Chapter Text
When Shisui heard the enlistment announcement - and holy fuck was this a bizarre kind of deja-vu - he’d been back at the Temple for all of half an hour.
Since Geonosis - since Shisui had, unlike most of the survivors, had emerged the other side of the battle with minimal injuries - Shisui had been caught between the Healing Halls and the underbelly of Coruscant. Master Plo had been under for a while whilst they reset his ribs, and Anakin had needed sitting with whilst Obi-Wan was being treated, but Shisui had also been tasked with scouting out the financial dividends towards the newfound war effort. There were ships, cannons, shuttles that shouldn't have existed for a war that, as far as the Jedi knew, had given relatively short notice. In the past week, Shisui had been busy. Not busy-busy, but… he'd made some progress.
Master Che, the ray of sunshine she wasn't, had been picking glass out of his cheekbone - the unfortunate side effects of being thrown from a window - when the chime resounded that the High Council was summoning the - predominately Knight Corps - Jedi in the Temple to the Announcement Chambers. Considering the state of their forces after the fuck up that was Geonosis - and the way the galaxy had swiftly devolved into chaos in the aftermath - that wasn't a lot of people. When Master Che and Shisui - the Healer muttering under her breath about interruptions and bacta application - entered through the main doors, it was to find less than three hundred Jedi assembled in the vast hall.
Master Yoda's absence was… obvious.
Where he was, either secluded after the clash with Dooku and his actions, or conferring with the Senate… Shisui didn't know. Yoda had always been a very distant presence in his life, the bond of Great-Grandmaster like a wisp of smoke between their minds that nonetheless lingered, but now he was almost completely out of reach. Shisui had no doubt that Obi-Wan and Feemor, who was on duty with the Temple Guards, felt the same fragility.
Rael, Shisui's tempestuous Master, wasn't there and likely couldn't have been dragged into active service either way; he hadn't, in fact, been planet-side since Shisui's Knighting over seven years ago and even the looming actions of his Master weren't going to change that. Quin was gone, no doubt deep cover, and Anakin was also absent, still bed-bound after a bad reaction to the anaesthetic when they’d attached his prosthetic. The gaps where there should've been dozens more Jedi were almost intolerable, a great scar in the fabric of the Temple’s telepathic psyche.
And then, of course, there were too many people present who probably shouldn't have been; Agen, his silent grief in the Force at odds with the stoicism of his bearing, seated in his new Council chair. Ru-boro, Shisui's old crechemate, was standing with their IV-line still attached off to the side. Obi-Wan, visibly brooding in a hoverchair near the front, was also part of the line of invalids in various states of treatment. Shisui's lineage-brother, even from the back of his head, did not look happy to be there, ominous summonings notwithstanding, and Shisui was quick to weave through the crowd until he could touch the older man's shoulder.
Obi-Wan didn't flinch, having known the moment Shisui arrived, but he didn't turn to acknowledge him either.
Since Dooku’s betrayal, their minds had rarely strayed far from each other's, nor Feemor’s, even if they did not directly communicate. When Shisui had come from the arena, when he'd seen Anakin and Obi-Wan on those stretchers and
known
they'd confronted Dooku, when Feemor had waited for them to disembark…
Shisui's eyes had burned red for
hours,
in the Healing Halls.
Still, pushing support and understanding down their bond, Shisui squeezed Obi-Wan's unbandaged collarbone. “Glad to see you're up,” Shisui quipped.
Grey eyes flicked to Shisui's; it spoke volumes that Obi-Wan didn't plaster on one of his politically-correct smiles. Kami but he looked wrecked.
“Shisui,” Obi-Wan replied, weary, before pausing. “Did you have glass in your cheek?”
“A hiccup on the job,” Shisui demurred, ignoring the tug, and subsequent tingle from the smear of Bacta reacting, when he smiled wider. “Hows the-
Leg and arm their Grandmaster tried to lop off?
Obi-Wan's expression stiffened. He turned to face forwards again, tugging on the fold of his undershirt - evidently Bant hadn't allowed him to don the usual four layers. “I'm fine.”
He was always ‘fine’, Shisui resisted the urge to roll his eyes but knew Obi-Wan picked up on it when he huffed. The issue wasn't that Obi-Wan was so stubborn, because Shisui wasn't a total hypocrite, but that he didn't appreciate that, of everyone, Shisui was the least likely to chew him out. How many times had Obi-Wan seen Shisui pull the stupidest shit - their respective masters had been very different but also very similar, ‘lifestyle of chaos’-wise, for them to reminisce over unconventional tactics - and known that Shisui would give him an alibi in return?
Obi-Wan could play the composed Knight all he wanted with other people, he could keep it together for Anakin, but with Shisui ? Shisui didn't want the mask, he wanted to know what was really going on.
At that point, however, the Council had evidently decided that they'd gathered everyone who could be gathered and, with a very final slam, the doors closed.
The following meeting was everything Shisui had known was coming and yet the news was still horrifically bad.
Most Jedi didn't have a soft start to life; they were a blend of peoples from all across the galaxy, a place where Force-sensitives were often feared or abused for their abilities. The Jedi were seen as mystics, at the best of times, and child-snatching demons in
quite
a few other cases. The slavers liked to collect them for gladiator rings, or exotic pets, and others - like Mandalorians, just to name the obvious - nursed grudges that Shisui did
not
appreciate being kept alive for so long. For those who had better starts - or arrived too young to remember much either way - the darkness of the galaxy was quickly introduced just by the grace of the lifestyle they’d chosen. They saw the underbelly of politics, they saw the depths of poverty through their relief causes and the worst of suffering through their medical intervention, they uplifted the poor through education and agriculture, and it was a
hard
life. People didn't understand the Jedi, partly because they didn't have the means or inclination to, and unknown power sparked fear and paranoia. Those with genuine goodwill… were sadly few and far between, especially in recent years as the political climate worsened.
Still, despite such gloomy odds, Shisui still had most of his fellow Jedi beaten right out of the gate when it came to experiences of violence.
His world, an unexplored planet in Wild Space - that Shisui named Nindō, under the gimlet eye of Master Nu when he'd helped her compile the new Archive file - had raised him from the cradle to be an assassin for hire for the political machinations of his Village and Clan. It had been a messy life that he'd only escaped by accident when his Mangekyou had bloomed prematurely and whisked him far from the war. So far, in fact, it had landed him off-planet entirely. He'd never found his way back, something he'd lost complete interest in doing by the time his Finder, Master Plo, had finished explaining that the Jedi didn’t kill children in their cribs, and that had been that. Or, rather, it would've been if Shisui's Sharingan hadn't made him unable to forget a single detail of his time in the trenches, the lessons taught, the strange usages of the Force. He'd been, before Anakin Skywalker had joined the Creche at nine standard, their oldest ever recruit; there had been a lot of discussion but the nature of Shisui's arrival - and his, cough, one-of-a-kind abilities , cough - meant he'd been given special status. Rael had been dragged to see him a few years later, which Shisui hadn't doubted was fuelled by Dooku and Yoda’s determination to have the ‘unique’ Initiate in their Lineage, and the rest had been history. But…despite being rescued by and subsequently enfolded into the Jedi, Shisui had never forgotten his roots and the lessons learned from birth.
Shisui, more than almost anyone in the Order, knew how war felt on the ground. Obi-Wan’s experiences with Mandalore had shown him the horrors of guerrilla tactics, Melida/Daan had shown the total breakdown of a society until there was no running water, no such thing as a comm-system, and morals were a bleak joke. Other Jedi knew what rebellions looked like, they knew what spacebattles looked like and, now, they had survived the hopelessness of Geonosis when many had not. They had always been protectors, intervening and intermediating ceasefires and treaties; it had never been the Order fighting, not for a thousand years.
Shisui knew
war.
He knew duty, nin supported by enlisted civilian workers - food, goods, weapons - and he knew the pitching of tents and the desolation when they were burned down. He'd been a message runner at six, ducking through no-man’s-land as his teammates died horribly behind him. He remembered Katas and weapons, the conditioning to resist torture and the knowledge of how to commit it in turn; he knew the clinical yet depraved decisions of leaders, weighing lives like coins on a scale, and the bitter acceptance of following those orders in the field.
And he’d see it now again, and so too would his fellow Jedi.
The Senate had voted on a special exception to the Ruusan Reformation; the Jedi, forbidden from any kind of militarism after the disbandment of the ‘Army of Light’, were to be drafted as Generals and Commanders in the newly formed Grand Army of the Republic. The clones that Obi-Wan had uncovered on the planet Kamino were to be utilised as soldiers, forming platoons and companies and battalions on a scale that even Shisui had never seen before, and the Jedi… the Jedi would lead them.
The atmosphere in the Chambers was fragile, a tension that made Shisui wonder if this was what Master Windu’s shatterpoints felt like, before they were told to prepare for assignments in the coming days and weeks. The clones were not yet - here, Master Windu’s words slowed, as if even he couldn't quite bear to speak them - fully operational, only a portion ready to fight immediately, so the Order had some time to organise themselves accordingly. As things stood now, the Republic needed a defensive line to hold and secure their planets, hyperlanes, and systems; the time for a more nuanced approach would follow when things began to fall into a pattern and the training had been provided.
Shisui knew what that meant, and so did most of the room; the Senate were throwing them at the Seperatists, without finesse or plan, and the Jedi needed to grit their teeth and survive despite the odds.
The Councilmembers had evidently given what thought they could, no matter how frantic these proceedings undoubtedly were, to these first assignments; Shisui had known, the moment they'd been told the Jedi would be enlisted, what his fate would be.
Shisui was a given, as was Obi-Wan, Master Plo, and Master Windu. That they called up Agen - a risk, but an understandable one - and Kit Fisto, Master Depa - no surprise - followed by Aayla, who was a fierce duelist but also the only Knight other than Shisui to be the first few called, finally broke the silence of the room as the mutters began.
The others were dismissed to their preparations and the new ‘Generals’, Shisui internally grimaced as he followed Obi-Wan's hoverchair as it moved closer to the dias, were gathered for their first debriefing.
“How big is a legion, exactly?” Aayla asked, gazing at her draft papers with a frown - which was only visible by the tension around her eyes and the tight grip of her fingers on the paad.
Master Windu rubbed a hand over his temple. “Over nine thousand Troopers.”
Aaylas’s Force-signature went tight.
Shisui accepted his own assignment with hands that were as steady as a sniper’s and an expression as bland as unseasoned gruel. “A legion each?”
Master Windu’s gaze was steady. Intentional. “Two. For now.”
… Kami-sama.
Shisui flicked a glance to Aayla’s assignment, noting the Legion designation - 327th - and the identity code of the Commander who would serve directly under her. CC-5052. Then, over Obi-Wan's shoulder; the 212th Battalion, with Commander CC-2224.
Shisui looked back to Master Windu. “And later?”
“We'll get to that when it comes,” was the grim, and final, reply.
When.
“The initial duties are to secure the Republic’s defenses,” Master Plo began, his own assignment held between his talons. He looked carefully between them all, weighing the attention of the rest of the room, and pushed on. “We'll begin by dividing our efforts between the star systems in the immediate sights of the Seperatists forces…”
Shisui listened and observed. The others were resolved and determined, but there was an undeniable waver to the Force, that was strung tight between them like a web of durasteel wires.
As for himself… Shisui was… shaken.
Shisui's memories did not bode well for the future that lay before them, he didn't have the other's optimism that this war would dissipate before it could devolve into total devastation. He felt himself hovering on a wire above a great cavern below him; not the Dark side, he didn't think, but everything he could've been before his Mangekyou had ripped him away from the Uchiha, the Shinobi wars, and a life on Nindō . That future-that-never-was - Uchiha Shisui, Shinobi, instead of Knight Shisui Uchiha, Jedi - would've been built on war, on Shisui's inherited and learned talent for violence, and now… Shisui did not want to be that person. He couldn't allow himself to be that.
Yet… here he was, on the precipice.
Jedi General Shisui Uchiha.
CC-1119.
501st Legion.
So, it had begun.