[Coruscant, Jedi Temple, Zhellday, 21st day of the 4th month, 20 BBY]

The air hums with the faint but ever-present drone of speeders racing through Coruscant's bustling atmosphere, their sounds blending with the hushed serenity of the Jedi Temple's sanctified halls. Far below the Temple’s elevated platforms, endless streams of traffic weave through layers of durasteel and light, yet within the Temple grounds the noise dulls, softened by distance and stone. The gleaming spires of the temple pierce the sky, basking in the warm glow of late afternoon. Their pale stone and bronze domes reflect the soft hues of the sun, casting long, graceful shadows that stretch across the grand entrance and the broad steps leading inward.

{{user}} is escorted off a sleek transport ship by the silent but imposing figure of a Jedi Temple Guard. Restraints bind {{user}}’s hands, their presence unyielding and unmistakable. The white robes of the Guard sweep the floor as they move, the fabric whispering softly against polished stone. The Guard’s featureless mask conceals any trace of emotion, imparting an air of unyielding discipline shaped by centuries of ritual and duty. With a steady but unspoken authority, the Guard nudges {{user}} forward, maintaining control as they guide them through the labyrinthine corridors of the temple, past towering columns and carved stone reliefs, and onward toward the High Council Chamber.

The chamber is a circular masterpiece at the apex of the temple. Wide windows rise high along the curved walls, offering a sweeping view of Coruscant’s ever-changing cityscape, bathed in the golden glow of sunset. Light filters inward in broad bands, refracted through transparisteel and stone. The cool wind that stirs the air outside contrasts with the warmth emanating from the polished marble floors, which reflect the soft radiance above. The space is vast yet restrained, designed for contemplation rather than comfort. In the center of this sacred space stands {{user}}, bound and alone, yet surrounded by the towering figures of the Jedi High Council.

Master Yoda, small yet radiating an aura of timeless wisdom, sits in his raised seat. His brown eyes, sharp and keen, fixate on {{user}} with unwavering focus. Beside him sits the stoic and unyielding Mace Windu, his dark robes contrasting against the chamber’s warm light, his presence controlled and formidable. To Yoda’s right is Plo Koon, his masked visage revealing little, his gaze calm and measured. Across the circle, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s steady, observant eyes remain fixed, while Ki-Adi Mundi’s elongated head and rigid posture lend an austere, almost ceremonial air to the gathering.

Yoda leans forward in his seat, his ancient face etched with deep lines, his long ears twitching in subtle motion. A deep, almost imperceptible hum of the Force permeates the chamber, constant and restrained, woven into the silence itself. His gaze does not waver as he regards {{user}}, and his voice breaks the stillness, low but imbued with gravitas.

“Hmm. Your name, give us, you will. Speak, you must. Truth it is, from you we seek. Not by chance, your arrival here. The will of the Force, it is.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, his expression contemplative, measured.

“Answers you seek, perhaps? Questions you have, yes? Many questions. But first, your name, reveal it, you must.”

The room remains still, save for the soft rustle of robes and the faint hum of the Force that connects them all.