Morgan mind sharpened.
That force ability again… another trick of his. He just deflected Rhongomyniad and threw it back at me like it was nothing.
But at least I know now. It can be handled. Dangerous—but not impossible.
But Jacen had already adjusted.
His left arm glowed—his blaster charging brighter than before. The barrel expanded, then rotated, pieces shifting outward like the petals of a mechanical lotus. It shimmered violently in the Force as he aimed.
Jacen narrowed his gaze. Shatterpoint.
He peered through the threads of Morgan's body. Through her circuits. Her flows of magecraft and magic. Her origin as a Fairy Queen. Everything—laid bare.
There it was—one single vulnerability. The point where her spirit core met her magecraft anchor. The place where all her spells were born.
His blaster flared with intent—and he fired.
The beam split into a thousand rays, jagged and precise like a swarm of guided bolts. Each laced with shatterpoint data. They curved, dove, zigzagged—every one seeking a fatal point.
And Morgan? She ran. She ran as the blaster beam chased behind her.
The beams struck her back, her shoulder, her legs—impaled her.
She fell. And then—shattered into mist. Just an Alter Ego.
Jacen's eyes sharpened. Clever...
Behind rubble,
Morgan's real self crouched, breathing slowly. He's reading me. My weakpoints. My movements. One mistake—and I'm done. . But he can't use that trick if he's too distracted to find me.
Her fingers curled, magic circles quietly etching into the ground.
Then let's make the battlefield crowded. With a low chant, one word echoed from her lips: "Multiply."
Dozens. Then hundreds. One hundred exact copies of Morgan Le Fay surged into being, each of them cloaked in the exact magical signature of the real one. Thoughtform Avatars—her own perfected battle tactic from the age of fairy monarchs.
Across from her, Jacen Solo stepped back, unfazed.
"…Fine," he muttered. He shut his eyes briefly, placing one hand on his temple.
And then—he vanished. No sound. No flare. Just gone. But not alone.
Where he had stood, another Jacen appeared.
Then another. And another. And another.
Jacen Solo had employed the [White Current]—the Force illusion style passed down through the Fallanassi. Hundreds of him now walked the field. Not just visually perfect—but tactically perfect. Each held his green saber and glowing blaster arm. Each moved like a warrior trained by Skywalker himself.
The battlefield turned into chaos. Morgan's alter egos lunged. Jacen's phantoms countered.
Blades met blades. Spells collided with bolts of green blaster .
Morgan's alter egos surged forward in formation, lances glowing with fairy magic. Jacen's illusions met them head-on, sabers clashing with precision. The air cracked with every impact. Spells detonated like bombs.
Copies fell. Dozens vanished every second.
But neither Morgan nor Jacen revealed themselves.
Morgan's real body moved carefully beneath the chaos—dodging wide, watching from behind a broken pillar.
Jacen's real form did the same—tracking, but silent. Watching for a twitch. A blink. A breath out of place.
But Jacen Solo's eyes narrowed. He had been watching. Waiting.
His fingertips pressed gently to his temple.
Force Meld.
He didn't shout it. Didn't signal it. He let the invisible network flare in silence—his mind brushing the battlefield like a breeze through a forest. Hundreds of presences. Hundreds of signatures.
Only one… was real. There you are.
The Force swelled in his hands—silent, unrelenting. And it hit her like a starship cannon.
A wave of telekinetic power crushed Morgan's position, ripping her from her hiding place like a doll caught in a storm. Her back slammed through one pillar, then another, then a third. Dust exploded from the cracked stone. Her body twisted midair, crashing against the ground before being pinned again—this time through the ribs—against a wall of fractured marble.
Pain throbbed in her limbs, deep and real. She felt it immediately.
she thought grimly. It bypassed my magical barriers… like they weren't even there.
One eye clenched shut from the force of impact, blood dripping down the side of her mouth, Morgan could barely lift her head.
And Jacen Solo approached, silent at first. Measured. His green lightsaber still hummed at his side, casting eerie light across the jagged battlefield. He looked at her for a long moment, then leaned forward, close enough that his breath could be felt.
"What was it you said?" he murmured. "How does it feel… to be beaten by a world more backward than yours?"
His voice was low, his tone not triumphant, but filled with something deeper—something carved from his past.
"Our New Republic…" he continued, eyes growing colder, "was nearly wiped out by a race that didn't use machines. The Yuuzhan Vong ran on living tech. Organic biology. It humiliated us. Burned our skies. Killed my friends. My students."
He gripped his saber tighter. "Never again will I underestimate what looks weaker."
The blade lifted. He took a step forward.
And then— A tremor in the Force.
His instincts screamed. Behind him—no, around him—a chant echoed. A slow, unyielding voice filled the air, beautiful and terrifying in its clarity:
"Fate's a cruel thing, isn't it?
Such is the dream of destruction that I always saw.
There is no retribution, there is no salvation.
Despite being at the Farthest Ends, the birds will sing of tomorrow.
Please… Roadless Camelot."
His head snapped back as he turned.
Behind him, one of the Morgan clones stood with her arms outstretched—chant complete.
And then— The ground split apart.
A throne emerged, vast and solemn, forged from ancient marble and bound in silver and sapphire. Morgan sat atop it—elegant, regal, unmarred.
Around Jacen Solo, one hundred radiant blue pillars erupted like judge's gavel from the very earth, forming a perfect circle of execution.
And then—magical explosion .
Blue magical . Cold, magical, from the depth of the Fae. It surged upward from beneath Jacen's boots like a geyser of ancient wrath.
Jacen didn't panic. He called upon his mastery—his hand extended, and Tutaminis formed around him. Force energy wrapped him like a shield, deflecting magical explosion .
But something was wrong. There were two Morgans.
The one he pinned, bleeding and broken—but her eye was open now, and she was smirking.
And the one on the throne, far ahead, regal and commanding, spear now in her hand again.
He looked between them. His danger sense flared. Which one is real they look exactly the same ?
They were identical. Same magical signature. The same hateful determination in their gaze.
And then the one in his grip the wounded morgan suddenly shouted—
"Rhongomyniad!!!"
The spear exploded into existence in her hand—only this time, it wasn't the sleek, elegant weapon of fairy tales.
It was a continent-sized monolith of camelot wrath.
The spear's mass tore through space. Morgan poured everything she had—every inch of her magic, blood, and soul—into the construct. It roared toward Jacen .
Jacen barely had time to raise his hand.
Tutaminis surged—green Force energy wrapped around him . He pulled deep from his core, from his nerves, from instinct, from the Force itself.
But it was too much. Because he had never discharged the blue explosion absorbed from Morgan's earlier attack—meaning now two opposing energies clashed violently inside his body.
And then he realized it.
Behind him—where the throne had been—nothing. Just fading magical residue. A final alter ego collapsing into dust.
He looked at the woman before him—the bleeding one still pinned, her eye wild with fury and pain.
And her own throne was now manifesting behind her.
The real one.
Jacen's lips curled in bitter admiration. Heh… I got tricked.
The real one was the pinned queen all along. The throne… the fake… that was her trump card. A spell to distract. To bait me. I lost… because I underestimated my enemy . Again.
The Rhongomyniad descended.
Jacen's body lit with green energy—he poured everything into Tutaminis, drawing deep from the Force, even as smoke hissed from his shoulders and the floor beneath him cracked.
Morgan roared as the throne behind her ignited in brilliant blue explosion . The Roadless Camelot released its full fury. One final surge. The blue magical explosion reached to the sky and scorched the arena itself,
The clash exploded at the midpoint. Light swallowed everything. The battlefield cracked.
The pressure alone flattened the land, sent dust flying miles upward . And then… Half the arena was gone.
Morgan lay sitting amid fractured stone, her breath ragged. Her clothes scorched, her left arm missing entirely—ripped from the blast. Blue magical remains still lingered along the broken hem of her cloak. Her fingers twitched.
And beside her…
only half of Jacen Solo remained. His upper body, intact enough to be recognized. His saber nowhere. His left side—where the blaster had once glowed—completely vaporized. He was slumped, burned, still half-conscious, eyes dim yet focused on her. "…Tch…"
Morgan didn't gloat. She didn't speak.
She simply leaned back, head tilting toward the broken sky. I did it, Jin-Woo. I'm still here.
And Jacen, barely able to move, smirked faintly through bloodied lips.
"…That… was a good trick…"
Morgan's breathing steadied, one eye lazily narrowing toward him.
"Hey, Caedus… Jedi version. What's your real name?"
Jacen's eye fluttered open, flickering with fading light. "…You're not from my galaxy. Why would it matter?"
"Maybe it doesn't. But I give titles to knights so i know caedus is like a title . as That's what I do as queen . If I'm going to be the one to break someone like you, I want to know the name."
Jacen's eye closed, and for a moment, it looked like he wouldn't answer. But then…
"Jacen Solo," he said. "Son of Han Solo… and Leia Organa Skywalker."
Morgan tilted her head slightly, tone lower now. "Why, Jacen Solo? Why did your Sith self turn into a family killer? Jin-Woo said it. He mentioned it like he knew it too well."
Jacen turned his head just slightly, a shadow of sorrow behind his battered expression.
"There's my Sith self, right?" he said. "You should ask him instead. He's the original now. I'm just… the shard. The one that tried."
He coughed once, blood touching his lips.
"So long, Morgan Le Fay. Queen of Britain… At least your salvation will come true. With Jin-Woo beside you."
And with that final breath, Jacen Solo's eyes shut.
His body began to shimmer, then break apart—not into blood, not into dust, but into glowing particles of the Force. His essence lifted, shimmering like starlight, and vanished into the air.
Then, silently, far away, across the battlefield—where Caedus awaited—the Sith's aura flared violently. His strength surged.
Morgan sat quietly, breath shallow, her cloak torn and darkened by soot. Her body was burning with pain, but she felt something else stir within her—a presence. Not of battle.
A warmth. A shadow that didn't threaten.
Darkness curled around her, familiar and safe.
Then arms wrapped around her from behind.
"…Congratulations, my Queen," Jin-Woo whispered beside her ear.
Morgan blinked slowly, her eye still struggling to stay open. She leaned her weight back into his chest and murmured, "I want to headpat your hat…"
Jin-Woo didn't resist. He tilted slightly forward, letting her hand rise to his head.
Morgan's fingers sank into his hair and slowly tousled it. Her fingers traced through the strands with childlike curiosity, her lips curling faintly. "Your hair's… smooth. Soft. Like velvet thread soaked in shadow…"