The council hall was quiet.
No one raised their voice. No one interrupted.
Toren stood at the center of the long half-circle table—Mira on his left, Wess and Grum beside her, Jakel across from him, Tarn near the far end. Linae flanked the opposite side, her fingers drumming slowly against the wood.
On the console beside Toren, the projection spun: Echo Dust Protocol. System data, blueprints, known risks. No mysticism. No poetry. Just facts and consequences.
"I made a mistake," Toren began.
No one challenged that.
"I didn't ask. I didn't explain. I just did. Because I was scared of what comes next."
He paced once.
"This protocol could awaken the Force in people who don't have it. Or break them trying. I've seen what it does. It changes perception. Time. Identity. I saw something that may not even be from this galaxy."
Jakel leaned forward, voice gruff. "And you want to keep it?"
"I want us to decide."
Silence.
Grum grunted. "Anything the Jedi dumped in a vault ain't fit for farmer stock."
Linae raised a brow. "But it could give us strength the Republic or Empire doesn't expect."
Wess looked uncertain. "And make us a target."
Tarn simply said, "If it can be made safe, someone else will do it. Better we hold the leash."
Toren nodded once.
"Mira?"
She didn't answer for a beat.
Then: "I vote to seal it. Not destroy it. But lock it down. Until we know what we are."
A pause.
Toren turned to the system interface.
One prompt.
Seal Blueprint: Echo Dust Protocol?Access will require unanimous consent of council. Locked until override quorum or crisis-level event.*
He pressed YES.
Each council member followed.
Echo Dust Sealed.
And just like that, the decision was made.
Not by the system.
Not by him.
By them.
Together.