Watching From Another Spacetime (Abandoned)

by HalfBakedPlot

Summary:

Six Jedi. One Archivist. And a universe not their own.

When the Clone Wars pause for a moment beyond time, the Jedi Council — Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, and Yoda — are brought to a strange chamber by an ancient being known only as The Archivist. Her offer is simple: observe a world not their own. Learn.

What begins as curiosity becomes a confrontation with destiny, morality, and the very nature of attachment.

They watch the life of a strange man — a traveler called The Doctor — and those who choose to follow him. As they witness love, loss, sacrifice, and survival, the Jedi begin to see reflections of themselves.

And somewhere in the silence between stars, the Force listens.

Because observation is never truly neutral… and some stories rewrite you, whether you want them to or not.

Yes, I used a bit of AI to get the framing right, believe me there will be minimal AI after chapter 1.

Notes:

Please be kind, I'm still trying to figure out this whole thing, constructive criticism is always helpful. Yes, I rewrote the entire first chapter... twice, look, it's the very start, I have to get it right.

Chapter 1: A Strange Encounter

 

The Jedi High Council was in session, though its tone was more wearied than wise.

The war had stretched longer than any had predicted. Intelligence briefings blurred into strategic deployments; debates over policy carried a bitter edge, like sabers half-drawn. Jedi Masters sat in a ring of stillness high above Coruscant’s chaos, the sun casting long amber rays across the floor — and yet peace felt farther away than ever.

“Reinforcements are required on Saleucami,” Mace Windu was saying, his voice clipped. “If the Separatists cut through that sector—”

“More clones won’t change the outcome,” Obi-Wan interrupted, gently but firmly. “They’re using civilian shields now. If we respond with force, we’ll be no better than—”

Yoda raised a hand, silencing the ripple of tension.

“Speak in circles, we do. War, its teeth sunk in deep.”

Anakin shifted in his chair, uncharacteristically silent. Ahsoka, standing near the doorway, glanced from her master to Master Windu with growing unease.

Then everything—stopped.

Not gradually. Not with warning. One second, the sunlight was catching on the polished floor, the low murmur of Coruscant’s traffic humming in the distance—and the next, there was nothing.

No room. No floor. No Force.

Just silence.

And then—light.

A single spotlight bloomed above them, golden and theatrical. The darkness retreated just enough to reveal deep crimson curtains, a polished proscenium arch, and plush velvet seats arranged in perfect semi-circles. A grand chandelier glimmered overhead, and beyond it stretched an impossible number of balconies, as if the theater had no top, no sides—only scale.

The Jedi were standing on a stage.

Obi-Wan drew his saber on instinct, only to find it inert. The Force hadn’t abandoned him—it was still here, but quieter. Distilled. Waiting.

A ripple of air shimmered near the edge of the footlights.

Then she appeared.

A woman—or rather, a silhouette in the shape of a woman—stepped forward out of the void, trailing sparks of color in her wake like spilled paint in water. She wore a double-breasted coat of indigo velvet, knee-high boots of polished brass, and a loosely tied cravat at her throat. Her hair was a halo of curls. Her eyes were twin supernovae that flickered as they moved from Jedi to Jedi with fond calculation.

“Ah,” she said brightly. “You’re earlier than expected. But I do so like punctuality.”

Anakin stepped forward, hand hovering near his useless saber. “Who are you?”

“Oh, that changes now and again,” the woman said airily. “Right now, let’s go with the Archivist. Rolls off the tongue. Very mythic.”

She clapped her hands, and with a rush of sound, the curtains pulled back, revealing the interior of the grand auditorium. Stars sparkled where walls should have been. The ceiling shifted from a cathedral dome to an aurora, then to deep space itself. Galaxies spiraled in lazy motion behind stained-glass windows that hadn’t existed a moment ago.

Ahsoka whispered, “Where are we?”

The Archivist spun in a lazy circle. “Welcome to the Myriad World Theatre Complex. The MWTC for those who enjoy initialisms. A pocket reality of sorts. Infinite seating, surprisingly cozy acoustics, and—” she snapped her fingers, and an entire row of high-backed chairs appeared on the stage behind them, “—perfectly tailored audience comfort.”

Padmé had remained quiet until now, lips pressed into a line. “Why have you brought us here?”

“Oh, very good question.” The Archivist’s eyes briefly flashed green. “I’m here to show you something. A story. Several, in fact. But one in particular. You’ll recognize the shape of it soon enough.”

Yoda’s ears twitched. “Change, you seek. Not entertainment.”

“No one ever comes here for just the show,” the Archivist said, smiling without humor. “You have two choices. Stay and remain stagnant, a slave to fate… or stay, and observe. Change fate—for better or worse. Regardless… you stay.”

Windu stepped forward, his posture sharp. “What are you trying to do?”

“Not interfere,” she replied evenly. “Just give a chance to avoid catastrophe. One that will lead to your graves.”

Anakin’s brow furrowed. “What is this a story of?”

“It’s not a story that can be so simply explained,” the Archivist said. “But if I were to try... it’s a story of one person, and the lives they affect.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Is that not most stories?”

She grinned. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The Archivist’s form flickered—her coat became a sari, her eyes silvered, her boots vanished beneath the hem of a robe. Her voice deepened, took on a velvet rasp. “Oh, I like a change of scenery at times…”

The seats behind the Jedi shifted too—one moment carved cherry wood, the next sleek transparisteel, then plush armchairs that looked lifted from a Naboo opera box.

“And don’t worry,” she added with a wink toward Ahsoka, “you won’t be cooped up in this theatre until I’m done. I’m not sadistic. The first break is in five episodes, after which you will be free to visit the café, the library, and the lounge. Lovely places. Try the jammy dodgers.”

The stage lights dimmed, and a screen lowered from the void.

Yoda tilted his head. “A vision this is not.”

“It is... of a sort,” the Archivist said, settling into her own floating armchair. “It’s television.”

Chapter 2: Announcement

An important moment! I'm... abandoning this fic, well more... regenerating it. I don't know the Star Wars universe as well as Doctor Who or other universes. So I'm doing this soft reboot, same media being reacted to, same place, different people reacting. First episode... let's go with July 8th? I'm not going to give any promises. Until then, your tickets for the MWTC are being refunded.

Notes:

Next Chapter on June 18th, to celebrate 20 years since the end of Series 1... and because my wifi crapped out for most of this week!