| Species: | Human |
| Age: | 40s-50s |
| Homeworld: | Brentaal IV |
| Pronouns: | she/her, they/them |
| Skin: | pale brown |
| Eyes: | dark brown/grey |
| Hair: | black (greying) |
| Weapons: | lightsaber, the Force |
| Position: | Grand Master of the Jedi Order |
| Likes: | acting justly, learning from mistakes |
| Dislikes: | unneccessary bloodshed, fighting out of anger or hatred |
| Master: | Kao Cen Darach; (later) Ngani Zho |
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Born on the Core world of Brentaal IV to the heretical then-Jedi Tasiele Shan, Satele's early life was full of turmoil. Removed from her mother's custody for her safety at the age of seven by Master Kao Cen Darach, she then grew up in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, eventually becoming Darach's Padawan.
Darach was killed by Sith on what had seemed like a routine mission, and Satele journeyed back to Coruscant Masterless to deliver the knowledge that the Empire had returned.
Her training finished by Master Ngani Zho, the young Jedi rapidly became a propaganda symbol for the Republic, and felt the pressure to win the war and to be utterly irreproachable. Alas, she was not; she fell in love, went through an unpleasant breakup, and gave birth to a son, Theron Shan, all in secret. She reluctantly gave custody of the child to Zho, and continued in the war effort.
The war ended with the destruction of the Jedi Temple, and the Jedi found themselves scattered and homeless. Two years later, Satele rediscovered the ancient Jedi homeworld of Tython, and directed resettlement and rebuilding efforts in the ruins of what had been their first Temple millenia ago. Quickly promoted to the Jedi Council, and then to the position of Grand Master, Satele led the Jedi Order through the uneasy Cold War, and then faced down the spectre of more open war as the Treaty of Coruscant was broken.
Balancing military and political duties with her role in the Jedi Order, Satele once again found herself torn between loyalties that should never have been conflicting in the first place.
Sometimes, she sinks to the deepest levels of absence. Only her breathing is left sometimes. --Marguerite Duras, Blue Eyes, Black Hair
Why are they all trying to make me into a saint? Oh God! Oh God! I want to do things. Stop turning me into a saint. --Andrei Tarkovsky, Journals
There are truths I haven’t even told God. And not even myself. I am a secret under the lock of seven keys. --Clarice Lispector, Complete Stories, “Brasília”