Whispers in the Dark: Jaron's Prelude

Hey guys it's me again, continuing on the Twilight series with this two-parter prelude on the main characters. First we have Jaron's story and then hopefully next week I'll have Alea's done.

Hope you enjoy it!

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Jaron Elysar's Prelude

There’s an odd stillness to Coruscant at night, if you know where to find it. The upper levels—the parts they show in all the holovids—never sleep. The skyline blazes with endless lights, like a living thing caught in the throes of an eternal celebration. The sound of speeders whizzing by, the hum of neon signs, and the dull murmur of millions of conversations blend into a symphony of noise. But the underbelly, down where the light can’t reach, where the city's soul turns rotten—down there, in the shadows? It’s quiet. Unnervingly quiet.

That’s where I do my best work. Down where eyes don’t follow, and the only things watching are the things you don’t want to see.

The name’s Jaron Elysar. I’ve been a part of this war for as long as I can . Not that anyone calls it a war—not officially, anyway. But for those of us who live in the cracks, slipping between the seams of the Empire’s ever-tightening grip, it’s exactly that. A war for survival. A war for freedom. Call it what you want, but at the end of the day, it’s about staying alive long enough to do some damage.

I didn’t start as a spy. Hell, I didn’t start as much of anything. Just another kid from Corellia, growing up in a galaxy that was falling apart faster than anyone could fix it. My dad worked in one of the spaceports, fixing ships that came through. Good man. Quiet. Kept his head down. He’d told me once that the galaxy had a way of chewing people up and spitting them out. Said the key was to make yourself useful enough that it didn’t chew too hard. I always thought that was a load of bantha dung.

Then Alderaan happened. And suddenly, the galaxy didn’t need a reason to chew you up. It just did. And all the while, the Empire sat there, acting like it was just another day in the office, like they didn’t just erase a planet off the star maps.

That was the day everything changed for me. My mother was on Alderaan when it happened. Diplomatic duties, she’d said. Corellians were stubborn—she was more than most. She’d been advocating for peaceful resolution, using words when everyone else was picking up blasters. The irony isn’t lost on me. She died in the name of peace, and I turned into the kind of man who gets people killed to keep a rebellion alive.

It started simple. A couple of transmissions intercepted here and there, nothing too dangerous. The Rebellion needed people who could listen, people who could sit in a cantina or a darkened alley and hear the things no one else paid attention to. The Empire’s reach was long, but its people were careless. They talked when they shouldn’t, dropped names they thought no one was listening for. I was good at listening. After a while, listening turned into something else. Into action.

You spend enough time listening to those bastards talk about ‘necessary sacrifices’ and ‘the greater good,’ and eventually, you either start believing it or you burn. Me? I was burning. So, I started acting. Small jobs at first. Tagging supply routes, sabotaging Imperial outposts, making a nuisance of myself.

Then they noticed. Not the Empire, no. They were too bloated with their own sense of invincibility to notice a speck like me. But the Rebellion noticed. Rogue cells, scattered across the galaxy, all working in the dark. And they needed people like me—people who knew how to disappear, people who could slip through the cracks and pull strings. I became one of their shadow operators.

My first real mission was on Corellia, just after I’d made with a Rebel cell. They needed intel on an Imperial shipment coming through the main spaceport. Easy enough, right? Except this shipment wasn’t just weapons. It was something more, something bigger. An entire fleet of AT-ATs, fresh off the production lines at Kuat Drive Yards, bound for a “special operation.” We didn’t have the details, but I knew enough to understand what that meant: another planet was about to be pacified, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. Not unless we knew where.

The ISB had the route sealed tighter than a spice runner’s vault. Their agents were crawling all over the spaceport, each of them colder and more methodical than the last. But I’d done my homework. I knew the shift schedules, the guard rotations. Knew where the windows were. Getting in wasn’t the problem. It never is. It’s getting out that always leaves you sweating.

I found the data in the portmaster’s office, buried under layers of encryption, but I had a slicer buddy who owed me a favor. Got in, got the files, got out. Simple. Except for the fact that the ISB isn’t stupid. They knew someone had taken the data, and they weren’t about to let it slide. That was my first brush with them. I didn’t realize it at the time, but they’d put a face to the name that day.

That was when things started to change. The ISB doesn’t forget. They don’t lose. Once you’re in their sights, you’re as good as gone. But it would take a few more missions before I’d really feel the noose tightening.

I bounced around after that. Ord Mantell, Lothal, and even a brief stint on Tatooine, where the Empire’s presence was lighter but no less brutal. Each mission came with its own risks, but nothing compared to what was coming.

I still the day I was called in for what would be my final mission. It was supposed to be routine, just another piece in the puzzle. Coruscant, the beating heart of the Empire, the place where power was concentrated and secret deals were struck. The goal? Infiltrate a high-ranking Imperial officer’s estate and recover classified communications detailing troop movements in the Mid Rim. The officer was one of the ISB’s top brass. That should have been my first clue that this wasn’t routine.

I arrived on Coruscant a week before the mission. Blended into the crowds, just another face among the trillions living in the shadow of the Empire. Coruscant’s a beast, one that consumes everything in its path. The endless spires of durasteel, the towering buildings, the opulence of the upper levels—it all hides the rot underneath. Down where I stayed, in the lower levels, it’s a different world. Crime lords rule, the Empire looks the other way, and people disappear. That suited me just fine.

For the first few days, I did what I always did: I listened. I watched. I found out who was loyal to whom, who could be bribed, who might sell you out for a few credits. Information was my currency, and Coruscant had plenty of it.

The night of the mission, everything was set. The officer’s estate was nestled in the upper levels, guarded by private security and an overconfidence in their invincibility. I made my move during a high-society function. With all the pomp and pageantry, no one would notice a stray service droid slipping through.

I made it to the estate’s main terminal. That’s when everything went wrong.

I’d been set up. The data terminal was a decoy, a trap laid by the ISB. They’d been tracking my movements for weeks, slowly tightening the net. By the time I realized it, it was too late. The room filled with troopers, and behind them was a woman I’d heard whispers about: Alea Saren, one of the ISB’s rising stars. Cold, efficient, and deadly.

They took me quickly. No torture, no unnecessary violence. They didn’t need to rough me up. They knew that the real pain was coming later, in the interrogation rooms, where words and minds were bent and broken.

And that’s where I sit now, waiting for the interrogation to begin. My wrists are bound to the chair, and the cold of the metal seeps into my skin, a sharp reminder that this might be the end of the line for me. My mind races, replaying every decision, every misstep, trying to find the moment it all went wrong. But the ISB is good. Too good.

The door opens, and she walks in—Agent Alea Saren. Her eyes are as cold as they were the night I was captured, and her steps are calculated, like she’s already ten moves ahead. She sits across from me, staring for a moment before speaking. "You’ve been a thorn in our side for far too long, Elysar. This can end quickly if you cooperate."

I lean back in the chair, despite the pain. There’s nothing left to lose. The Rebellion isn’t over yet. We’re not beaten. And I still have one card left to play, one last gambit to throw. “I think you’re underestimating how much I like being a thorn,” I say, my voice steady.

This is it. The game is still on. I’m not dead yet. And in the end, even if I go down, I’m going to make sure I take a piece of the Empire with me.

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To be Continued