is. Summoned so soon after the Separatist declaration, we are.”  

Windu’s holographic form stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Whatever they want, it’s not going to be good. We need to be ready for anything.”  

Peter rose from his seat, his mind racing. The war was already beginning, and the Jedi were being pulled into the political fray. He glanced at Yoda and Windu, their expressions mirroring his own unease.  

“Let’s go,” Peter said, his tone resolute. “Whatever’s waiting for us in the Senate, we’ll face it together.”  

The Council members nodded, their resolve hardening as they prepared to leave the chamber. The galaxy was on the brink of war, and the Jedi Order stood at the center of the storm.  

————

Meanwhile…

The throne room of the Kree Empire was a place of cold, calculated power. The walls were lined with dark, angular designs, and the air hummed with the faint energy of advanced technology. At the center of the room, seated on a throne of blackened metal, was Darth Sidious. His hooded figure was illuminated by the pale glow of holographic displays, each one showing a different corner of the galaxy.  

One display, however, held his full attention. It replayed the Separatist declaration, the images of Wat Tambor, San Hill, Passel Argente, and Shu Mai flickering in the dim light. Dooku’s voice echoed through the room, his words dripping with false nobility as he positioned himself as the Republic’s savior.  

Sidious’s expression darkened, his yellow eyes narrowing as he watched the transmission. His fingers curled around the armrests of his throne, the metal groaning under the pressure of his grip.  

“Plagueis,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.  

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt. This was his former master’s doing. The Separatist movement, the declaration of independence, and Dooku’s rise to prominence—it was all part of the plan they had once crafted together. A plan to destabilize the Republic, to plunge the galaxy into chaos, and to seize power from the shadows.  

But Plagueis was executing it without him.  

Sidious’s anger burned like a furnace, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He had spent years building his own power base within the Republic, biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And now, his former master was moving ahead without him, stealing the initiative and leaving Sidious scrambling to catch up.  

“You always were one step ahead,” Sidious muttered, his voice dripping with bitterness. “But not this time.”  

He rose from his throne, his cloak swirling around him as he paced the room. His mind raced, calculating his next move. He couldn’t let Plagueis outmaneuver him. He had to act quickly, decisively, and without mercy.  

“The Kree Empire will not sit idly by while the Republic tears itself apart,” Sidious said, his tone cold and calculating. “If Plagueis wants a war, I will give him one. And when the dust settles, it will be my throne that rules the galaxy.”  

He turned to a nearby console, his fingers flying across the controls as he activated a secure communication channel. A holographic figure materialized before him, their features obscured by a hood.  

“Prepare the fleet,” Sidious ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. “The time has come to remind the galaxy who its true master is.”  

The figure nodded, their voice a low murmur. “As you command, my lord.”  

The transmission ended, and Sidious stood alone in the throne room, his mind still racing. He thought of Maul, his former apprentice, who had disappeared. Sidious had long assumed the Zabrak was dead, but now, with the galaxy on the brink of war, he found himself wishing he had kept his pawn closer at hand.  

“No matter,” Sidious muttered, his expression hardening. “Maul was a tool, nothing more. If he is gone, I will find another. The Sith will rise again, and this time, there will be no one to stop us.”  

He turned back to the holographic displays, his gaze lingering on the image of Dooku. The Count’s smug expression filled him with a cold, seething rage.  

“Enjoy your moment, Dooku,” Sidious whispered, his voice a venomous hiss. “It will be your last.”  

A/N: 2027 words :)