Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The streaks of hyperspace collapsed into starlines, and then the dark void of normal space snapped into focus. Ahead of them hung the planet—a world of violent contrasts: dark, churning clouds veined with jagged rivers of lightning that flashed in erratic bursts. The surface below was a patchwork of twisted forests, blackened crags that rose like skeletal remains clawing their way from the ground, and glowing rivers of faint green luminescence that made it seem as though the land itself were bleeding poison. 

Dromund Kaas. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi drew a slow breath, but it felt like inhaling polluted sea water—thick, suffocating, and clinging to his lungs like rancid smoke. The presence surged against him, unrelenting, as if he were standing at the edge of a violent ocean. But there were no shallow waters here. He grinded his teeth and squeezed hard on the controls as the tide pulled at him, dragging him deeper with every moment, the waves crashing over his mind with an ever-growing intensity. 

The shadowy, ocean-like presence was chaotic, dark and formless, clutching at his resolve and wrenching it loose. The currents twisted around him, currents of fury and despair, pulling him down, farther and farther, until the surface was nothing more than a fading memory. Sweat beaded on his brow as he tried to focus. The harder he fought, the more insistent the pull became, until it felt as though the darkness had filled his lungs entirely, smothering any spark of resistance.

It didn’t want to break him. It wanted to drown him. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and opened himself to the light side of the Force, reaching for its warmth and protection. It was distant at first and came slowly, like sunlight struggling to break through a storm cloud. But Obi-Wan reached deeper, letting go of the tension in his body and mind, surrendering to the calm he knew lay beneath the chaos.  

Slowly, the light began to flow into him tentatively, but that was to be expected. He would find very little light here. The darkness remained vast, but the light was steady.  It wrapped around him like a protective mantle, pulling him above the riptide that kept trying to drag him under. But it wasn’t a battle; light doesn’t fight darkness—it simply endures. 

He breathed out, the tension in his shoulders easing as the warmth of the Force filled him. The darkness pressed harder now, like the ocean testing the strength of a rock, but the light within him was immovable. Qui-Gon’s words echoed in his mind, a lesson from so many years ago: “The dark side may be a hurricane, but the light is the eye. Be the calm, Obi-Wan.” 

He opened his eyes, his focus sharper, his presence anchored. The storm outside the cockpit was no less violent, but within himself, there was calm; a stillness that the dark side couldn’t penetrate. 

His voice was steady when he opened the comm. “Anakin... You feel it, don’t you?” 

The response came quickly. “How could I not?” Anakin’s voice was tense, but there was something else in it. Wonder, perhaps? Or awe? “It’s... it’s alive. The darkness is everywhere. Like it’s trying to suffocate me.” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “You need to push it back. Open yourself to the light, Anakin. Let it steady you.” 

There was a long pause, but he waited, letting the silence stretch until Anakin spoke again. 

“I think I’ve got it,” Anakin said, his tone softer now. 

“Good,” Obi-Wan replied. “Keep your focus. We don’t know what Dooku has hidden here, but it’s clearly important enough to mask with all this darkness.” 

The two Jedi released their hyperdrive rings and descended toward the planet. Their fighters glided side by side as they cut into the atmosphere, threading their way carefully through the roiling storms. 

“Dromund Kaas,” Anakin muttered after a moment. “I read about this place in the Archives. It’s the old capital of the Sith Empire.” 

“That’s correct,” Obi-Wan said, his focus on navigating the turbulence. 

“It’s worse than I imagined,” Anakin continued. “The Archives described it as a nexus of the dark side, but this... this feels like the whole planet is the dark side. They said the Sith Emperor ruled from here for centuries. That he performed rituals powerful enough to scar the land itself. I thought the texts were exaggerating.” 

“They rarely exaggerate,” Obi-Wan said, glancing at the glowing rivers below. “But no amount of reading can prepare you for something like this. Experience is the greatest teacher—and Dromund Kaas, it seems, will be a particularly harsh one.” 

Anakin’s voice still held a faint edge of tension, though it was steadier now. “If this is where Dooku’s hiding something, it must be worse than we thought.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, though Anakin couldn’t see it. “And that’s exactly why we’re here. Stay sharp. This place will test us both.” 

They broke through the storm layer, the planet’s surface unfurling below them. Dark forests twisted like gnarled scars across the land, dotted with jagged rock formations. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Anakin muttered. 

Obi-Wan managed a faint smile. “You’re not alone.” 

The starfighters skimmed low over the surface of Dromund Kaas, their engines humming steadily against the roiling backdrop of the planet’s storms. Below them stretched a warped landscape of trees that seemed more alive than any vegetation had a right to be. They twisted toward the sky at unnatural angles, their branches interlocking to form a canopy so thick it seemed to choke out the weak green glow of the rivers snaking through them. 

Anakin’s voice crackled over the comm. “How big of a search area are we talking about here? Because this planet looks like it could swallow us whole without even noticing.” 

Obi-Wan adjusted his trajectory, his eyes scanning the forest below. “The coordinates we intercepted are surprisingly exact,” he replied. “As long as this isn’t just some elaborate ploy, they should put us within a kilometer of whatever we’re looking for.” 

“A kilometer in this?” Anakin replied, tilting his fighter slightly to avoid a towering spike of rock jutting out from the forest. “You know, Master, the jungle might take that as a challenge.” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “It’s not as if we’ll need to search for long.” 

“Oh?” 

“We’ll know we’ve found it because that’s when we’ll be attacked.” 

Anakin snorted. “Well, that’s comforting.” 

The two fighters circled the area, their scanners confirming the location. After a few minutes of weaving through the chaotic terrain, Obi-Wan spotted a small clearing; nothing more than a patch of uneven ground nestled within the forest’s twisted embrace. “There,” he said, angling his craft toward it. 

“Tiny place to land." 

“Better than nothing,” Obi-Wan replied. 

The clearing was barely large enough for their starfighters, the branches of the trees reaching hungrily toward the ships as they touched down. The air here was thick with humidity and an acrid tang that stung their nostrils. 

Obi-Wan disembarked first, stepping onto the soft, mossy ground with his hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber. He took a cautious step forward when a sharp, skittering sound froze him in place. 

“Anakin,” he started, but before he could finish, a blur of chitin and legs lunged from the underbrush, its mandibles snapping inches from his face. 

Instinctively, Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, the blue blade flaring to life with a snap-hiss. He swung in a wide arc at the creature, but it moved with unnatural speed, scuttling to the side on spindly legs. The blade missed by mere centimeters, the heat of its energy searing the air where the creature had been. 

Obi-Wan pivoted, bringing his blade up and slashed downward just in time to deflect another lunge from the thing’s snapping mandibles and grazing one of its legs, which fell to the ground with a sickening squelch. The creature screeched, a sound so sharp and piercing it seemed to burrow into Obi-Wan’s skull. 

It recoiled, darting back and forth in erratic patterns, its remaining legs moving in a blur. Obi-Wan swung again, aiming for its thorax, but it twisted at the last second, and his blade glancing off its armored carapace with a shower of sparks. 

“Persistent, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath, stepping back into a defensive stance as the creature charged again. 

He slashed upward, slicing off another leg, but the thing didn’t stop. Instead, it leaped into the air with its mandibles aimed directly at his face. Obi-Wan raised his blade to intercept, but before he could strike, the creature froze midair. 

For a brief moment, it hung there, twitching violently as if caught in some invisible snare. Obi-Wan lowered his lightsaber slightly, frowning in confusion, when suddenly— 

Pop. 

The creature exploded with a sickening burst, spraying Obi-Wan with a rain of sticky, foul-smelling guts. He froze, his lightsaber still humming softly, as the rancid substance dripped down his face and shoulders. 

Slowly, he turned to see Anakin standing a few paces away, his hand outstretched and a look of stunned bewilderment on his face. 

“I was just trying to hold it in place,” Anakin said, his tone equally confused and apologetic. “But... it exploded instead.” 

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply through his nose, lowering his lightsaber and wiping at his face with a gloved hand, though it did little good. “I see that.” He flicked a glob of insect remains off his robes with a grimace. “Remind me to add ‘control your Force grip’ to your training regimen.” 

Anakin stepped closer, suppressing a grin. “You’re saying that was my fault?” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the mess covering his robes. “Unless you think the creature exploded out of pure self-loathing, then yes, I am.” 

Anakin chuckled, but his laughter faded when Obi-Wan’s expression grew more serious. 

“Force powers here will be unpredictable,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing toward the remains of the creature. “Clearly, some are amplified beyond our control. We need to be careful—use the Force only when absolutely necessary, and even then, sparingly. If we’re forced to fight again, rely on your lightsaber, not your powers.” 

Anakin nodded, his grin fading. “Understood.” 

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head as he took a cautious step forward. “Because I’d rather not spend the rest of this mission covered in various exploding wildlife.” 

Anakin smirked but said nothing, brushing a sticky fragment of the insect off his own boot as he fell in step behind Obi-Wan. The air around them was heavy and damp, clinging to their skin like a second layer of clothing. A faint buzzing sound hovered on the edge of hearing, occasionally broken by the distant screech of some unseen creature. 

The forest was a maze of enormous, gnarled roots that twisted and coiled over uneven ground. The towering trees seemed to stretch endlessly upward, their dark, knotted trunks like ancient sentinels guarding secrets best left undisturbed. Moss-covered rocks jutted out at odd angles, some slick with moisture that shimmered faintly in the greenish light filtering through the canopy. 

Obi-Wan moved carefully, each step deliberate. He paused occasionally, his hand brushing against his belt where his lightsaber hung, his senses attuned to every rustle in the underbrush. 

Anakin followed with less caution, his impatience bleeding into every movement. “You’d think with all the technology the Jedi Council has access to, we could’ve been given something a little more precise than vague coordinates in the middle of a haunted forest,” he muttered. 

“They’re not vague,” Obi-Wan replied without turning. “We’re following them exactly. It’s not the Council’s fault that this forest seems to shift with every step.” 

After what felt like hours of climbing over roots as thick as starship hulls and ducking beneath low-hanging branches that snagged at their robes, Anakin let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re going in circles.” 

Obi-Wan stopped and glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised. “Patience, Anakin,” he said, his voice edged with the faintest hint of amusement. “Not everything in life has a straight path. Sometimes, you have to follow a curve or two to reach your destination.” 

Anakin rolled his eyes, folding his arms as he kicked at a small stone on the path. “You’ve been hanging around Master Yoda too much. You’re starting to sound like him.” 

“Then perhaps you should start listening,” Obi-Wan replied with a smile, gesturing for Anakin to follow as he stepped over another tangle of roots. “And if you think we’re going in circles, feel free to suggest a better route.” 

Anakin muttered something under his breath about maps and droids, but he followed anyway, his hand resting lightly on his own lightsaber hilt. The forest seemed too alive in the worst way—trees twisted into unnatural shapes, their bark scarred with deep, claw-like grooves. Strange, insect-like creatures skittered across the ground, vanishing into the underbrush as quickly as they appeared. 

They passed a bubbling pool of water that shimmered faintly with an iridescent glow. Obi-Wan paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Don’t touch that,” he warned, gesturing to the pool. “I doubt it’s friendly.” 

“You think I’m just going to start drinking random swamp water, Master?” 

“With you, I try to anticipate everything.” 

They pressed on, the terrain growing rockier. The ground beneath their feet shifted uneasily, and the trees seemed to lean closer, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. 

Anakin stepped onto what appeared to be solid ground, a patch of soil nestled between two massive tree roots. But the moment his weight shifted forward, the ground beneath him shuddered with an ominous groan. Before he could react, it crumbled away in a cascade of dirt and rocks. 

“Whoa!” he shouted, arms pinwheeling as the forest floor gave way beneath his boots. For a brief, heart-stopping instant, he seemed to hang suspended in the air, his eyes wide with shock. Then the ground disappeared entirely, and he plunged downward, the sound of falling dirt and snapping roots echoing around him. 

His reflexes took over. Reaching out with both hands, he managed to grab hold of a thick root protruding from the side of the collapsing sinkhole, his body swinging against the jagged walls as he dangled precariously over the void. “Master!” 

“Hold on!” Obi-Wan rushed to the edge, dropping to his stomach and grabbing Anakin’s arm. The weight of his ex-apprentice nearly pulled him forward, but he held firm. 

“I’m trying!” Anakin grunted, his boots scrabbling against the crumbling edge. 

The root groaned, splitting with a loud crack. 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted, panic flickering in his voice as the root gave way. 

Anakin fell, disappearing into the sinkhole. Obi-Wan scrambled to the edge, his heart hammering. “Anakin! Are you—” 

“I’m fine,” came Anakin’s voice, tinged with amusement. 

Obi-Wan leaned forward, peering into the hole. Anakin stood a few meters below, brushing dirt off his robes. The sinkhole apparently wasn’t as deep as it had appeared. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You could’ve mentioned that sooner.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Anakin replied, smirking. “You looked genuinely worried, Master. It’s nice to know you care.” 

Obi-Wan’s expression was unimpressed. “We could be having a very different conversation right now.” 

“Fair point,” Anakin admitted, glancing up at the edge. 

“Do you think you can jump out?” Obi-Wan asked, standing and brushing dirt from his gloves. “But try a small jump first. We don’t need you accidentally launching yourself into the treetops.” 

“Give me a minute,” Anakin said, looking down one of the tunnels branching from the sinkhole. 

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan called. 

“I sense something,” Anakin said as he stepped further into the tunnel. 

Before Obi-Wan could respond, a thunderous crashing sound broke through the forest. He spun toward the noise, his hand instinctively going to his lightsaber. The underbrush shook violently, and moments later, four droidekas burst through, their shields immediately activating with a loud hum. 

The droids wasted no time. Blaster fire erupted from their twin cannons, bright bolts of red-hot energy screaming toward Obi-Wan. He ignited his lightsaber in a flash of blue and deflected the shots. 

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted over the noise, glancing toward the tunnel. 

No response. He deflected another volley, sidestepping as a bolt nearly grazed his shoulder. The droidekas advanced, their shields shimmering as they pressed their attack. 

“This isn’t ideal,” Obi-Wan muttered, deflecting another bolt. Realizing he was at a massive disadvantage, he stepped back toward the sinkhole. With a quick glance down, he deactivated his lightsaber and jumped, landing beside Anakin. 

Anakin turned, surprised. “What’s going on up there?” 

“Droidekas,” Obi-Wan said, dusting off his robes. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve found what we’re looking for.” 

Chapter Text

The tunnel was silent except for the crackle of dirt and plant debris settling from the sinkhole. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who stood calm but alert, his lightsaber hilt still in hand. The soft clatter of the droidekas collapsing and rolling into ball form echoed down from above. 

“You know,” Anakin said, a sly grin playing across his lips, “I’ve never seen a droideka jump. I think we’re probably safe down here.” 

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan replied in a cautious tone. “Or perhaps they’ve just never had the opportunity. But you’re probably right,” he admitted, hooking his lightsaber back to his belt. 

Anakin chuckled softly, then turned to inspect the tunnel. It stretched in both directions, dimly illuminated by red bioluminescent fungi clinging to the walls in uneven patterns. While the rough edges indicated it was a natural formation, sections of the ceiling and walls were reinforced with wooden beams. He ran a hand along one of them. 

“Looks like someone’s been here before us,” he muttered. 

“Come here,” Obi-Wan called from a few steps away. “I think you’ll want to see this.” 

Anakin joined him and frowned at the wall Obi-Wan was studying. Carved into the stone were intricate symbols, faintly glowing a soft crimson from the fungi growing in the etchings. Most resembled crude, elongated rectangles, their edges uneven, as if the stone had resisted the carver’s efforts. Others were angular or crosshatched, with jagged lines intersecting like the bones of a skeletal hand. 

Anakin felt a subtle pull in the Force, as though the symbols were somehow alive, their energy radiating outwards. The fungi pulsed faintly, almost imperceptibly, and through the Force, Anakin sensed they were drawn to the runes, clustering around them like moths to a flame. 

“What is it?” Anakin asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and unease. 

“I believe it’s ur-Kittat,” Obi-Wan replied, his brow furrowed. “The runic language of the Sith. Though I’m not entirely certain.” 

Anakin raised an eyebrow and grinned at his former Master. “Bet you wish Threepio were here.” 

Obi-Wan smirked back. “I doubt even Threepio would be helpful in this case. Laws were passed nearly a thousand years ago banning droids from translating this language.” 

Anakin blinked, taken aback. “What’s the big deal about a dead language?” 

Obi-Wan started to respond, but as Anakin stepped closer to the runes, the air around them seemed to ripple, and he suddenly felt as though the ground beneath him tilted. A wave of nausea rolled over him, and his vision began to blur. The glowing runes stretching into jagged, impossible shapes that clawed at his mind. The Force roiled within him, disoriented and destabilized. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s voice reached him as though through a thick haze. He turned to his former master, but Obi-Wan’s features distorted, his voice warped into incomprehensible tones. The tunnel blurred and darkened, taking on a dream-like quality. Sound and sight dissolved into a chaotic swirl. 

Anakin’s chest tightened, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He stumbled, reaching out blindly. His legs felt disconnected from his body, and his surroundings spun faster and faster, pulling him into a void. 

A warm, steady pressure on his forehead snapped him back. The spinning stopped. The runes dimmed. Obi-Wan’s palm rested firmly on his head, and his voice, clear and steady, brought Anakin out of the fog. 

“Anakin! Are you with me?” 

Anakin staggered backward, breathing hard. “What… what just happened?” 

Obi-Wan’s expression was grim. “You wanted to know why it’s banned? That’s why. It’s not just a language, Anakin. The runes are imbued with the dark side.” 

Anakin swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he looked back at the faintly pulsating symbols. “It felt like... like they were trying to pull me in.” 

Obi-Wan nodded. “The Sith don’t use symbols like these merely for decoration. They’re laced with power—designed to disorient, to corrupt, to control. This place is steeped in darkness, and the runes are part of it.” 

Anakin’s jaw clenched, and he scowled, the aftershocks of the experience still coursing through him. “We should destroy them.” 

Obi-Wan placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Patience. Destroying them without understanding their purpose might do more harm than good. For now, we’ll move forward. But stay close, and be mindful to focus yourself in the Force.” 

Reluctantly, Anakin nodded, and they continued on their way. 

The cave stretched on in an uneven path, their way illuminated by the soft red glow of fungi as they moved deeper into the labyrinthine system. The silence was broken only by the echo of their footsteps and the occasional drip of water from unseen cracks above. Anakin’s expression was pensive, his hand trailing along the rough stone wall. The stone felt rough under his touch, its uneven surface flecked with moisture and patches of the glowing fungi, their faint pulsing light creating an illusion of movement in the corner of his vision. The farther they walked, the more oppressive the atmosphere felt. 

“So... Master Yoda’s been pressuring me to take a Padawan,” Anakin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. 

Obi-Wan glanced at him, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. “Oh? That’s… unexpected. How do you feel about it?” 

Anakin sighed, his gaze fixed ahead. “Honestly? I don’t want the responsibility. Everything’s already moving too fast and I’ve barely had time to adjust to being a Knight myself. How am I supposed to figure out how to guide someone else through all of this?” He hesitated, his steps slowing slightly as he ran a hand through his hair. “And I know how much trouble I gave you—how stubborn I was, how many times I made things harder than they needed to be...” 

Obi-Wan chuckled softly. “I won’t deny that there were… challenging moments,” he admitted with a soft humor in his tone. “But you’re underestimating yourself. I learned just as much from you as you did from me. Perhaps even more.” 

Anakin smirked, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Let me guess—you learned a lot about patience?” 

“More than I ever thought possible,” Obi-Wan said with a wry smile. “But that wasn’t all. You challenged me, Anakin. You forced me to see things in ways I never would have considered. That’s the nature of a good teacher-student relationship—it’s a partnership. And I have no doubt that you’ll rise to the challenge when the time comes.” 

Anakin shook his head, though there was a trace of gratitude in his expression. “I appreciate saying you that, but I’m beginning to think that I won’t have much choice in the matter. Every time Yoda brings it up, it feels less like encouragement and more like an order.” 

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Perhaps it is. But Yoda wouldn’t suggest it unless he believed you were ready and capable.” 

“Maybe.” Anakin’s voice was quieter now. “But what if I’m not? I mean, look at me—I’m impulsive, reckless, and barely follow half the Jedi Code.” 

Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, stopping him mid-step. “You are also brave, loyal, and compassionate. Those qualities make you a great Jedi, and they will make you a great teacher.” He paused for a short moment, his gaze searching Anakin’s face. “You’re stronger in the Force than most Jedi could ever hope to be. That strength isn’t just about raw power—it’s about how you use it. You’ve already accomplished things that most of us wouldn’t even attempt. The Council isn’t blind to that, even if they don’t always show it. They trust you, Anakin. And so do I. Besides, I’ll always be —” 

Obi-Wan suddenly stopped mid-sentence. “Do you hear that?” he asked, his voice hushed. 

Anakin frowned. “Do you feel that?” he countered in a tense voice. The air became even heavier than before, thick with malice, and he could now hear a faint scraping sound. 

The sound grew louder, the scraping now accompanied by a whirring, mechanical hum that seemed to vibrate through the stone walls. It was unnerving, almost like nails on a chalkboard layered over the deep rumble of grinding gears. The noise echoed, its source just out of sight around the bend in the tunnel. 

Obi-Wan glanced sharply at Anakin. Anakin met his gaze, nodded, and together they ignited their lightsabers. The blue blades cast flickering light across the walls, mixing eerily with the crimson fungi glow. 

The scraping ceased, replaced by a deep metallic groan. Then it emerged. 

The... thing, because Anakin had never seen anything like it, stepped into view, a hulking monstrosity of jagged metal and shifting blades. Its easily three meter tall silhouette was chaos incarnate, with dark gray and red blades protruding from every angle, constantly moving and sliding across its form. Sparks flickered from damaged joints, and sections of its plating bore the scars of millennia. Yet its presence was no less terrifying. Its glowing red eyes locked onto the Jedi, and it shifted its weight with a metallic screech. Its movements were distinctly predatory. 

“What is that?” Anakin muttered, his grip tightening on his lightsaber. 

“I have no idea,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice low. “But let me take point.” 

Anakin nodded, and as the Jedi positioned and braced themselves, the machine extended one of its many blades from its arm. The weapon began to glow white-hot, vibrating so quickly that it blurred, while tendrils of black smoke curled upward from its edges. 

“That looks like a vibroblade,” Obi-Wan warned. “Don’t let it touch you.” 

Anakin laughed nervously. “Are you kidding? It’s covered in knives, Obi-Wan. I don’t want any part of it touching me.” 

Without warning, the thing lunged, its movements impossibly fast for its size. Obi-Wan dropped into a defensive posture, sidestepping the strike just in time as the vibroblade sliced through the air where he had been standing a millisecond before. Sparks flew as the monstrosity's blades scraped against the cave wall, sending glowing, semi-molten fragments skittering across the floor. 

It shifted unnaturally, its side transforming into what now appeared to be its front, and attacked again. Blades moved in chaotic patterns, creating a wall of deadly steel. Obi-Wan moved fluidly, dodging and parrying, his lightsaber clashing against the vibrating edges of the thing’s weapons. Each hit sparked brightly, but the strikes seemed to glance off its frame. 

Anakin watched intently, marveling at Obi-Wan’s impeccable form. His former master’s movements were flawless—measured, efficient, and impossibly difficult to penetrate. Anakin had faced that defense countless times in their sparring sessions and still hadn’t figured out how to breach it effectively. Obi-Wan was the master of the Soresu form, and it showed. 

“I’m not sure if I’m actually doing any damage,” Obi-Wan called, his voice tight as he narrowly dodged another strike. 

“Maybe it’s time to try the Force,” Anakin suggested. 

Obi-Wan nodded, sidestepping another flurry of attacks. He extended his hand, focusing his energy into a Force push. The guardian—Anakin realized that’s what this thing was—stumbled back slightly, but not half as much as it should have. It was as though the dark side energy within it shielded it from the full impact. 

Before Obi-Wan could try again, the guardian retaliated. A sudden wave of energy blasted from its own outstretched blade-hand, slamming Obi-Wan against the cave wall with a heavy thud. He crumpled to the ground, stunned. 

Anakin’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s not good,” he muttered. He planted his feet firmly on the uneven stone floor, gripping his lightsaber tightly in one hand as his other hand stretched forward. Closing his eyes, he reached deep into the Force, pulling it toward him like a tidal wave building in strength. 

The air around him became alive with power, as though charged with electricity. Dust and small pebbles on the ground began to vibrate, then lift into the air, swirling in circular patterns around his body. The faint red glow of the fungi dimmed momentarily, as if retreating from the sheer energy radiating outward. The sound of the tunnel seemed to distort and hum, as though the Force itself were resonating in response to his focus. 

Anakin’s expression hardened as the energy built to a crescendo. His cloak rippled violently, pulled outward by the sheer pressure of the Force gathering at his core. The very walls of the tunnel seemed to groan under the invisible strain, cracks spiderwebbing through the stone as Anakin directed all his strength toward the towering figure. 

Anakin opened his eyes and with a sharp exhale, he unleashed the energy. A visible shockwave erupted from his outstretched hand, distorting the air in a concussive pulse. The impact struck the guardian like a battering ram, the force of it reverberating through the cavern with a deafening crack. The monstrosity was hurled backward as though it weighed nothing, blades scraping and grinding against the tunnel walls. Sparks erupted from its body as it collided with the far end of the passage, hitting the stone with an earsplitting crash that sent a rain of debris tumbling to the floor. 

The tunnel fell silent for a moment, save for the distant hiss of cooling metal and the faint rumble of settling stone. Anakin stood frozen, his hand still extended, the aftershocks of his power rippling through the air around him. Dust swirled in the dim red light, casting him in an almost ethereal glow. 

Anakin ran to Obi-Wan’s side, helping him to his feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked, voice full of concern. 

“Just my pride,” Obi-Wan replied dryly, dusting himself off. 

Anakin grinned. “Pride isn’t the Jedi way anyway.” 

Obi-Wan shot him a tired look but couldn’t suppress a faint smirk. “Let’s hope you can keep up that sense of humor. I suspect we’re far from done with this thing.” 

But even as he said it, the guardian’s frame began to shudder. The faint red glow of its eyes flickered and died, and the constant grinding of its blades came to a halt. A moment later, its entire form collapsed in on itself. Blades clattered to the ground in a deafening cacophony, sharp metal shards scattering across the cave floor. The once-intimidating titan of death was reduced to a heap of jagged debris. 

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, then at the pile of debris, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe we are done after all.” 

The two Jedi cautiously approached the remains, their lightsabers still ignited. Anakin knelt down, carefully examining one of the larger shards. The edges of the blade still radiated faint heat, and the intricate Sith runes etched along its surface gave off a malevolent energy. 

“I think this was a Sith temple guardian,” Anakin said, his voice a mix of curiosity and unease. “I read about them once in the Archives. They were designed to protect places of great importance—artifacts, holocrons, things the Sith didn’t want anyone to find.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If that’s true, then we’re close to something the Sith thought was worth guarding with such a thing. Very close.” 

Anakin stood, brushing his hands off on his tunic. “Then let’s find out what it is.” 

The two set off down the tunnel again, and the malevolent feeling in the air grew heavier with each step. After a few minutes, they came to a large circular door set into the cave wall. Made of stone and what looked like the same dark metal as the temple guardian, it was engraved with concentric circles of Sith runes. 

Obi-Wan studied the door, his brow furrowed. “What do you think?” 

Anakin grinned, gesturing toward the door. “My Force push worked pretty well on the guardian; maybe it’ll work on the door it was guarding too.” 

Obi-Wan frowned and shook his head. “Unlikely. Using brute strength here might trigger some sort of trap. The Sith were notorious for embedding deadly traps into their temples. It’s far more likely that opening this door requires some specific action—something that would distinguish us as allies of the Sith.” 

Anakin tilted his head. “What kind of action?” 

“I have no idea,” Obi-Wan admitted. He gestured to the intricate carvings. “But it’s safe to assume it’s something a Jedi wouldn’t ordinarily consider doing.” 

Anakin sighed, staring at the door but being careful not to look at the runes. “So, what do we do?” 

“We meditate,” Obi-Wan said, settling himself cross-legged on the cave floor. “Perhaps the Force will provide the answer.” 

The Jedi Knight hesitated but then followed suit, sitting down a short distance from Obi-Wan. Closing his eyes, he let the Force flow through him, seeking clarity. The air around him seemed to grow colder, and the world faded away. 

Anakin Skywalker found himself floating in an endless black void, the silence broken only by the occasional crackle of red lightning arcing through the darkness. The power he could feel in the void was immense, overwhelming, and almost intoxicating. It pressed against him, whispering promises of strength and freedom if he would only let go. 

Anakin’s breath quickened, his instincts screaming at him to resist. He reached out with the Force to ground himself, but the pull was relentless. It wasn’t just calling to him, it was trying to consume him. 

Then a voice, deep and smooth like a predator’s growl, echoed through the void. “What do you want?”  

Anakin’s eyes darted around the emptiness. “Who are you?” he demanded. 

The voice didn’t answer. Instead, it repeated, “What do you want?”  

“I want inside this door,” Anakin said, his frustration bleeding through. 

The voice chuckled, but it was not a kind or happy sound. “Do you know what is inside?”  

“No,” Anakin admitted. 

“Then why do you want it?” the voice countered. 

“Because I’m here to stop Dooku’s plans,” Anakin snapped. 

“What plans does Dooku have?” the voice asked, its amusement growing. 

Anakin clenched his fists. “Just let us in already!” he shouted, his frustration spilling over. 

The voice laughed again, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the void. “I feel your anger. Your frustration. Good. It gives you power. It gave you the strength to destroy the guardian. And there is so much more power waiting for you. If you’ll only take it.”  

“I’m already powerful enough.” 

The voice’s tone turned almost pitying. “You think that because you do not understand your potential. Dooku came here looking for what lies behind the door, but he was not strong enough. You are.”  

Anakin hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Wait. Are you saying Dooku didn’t put the item here?” 

“No,” the voice said, its tone dripping with satisfaction. “It has been here for a thousand years, undisturbed since its creator sealed it away.”  

The void seemed to close in on him, the red lightning crackling louder, brighter. “You can open the door, Anakin Skywalker. You already possess the power within you. All you need to do is say the creed.”  

“What creed?” Anakin asked, but before the words had fully left his mouth, his mind was flooded with them. The Sith creed burned through his thoughts: “Peace is a lie, there is only passion…”  

Anakin recoiled, shaking his head. “No. This isn’t right.” 

The voice softened, coaxing. “You know the truth of these words. You feel it. Why fight it? Say the creed, and all the power you’ve ever desired will be yours. More.”  

Anakin struggled, torn between resistance and the overwhelming pull. The void hummed with anticipation, the lightning intensifying as the words pressed harder into his mind. At last, his resolve cracked. Through gritted teeth, he spoke the words: “Peace is a lie…”  

The moment he finished, the vision shattered. Anakin’s eyes snapped open as the door rumbled and rolled into the wall, revealing the dark passage beyond. 

Obi-Wan stared at the open doorway, then back at Anakin. “How did you do that?” 

Anakin felt shame churn within him as he met Obi-Wan’s eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I’m… not sure.” 

Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, his expression clearly full of concern and unease, but then nodded. Without another word, the two Jedi—though one perhaps now a little less worthy of that mantle—turned and cautiously stepped into the darkness beyond the door. 

Chapter Text

The heavy stone door groaned as it rolled back into place and shut behind them, the sound echoing through the chamber like the final toll of a bell. The deep rumble lingered for a moment before fading into a stark silence, leaving Anakin and Obi-Wan alone in the dim, eerie light. 

The room stretched outward in a perfect circle, its symmetry broken only by towering recesses carved into the walls housing large statues. The faint red glow of Sith runes etched into the walls from floor to ceiling bathed the chamber in a hellish light, and their irregular pulsations cast shifting shadows that danced and writhed across the stone. 

Anakin’s eyes moved cautiously from the glowing runes to the alcoves lining the perimeter. The statues within them loomed like silent sentinels, each one carved in the likeness of a Sith Lord from a long-forgotten era. Shadows clung to their faces, masking their expressions in a threatening aura. 

The first figure Anakin saw, he recognized immediately: Darth Revan. His iconic mask and battle-worn robes were rendered in painstaking detail, and his presence felt even more intimidating in stone. One hand rested on the hilt of his lightsaber, the other extended as if reaching for something beyond the chamber. 

Next to him stood Darth Malgus, his immense form seemingly carved to loom over all who dared to look upon him. The sharp angles of his respirator and the rigid lines of his armor were etched with such precision that they almost seemed to move under the flickering red light. 

The other statues were equally imposing, and though their visages were unfamiliar to him, they were no less powerful. One was wrapped in flowing robes and her outstretched hands clutched an orb that glowed faintly with the same crimson energy as the runes. Another bore a long, curved staff, with its headpiece carved to resemble the open maw of a snarling beast that he didn’t recognize. Each figure seemed to emanate an oppressive aura as though they were more than mere stone—most certainly the remnants of the Sith Lords’ enduring influence. 

Anakin felt his chest tighten as he took it all in. The air was charged with a suffocating sense of malice, and the presence of the statues only deepened the unease settling over him. 

“These are the old Sith Lords” Obi-Wan said softly, his tone grim as he took in the statues. Anakin could feel the dark side of the Force radiating from them like heat from an open flame. 

But it was the structure and figure in the center of the room that captured their full attention. 

A mirror, framed in intricate black metal and standing nearly three meters tall, was the centerpiece of the chamber. Its surface shimmered faintly, as if reflecting not the room but something beyond, and in front of the mirror stood a figure draped in thick, black robes. The hood obscured their face entirely, leaving only dark shadows where their features should have been. 

Anakin’s breath slowed as he reached out to sense the entity with the Force and instantly regretted doing so. The figure wasn’t just standing there—they were acting as a nexus, a vortex pulling all living energy inward like a black hole and distorting the natural flow of the Force. Anakin could feel the pull in his very bones, as if his own connection to the Force was being stretched and twisted while being drawn toward the figure’s presence. The sensation was nearly suffocating, like being caught in the grip of an unseen tide, dragging him deeper into a darkness he could barely comprehend. 

It wasn’t just the figure’s power that unnerved him—it was the way the Force itself seemed to obey them. The energy swirled around their cloaked form with an almost reverent submission, bending to their will in ways that felt unnatural and deeply wrong. Anakin’s instinctual defenses flared, and the overwhelming presence triggered every alarm trained into his mind. 

His stomach churned. The sensation was unlike anything he had felt before, and it left him feeling small in comparison, like a lone star caught in the gravitational pull of a massive, unseen predator lurking out in the void. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself, but the sheer weight of the figure’s presence made it impossible to ignore the primal urge to flee from it. 

“I feel it too,” Obi-Wan whispered. “They’re drawing the Force into themselves, like a whirlpool. We need to be very cautious, Anakin. We mustn’t do anything rash.” 

Anakin nodded, his hand tightening around the hilt of his lightsaber. 

The silence stretched on as the figure remained motionless. Finally, Obi-Wan stepped forward, his tone somehow calm and composed despite the tension in the air. 

“Hello there,” he called, his words carrying across the chamber. 

The figure didn’t respond, but the air seemed to grow heavier and the temperature dropped perceptibly. Anakin shifted his stance, his instincts screaming at him to prepare for anything. 

The figure raised their head slightly, though the hood still obscured their face, and the surface of the mirror behind them shimmered. The Force churned even more violently around the entity. Then, in a voice calm and unnervingly familiar, the figure spoke. 

“Hello, Master.” 

Anakin felt as if a jolt of electricity ran through him. Before he could react, the vortex of  Force around the figure instantly dissipated and the overwhelming weight of presence lifted as though it had never been there. 

The figure reached up, hands emerging from the black folds of his robe, and pulled back the hood. 

Anakin’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, his mind refused to process what he was seeing, as though his thoughts had run headlong into a wall, but as his eyes focused on the figure’s features, the truth became undeniable. 

It was him. 

The man standing before him was Anakin Skywalker—or rather, a version of him. His face bore the unmistakable shape of Anakin’s own, but it was marked with subtle differences: faint lines etched around the corners of his eyes and mouth, the kind that came with age, and hair that was slightly lighter, streaked with hints of gold and silver that caught the flickering light of the runes. 

Then there were his eyes. 

For barely more than an instant, they burned with a fiery intensity, glowing a sickly yellow and red—the unmistakable mark of a Sith. But they were only that way for a brief moment, and then they faded; his irises returned to their normal, vibrant blue. The other him smiled warmly. 

Anakin’s heart raced, his pulse pounding in his ears. His throat felt dry as he stared at the man before him, struggling to reconcile what he was seeing. He turned to Obi-Wan, desperate for some kind of explanation, only to find his former master staring at the other Anakin with the same mixture of disbelief and confusion. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said slowly, “I think... he’s you.” 

The older Anakin chuckled softly. “In a manner of speaking,” he said in a voice so smooth and calm that it made the hairs on the back of Anakin’s neck stand on end. 

The older man shifted his gaze to Anakin, his piercing blue eyes locking onto his younger self. “I know exactly what you’re feeling right now,” he continued. “I remember standing exactly where you are now. Except for me, it was nearly a millennia ago.” 

Anakin froze as the words attempted to register in his addled mind. 

The older Anakin stepped toward them. “I know your mind is racing, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. It’s understandable. I remember how my stomach dropped, how a dozen different explanations ran through my head. Maybe this is a Force vision. Maybe it’s a hologram. Maybe I’m some kind of droid or a different type of guardian than the one you just defeated.” He paused, smirking slightly in a way identical to the one Anakin had seen in the mirror for his entire life. “I can tell you with absolute certainty that I’m none of those things. But with equal certainty, I also know you won’t believe me.” 

Obi-Wan took a small step, trying to slowly position himself between the two Anakins. The older one’s smile widened when he saw what Obi-Wan was trying to do. 

“And I know something else,” he continued, his focus shifting back to his younger counterpart. “Right now, you’re tightening your grip on your lightsaber. You’re looking for an angle of attack, some way to take control of this situation. I remember that too. And even though Obi-Wan told you not to do anything rash, I know that you’re about to strike.” 

Anakin’s eyes narrowed, his hand indeed tightening around the hilt of his lightsaber. 

The older raised a hand and pointed casually toward one of the statues. “When you do, I’ll deflect you with the Force and you’ll end up crashing just over there beside the statue of Darth Malgus.” 

For a moment, the chamber fell silent, the tension so thick it felt as though the room itself held its breath.  

“Anakin, don’t,” Obi-Wan pleaded, but Anakin was already in motion igniting his lightsaber, the brilliant blue blade casting a vivid glow against the red-lit chamber.  

Anakin leaped forward, aiming directly for the man’s chest. 

But it was over before it began. 

The older Anakin raised his hand in an almost lazy gesture. A powerful Force wave erupted from him and slammed into the younger with an unstoppable momentum. 

The world spun as Anakin flew backward, helpless against the sheer force of the blast. Just as the older man had predicted, he crashed into the base of the Darth Malgus statue, and the impact sent cracks spiderwebbing through the stone. 

“See? I told you.” 

Obi-Wan stepped forward cautiously, his eyes fixed on the man. “Are you truly Anakin Skywalker?” 

“I am,” he said simply and smiled. “Search your feelings, Master. You know it to be true.” 

Obi-Wan hesitated, his brow furrowing deeply as he reached out with the Force, willing it flow through him and toward the figure standing before them. The connection was like touching a stream of energy both familiar and alien, a mixture of warmth and shadow that sent a ripple of unease through him. Yet beneath the disquiet, there was an undeniable resonance he couldn’t ignore. The Force thrummed in recognition, confirming what his mind struggled to accept. Obi-Wan let out a breath, steadying himself before finally managing to speak. “How... How is this possible? How are you here?” 

From his place by the Darth Malgus statue, the younger Anakin groaned as he got up and began limping toward Obi-Wan. The Jedi moved quickly to him, draping Anakin’s arm over his shoulder to steady him. 

The older man regarded the two of them with an almost longing expression. “I’m here because of you. Both of you,” he said. “Because when I was standing where you are now, a thousand years ago, there was an older Anakin in this room. An older me.” 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “That might pass as an explanation as to why you’re here, though not a particularly good one, but what I asked was how. How is it that there are two Anakin Skywalkers standing in this room right now?” 

“The how and the why are inextricably linked,” he said. “But the mechanism behind the how is here.” He gestured toward the towering mirror behind him. 

Both Obi-Wan and the younger Anakin followed his motion, their eyes lingering on the mirror. Its surface shimmered faintly. 

“That mirror,” the older Anakin continued, “is perhaps the most advanced and powerful technology ever created in the history of our galaxy.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim.” 

The older Anakin nodded. “It is. And yet, it’s true. Because the mirror is not only a masterpiece of technological ingenuity but also infused with the Force itself.” He took a step back, his hand outstretched in a gesture of invitation. “Come closer. I promise, no harm will come to you.” 

Obi-Wan’s grip on the younger Anakin’s arm tightened slightly, his gaze moving between the older man and the mirror. The younger Anakin shifted uncomfortably. 

“In fact,” the older Anakin said, raising his hand and making a subtle motion toward the younger Anakin. 

A strange warmth coursed through Anakin’s injured leg, spreading rapidly from his hip to his ankle. The pain vanished in an instant, replaced by a sensation of strength and wholeness. 

Anakin blinked in surprise and tentatively tested his weight on the leg. It held firm and felt completely healed. He straightened, staring at the older version of himself in disbelief. 

Obi-Wan looked equally stunned. 

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” the older man said with a smirk. “What skills you can learn over a thousand years.” 

Obi-Wan’s expression tightened, his disbelief clear. “Are you actually claiming to be a thousand years old?” 

The older Anakin chucked. “I know. I look good for my age, don’t I?” He paused, letting the moment linger before continuing. “But no jokes can make this any less weird, so let me tell you a story—one that strangely has the same beginning as its end.” 

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged confused glances, but neither interrupted as the older man stepped closer to the mirror. 

“This story starts right here, in this moment,” the older Anakin said, gesturing around the room. “A thousand years ago, I walked into this very place with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and we had these very same conversations. And all of the exact same things happened then as they are happening now. And it’s happened countless times—maybe a million, maybe even more. I’ve long since stopped trying to imagine how all of this has played out.” He glanced at the mirror, but his gaze was distant. “I have no idea how it happened the first time, if there even was a first time. But I do know one thing.” His expression hardened. “It will happen at least once more.” 

The older Anakin placed his hand flat against the glass of the mirror. Its surface rippled like water, distorting the image of the room reflected within. A moment later, the distortion gave way, and the mirror displayed the events that had unfolded since they entered the chamber: the heavy stone door closing, their tense exchange, and the confrontation between Anakin and his older self. 

The younger Anakin’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “Was it... recording us?” 

The older let out a small laugh. “Not in the way you’re thinking. This mirror isn’t a recording device. It’s much more than that. It can actually look through time—backward or forward, as far as I want to see.” 

Obi-Wan cocked his head. “‘As far as you want to see,’” he repeated, adding emphasis. 

The older Anakin’s smile widened. “Very perceptive, Master.” He gestured to the mirror. “It only works for me because I built it. This mirror is my creation—crafted specifically for this very moment.” 

Obi-Wan’s expression tightened, and Anakin looked even more unsettled. “You built this?” Obi-Wan asked. “Why?” 

The man turned back to the mirror, his voice calm but firm. “Because it doesn’t just show the past or future. It can also act as a doorway—to take a person to either. Which is exactly what it will do to the two of you.” 

Anakin and Obi-wan's eyes both widened. “What do you mean?” Obi-Wan demanded. 

“I’ll explain,” the older Anakin said, raising a hand to quiet them. “But before I do, I need to show you what the future holds if you don’t first go to the past.” 

The mirror’s surface rippled again, and the chamber darkened slightly as scenes began to play out on the glass. 

Anakin watched, his breath catching as the images unfolded on the mirror’s surface. They came in rapid succession, each one vivid yet offering no context: 

Anakin Skywalker is standing shoulder to shoulder with Obi-Wan Kenobi on a battlefield. His lightsaber moves quickly, deflecting bolts of red blaster fire as explosions illuminate the chaos around them. Behind them, Republic clones in their white armor advance with relentless and coordinated forward movement. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is at the head of a procession of clones marching through a liberated city, waving to the cheering civilians throwing flowers as they pass. The clone troopers raise their blasters in salute, their visors reflecting the hope and appreciation in the eyes of those they have saved. Anakin Skywalker is smiling and waving the hilt of his lightsaber. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is piloting a sleek starfighter through the void of space. His hands move across the controls, guiding the ship through a chaotic swarm of enemy vessels. Bright flashes illuminate his face as one enemy ship after another disintegrates as he tears through them. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is standing in the Jedi Council chambers. His face is twisted in anger as he gazes at each Council member in turn. The Council members sit in their seats, silent and unmoving. The disapproval in their expressions seems to fuel his rage. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is kneeling before a horrible, twisted creature. The disfigured and unnatural creature stands over him, its expression triumphant and cruel, as Anakin bows his head in submission. His lightsaber rests beside him, unlit. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is leading a column of troops through the streets of the city-world of Coruscant. The once-peaceful avenues are scorched and littered with debris. Civilians peer out cautiously from the shadows with expressions of confusion and fear as he marches by. His lightsaber is drawn but unlit. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is marching through the grand halls of the Jedi Temple. Clone troopers in their white armor flank him on all sides with their weapons raised. His face is cold and impassive, while the golden glow of the Coruscant skyline bathes the scene in eerie light. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is walking down a temple corridor. A young girl runs toward him, her tiny hands clutching a lightsaber that was far too big for her. She trips and falls to the ground. Anakin Skywalker stands over her as she looks up into his emotionless face...

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is raising his lightsaber in a dimly lit room. His shadow stretches across the wall, looming over a group of terrified Younglings huddled together. Their faces are blurred and indistinct, but their wide eyes plead for his mercy. Tears stream down their faces as they call out. Anakin Skywalker’s steps are slow, and though his face is calm, there is a deep emptiness in his eyes. The faint glow of his blue blade illuminates the room, casting fleeting reflections of light on the walls that flicker like dying hope. And then, his blade moves. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is battling Obi-Wan Kenobi on a volcanic planet. The red glow of molten rivers paints the jagged rocks around them. Anakin Skywalker’s movements are raw and powerful, and his strikes are clearly driven by fury as he clashes with his former Master.  

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is on the ground of the same volcanic planet. His limbs are severed, his remaining flesh burned and raw as smoke rises from him. His eyes lock onto Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he drags himself forward, inch by agonizing inch. His one remaining scorched hand reaches out, but Obi-Wan Kenobi turns from him and walks away. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is writhing on an operating table, his broken body restrained as mechanical arms lower sections of black armor onto his charred flesh. He struggles, but the machines are relentless, sealing him into his new form. His breathing becomes labored, then mechanical, as the final piece—the mask—descends and locks into place. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is standing on the bridge of a massive starship. His figure is now fully encased in black armor, the polished surface reflecting the distant stars. His imposing silhouette dominates the room as he clasps his hands behind his back. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is walking across a bloodied battlefield, his black armor gleaming under the dim light of a dying sun. The bodies of his fallen opponents litter the ground. He ignites his lightsaber without a word and cuts down the last few who dared to oppose him. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is standing at the end of a corridor bathed in red emergency lighting. His armored figure is shrouded in darkness and the faint glow of his crimson blade illuminates the walls around him. Figures at the far end of the corridor scramble to escape as he walks forward. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is on a colossal, spherical station, looming beside a trembling young woman as she stares out at a distant, vibrant planet. Her fists clench at her sides, and her breath catches as a green beam of energy erupts from the station’s superweapon and strikes the planet below. In an instant, the world’s surface explodes into a blinding inferno. Tears streak down the woman’s face. Anakin Skywalker remains still, the reflection of the destruction glinting off his polished armor as he stands silently beside her, unmoved by the devastation. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is striding through the icy corridors of a base carved into the heart of a frozen wasteland. His black armor is stark against the pale walls, and his blade casts an ominous glow that reflects off the frost-encrusted surfaces. His presence radiates an unnatural heat that melts the ice beneath his boots. Around him, blaster fire ricochets through the distant tunnels as he moves with unhurried purpose toward the people retreating deeper into the labyrinth.  

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is locked in combat on a narrow walkway with a sandy brown haired young man wielding a green blade. The duel rages and young man’s movements are raw and powerful, but he is no match for Anakin Skywalker. Each of his strikes is precise, and his red blade forces the young man back step-by-step, until he is pressed perilously close to the edge of the platform. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is lying on the ground with his helmet and facemask removed; his once-mighty form reduced to fragility as he struggles to draw shallow, wheezing breaths. The young man kneels beside him, and his hand trembling as it hovers just above Anakin’s battered chest. Anakin’s eyes, once burning with intensity, now seem heavy and their pale blue depths are clouded. 

Flicker.  

Anakin Skywalker is again consumed by fire, his black armor glowing red-hot as the flames roar hungrily around him. The inferno surges and crackles, casting long, flickering shadows against the desolate terrain. His cape, once a symbol of power, is tattered and curling into ash, carried away on the heated winds. In the distance, the lone figure of the young man stands motionless, a silent witness to his body’s destruction. 

Flicker.  

The images faded, leaving Anakin and Obi-wan staring at their reflections in the now-quiet mirror. Anakin stumbled back, his breath came in ragged gasps and his heart pounded in his chest. “What is this?” he whispered. “What...” 

The older turned to face him, his expression grim. “Your future. Our future.” 

Obi-Wan stood frozen, his face pale and blank with shock. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came. After a long, tense silence, he finally managed. “These images… they don’t make any sense. How could any of that come to be?” 

The older Anakin’s face fell. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know this: it’s the natural flow of time. Even knowing these events will not stop them from coming to pass.” He lowered his voice. “When I was shown those images, I had the same doubts. I refused to believe them. But over the centuries, I came to understand. I have an incredible darkness within me, Obi-Wan. A darkness that, if left unchecked, will sweep across the galaxy like a storm. It will crush worlds, shatter alliances, and change the lives of trillions of beings forever. That darkness is a part of me, and I had to master it. I had to learn its depths to shape it into something I could control. Without the centuries I’ve lived, and without the time to face it and understand it, I have no doubt I would have become the man who does all those things. And worse.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air, the chamber itself seeming to grow colder as the enormity of what he’d said settled over them. 

“But there’s still one thing I don’t understand,” said Obi-Wan. “How are you still alive after all these years?” 

“Midichlorians,” he replied. “With years of study, I learned how to gain a type of mastery over them, and that knowledge has allowed me to extend my life far beyond its natural span. Am I immortal?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I suspect I’ll live for some time yet.” 

The younger Anakin, still processing the absolute torrent of information, found his voice. “What’s in the past?” he asked. 

“Wisdom,” the older answered without hesitation. “And time. Both of which you desperately need.” 

“And if we refuse to go?” the younger pressed. 

The older Anakin chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “I think I’ve already made it clear that I could make you go if it came to that,” he said. “But it won’t. You’ll go willingly, and I know you will because I did. That’s why I’m here today.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. “But if that’s true, why am I not here with you now? Where am I?” 

“I had to come through the centuries the long way, but thankfully you don’t. Once you step through the mirror, I’ll bring a slightly older, slightly wiser Obi-Wan Kenobi back through. That was our plan.” 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but the older Anakin raised a hand. “You will understand everything, in time,” he said firmly. “But only after you step through.” 

“What exactly are we supposed to do once we get there?” asked Obi-Wan. 

The older Anakin’s expression turned unreadable. “I actually can’t tell you that,” he said. “Nor can I tell you where you’re going because it wasn’t told to me and my Obi-Wan when we went through. All I know is that this time loop begins and ends here for you, just as it did for us.” 

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. 

“It’s time,” the older Anakin said, stepping toward the mirror. He raised his hand, his palm hovering just inches from the glass. A faint, blue glow emanated from his fingertips as the surface rippled once more, the distortion spreading outward like concentric waves in a pond. 

As the ripples settled, the reflection vanished, replaced by a new image. The scene revealed a dark, narrow alley framed by towering walls of weathered brick, their surfaces damp and streaked with grime from years of neglect. Water dripped steadily from a broken gutter overhead. 

The cobblestones lining the alley were uneven and slick, glistening in the dim light of a single streetlamp. The lamp itself flickered erratically, casting distorted shadows that danced across the walls and created fleeting shapes that dissolved as quickly as they appeared. A faint mist hung low to the ground and curled lazily around the base of the lamp post, spilling into the shadows. 

The far end of the alley disappeared into darkness, its depths impenetrable save for a faint glimmer of movement; something shifted in the shadows but was too distant to make out. 

“Is there danger waiting for us when we step through?” Obi-Wan asked cautiously. 

The older Anakin hesitated briefly, and when he spoke, his tone was quieter than before. “When my Obi-Wan asked that question, the other Anakin told him he couldn’t say.” He paused, then a smirk came across his lips. “But this time, I’ll tell you the truth.” 

“And the truth is?” Younger Anakin prompted. 

“Yes,” the older said. “There is danger waiting for you on the other side.” 

Anakin stiffened, then turned to Obi-Wan. “Are we really okay with this?” 

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, his tone blunt and without hesitation. “But I don’t see that we have any choice.” 

After a moment’s silence, the two Jedi reached for their lightsabers and unhooked them from their belts. 

The younger Anakin exhaled and opened himself to the Force. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, and together with Obi-Wan Kenobi, stepped into the mirror and out of time. 

Chapter Text

The alley was dark and damp, and the scent of mildew and decay clung to the air. Anakin scrunched up his nose. “What’s that smell?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. Through the Force he reached out with his mind. The other Anakin said that there would be danger here. As he opened himself up more, something did feel off. The Force felt unfamiliar and foreign here. He didn’t like it, and he hated not knowing where they were or what they were walking into.  

“Be on your guard, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured.  

Anakin nodded, but then a sudden shout echoed through the alley, followed by the faint sound of a child crying. Anakin’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, and without waiting for Obi-Wan, he took off at a run.  

“Anakin, wait!” Obi-Wan called, but his voice was already fading behind him.  

The alley widened into a small park area, illuminated by the faint glow of distant streetlights. In the center stood three figures. The first was a child—small, no more than eight years old, with pale lavender skin and long white tendrils that framed her face. A Togruta. Her wide amber eyes glistened with tears as she dangled helplessly in the air by an unseen grip.  

A little ways from her was a human male in brown robes, with one arm outstretched and his other holding an ignited green lightsaber. In front of him, a Kel Dor male knelt on one knee, roughly patting the child down with his three-fingered hands. His rebreather mask distorted and amplified his heavy breathing as he snapped a pair of metallic restraints onto the child’s small wrists.  

“Stop squirming,” the Kel Dor barked, his voice cold through the mask.  

Anakin froze for only half a heartbeat. The sight of the child—restrained, crying, utterly powerless—triggered something deep inside him. Memories surged forward unbidden: his own childhood as a slave on Tatooine, the helplessness he had felt, the despair, the rage .  

“No,” he growled under his breath.  

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered sharply, catching up and grabbing his arm. “Wait. We don’t know what’s happening here.”  

“They’re hurting her,” Anakin snapped, the words coming out sharper than he had intended but he did not feel sorry for it. A hot surge of anger flared through him as he pulled his arm free of Obi-wan's grip and stepped forward, his voice rising. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Let her go!”  

The two Jedi turned toward him. The human lowered his arm slightly, though the Togruta child remained suspended in the air. Her sobs quieted, but her wide, fearful eyes locked onto Anakin’s as though she saw him as her only lifeline. That look sent a chill through him—he couldn’t walk away now. He wouldn’t.  

“This is none of your concern,” the Kel Dor said in a flat tone. He rose to his feet slowly, his hand drifting toward the hilt of the lightsaber clipped to his belt. His mask made his expression unreadable, but his stance carried a clear threat. “Step back. Now.”  

“She’s a child!” Anakin shouted, his voice reverberating through the park. The words tore from him with the force of a dam breaking, frustration and disbelief layered into every syllable. What was wrong with them? How could these Jedi—assuming they were Jedi—treat a child like this? Was this what the Order was like in this time? Ruthless, unfeeling, blind to the suffering they caused? His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as the storm inside him grew stronger.  

“She’s under arrest,” the human Jedi said calmly, though his expression was hard. “We have reason to believe she’s been trained in the dark side. This is a matter for the Order.”  

Anakin’s jaw clenched, his heart pounding in his chest. “Look at her! She’s terrified! Is this the mission of the Jedi? Bullying defenseless children?”  

The Kel Dor took a step forward, his blue lightsaber igniting with a sharp snap-hiss . The brilliant blade cast a cold glow across the park, reflecting off the metallic accents of his mask. He leveled the weapon between himself and Anakin, raising his free hand in a gesture of warning. “I said step back. This is your final warning.”  

Anakin didn’t flinch. His anger was a roaring inferno now, burning away any thought of retreat or caution. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to act, to do something. The injustice of the moment—the fear in the girl’s eyes, the self-righteousness in these Jedis’ tone—was unbearable. He felt his pulse pounding in his ears, his grip tightening instinctively on his lightsaber hilt.  

He strode forward, his boots crunching on the gravel as he closed the distance. The Force swirled around him, sharp and volatile, mirroring the tempest inside. It rippled outward with each step, a powerful current that Anakin didn’t fully control but didn’t bother to suppress, either. His gaze locked on the Kel Dor, and he could tell by the faint shift in the Jedi’s stance that the Kel Dor could feel the storm that was Anakin Skywalker was coming for him.  “Let. Her. Go.”  

The Kel Dor’s blade tilted slightly, the glowing tip now mere inches from Anakin’s throat. The faint hum of the weapon seemed to vibrate against his skin, but he didn’t back down. He wouldn’t. “Don’t do this,” the Kel Dor said, his voice a measured warning, but the weight behind his words carried a threat.  

Anakin’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together as the dam holding back his rage finally broke. How many times had he been told to stand down? To ignore suffering because it wasn’t “his place” to intervene? How many times had the Jedi Code been used as an excuse to do nothing while people—innocent people—suffered? No more.  

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Anakin unleashed a powerful Force push. The Kel Dor staggered backward, his footing completely lost as the wave of energy crashed into him. His lightsaber was ripped from his grasp, spinning through the air before clattering uselessly to the ground. Anakin didn’t give him time to recover. The motion was fluid, automatic, as he ignited his own lightsaber. The bright blue blade flared to life, and he leveled it directly at the chest of the human Jedi still holding the child.  

“I’m only going to say this once more,” Anakin growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Put her down. Walk away.”  

The human Jedi’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. For a brief moment, Anakin thought he might comply. But then the Kel Dor made his move.  

Anakin felt the shift in the Force a split second before it happened—a sudden, focused burst of energy surging from the fallen Jedi. The Kel Dor exploded into motion, using the Force to propel himself forward with blinding speed. His cloak snapped violently behind him as he crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, summoning his lightsaber back to his hand and activating it.  

Before he could reach Anakin, another hum came to life, and Obi-Wan's blade intercepted his path. His lightsaber locked with the Kel Dor’s freshly reclaimed blade in a sharp clash of light and sound. Sparks flew between the two combatants as Obi-Wan changed his stance, effortlessly redirecting the Kel Dor’s momentum with a twist of his wrist.  

“That’s enough,” Obi-Wan said firmly, his voice calm but carrying authority. His blade held steady as he met the Kel Dor’s masked gaze. “We’re not doing this.”  

The Kel Dor didn’t lower his weapon. His breaths, distorted by the mechanical rasp of his rebreather, came heavy as he adjusted his footing. For a moment, neither moved, their blades casting eerie reflections across the ground.  

Anakin didn’t lower his blade. His eyes remained locked on the human Jedi, who stood stiffly a few paces away, his green lightsaber still ignited. Every muscle in Anakin’s body was coiled, ready to spring at the slightest provocation. He didn’t trust the man to make the right choice. He didn’t trust either of them.  

The child whimpered softly, her small frame trembling in the human Jedi’s shadow. Her wide amber eyes darted between the two Jedi who held her captive and the strangers who had come to her defense. She seemed frozen, paralyzed by fear, but her gaze lingered on Anakin for just a moment longer. That look—a mix of desperation and fragile hope—seared itself into his mind, stoking the fire that burned in his chest. It was a look he knew all too well, one he had seen countless times in the cracked reflection of a grimy mirror on Tatooine, staring back at him through his own wide, fearful eyes. It was the same look his mother wore the day Watto sold her, when she tried to mask her terror for his sake but couldn’t hide the quiet plea in her gaze. That silent, desperate hope that someone, anyone, might save them.  

He didn’t dare glance back at Obi-Wan. He didn’t need to; the weight of his former master’s disapproval radiated clearly through the Force. Obi-Wan’s presence was steady, restrained, a counterbalance to Anakin’s boiling emotions. But in this moment, Anakin didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Not when a child was being treated like this. Not when justice was being twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable.  

How could Obi-Wan stand there, preaching restraint, when it was clear what needed to be done? The girl needed someone to protect her, to stand up for her when no one else would. That was what being a Jedi was supposed to mean, wasn’t it? Action, not inaction. Compassion, not cold indifference.  

For a fleeting moment, he felt the faintest flicker of doubt—Obi-Wan’s voice in the back of his mind urging caution, restraint, patience. But that voice was drowned out by the raw intensity of the moment, by the girl’s trembling form and tear-streaked face. He tightened his grip on his lightsaber, his knuckles white.  

The Togruta girl whimpered again, her voice trembling as she looked at Anakin. “They… they killed my parents...” she stammered, her eyes filling with tears. Her small hands clutched at her tunic, and her shoulders began to shake as her cries grew louder, echoing in the quiet park.  

Anakin froze for a fraction of a second, her words punching through the tide of his anger like a shockwave. His memories of his own mother’s suffering continued flashing before him: the bruises on her arms, the hollowness in her voice when she spoke of the life she dreamed for them both. It wasn’t fair. It had never been fair. And now, this child was reliving the same nightmare—a nightmare these Jedi had created.  

“You killed her parents?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. He turned his full attention to the human Jedi holding the girl aloft. “And now you hold a little girl in captivity? Disgusting.”  

The Jedi’s expression hardened. He stood firm, though Anakin could feel his grip on the Force tremble slightly. “They were Sith,” he said, his tone devoid of apology but holding a cold conviction. “We do what we must.”  

In a blur of motion, Anakin lunged forward, slashing at the Jedi’s extended arm. The Jedi raised his green lightsaber just in time, their blades colliding with a crackling hiss that sent sparks flying into the air.  

The Togruta girl screamed as the Jedi’s concentration faltered, and the invisible grip holding her aloft broke. She fell to the ground with a thud, curling into a ball and sobbing as Anakin drove the Jedi back with a series of ferocious strikes.  

Anakin’s blue blade crashed against the green, his movements fast and relentless. He pressed forward, his strikes precise and forceful, each swing fueled by his fury. The human Jedi staggered under the onslaught, retreating step by step, his defense barely holding.  

“You do what you must?” Anakin spat, slamming his blade down in a powerful overhead arc. The Jedi blocked, but the force of the blow drove him to one knee. “You’re nothing but murderers!”  

The Jedi pushed back, his green blade flaring as he locked sabers with Anakin. “You don’t understand,” he said through gritted teeth.  

“She’s just a scared little girl!” Anakin growled, breaking the saber lock with a spinning slash aimed at the Jedi’s midsection. The Jedi dodged to the side, countering with a thrust that Anakin easily sidestepped. With a swift kick, Anakin sent the Jedi stumbling backward, using the moment to position himself between the child and her captor.  

Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin caught a glimpse of Obi-Wan, fully engaged in his own fight. The Kel Dor Jedi pressed forward with heavy, deliberate strikes. His movements were efficient yet relentless. Obi-Wan, ever the calm and measured swordsman, parried each blow easily. His lightsaber wove through the air in a seamless flow of blue light, each precise motion giving the impression of effortless grace despite the intensity of the battle. It almost looked like a dance instead of a fight.  

“This isn’t necessary,” Obi-Wan said, his voice calm but strained as their blades clashed again. “Stand down, and we can resolve this without further violence.”  

The Kel Dor ignored him, spinning into a wide slash aimed at Obi-Wan’s torso. Obi-Wan stepped back, deflecting the strike and countering with a quick jab. “You’re interfering in matters you clearly don’t understand,” the Kel Dor snapped. “This is war.”  

“And that gives you the right to treat a child this way?” Obi-Wan replied with disapproval. He deflected a flurry of strikes with smooth, efficient movements, conserving energy as he maintained control of the fight. “Anakin!” he called out, his voice rising slightly over the hum and clash of the lightsabers. “I know it’s difficult, but you must calm yourself!”  

Anakin didn’t respond. He was too focused on the opponent in front of him, and his strikes were growing faster and more aggressive. The human Jedi was struggling to keep up, his defensive stance faltering under the relentless assault. Anakin feinted left before pivoting into a powerful horizontal slash, forcing the Jedi to dive to the ground to avoid the blade.  

The Jedi rolled to his feet and thrust his palm forward, sending a Force push toward Anakin. The blast of energy sent Anakin skidding backward, his boots digging into the dirt and gravel to steady himself. The Jedi charged, green lightsaber flashing as he launched a series of rapid attacks.  

Anakin met him head-on, their blades colliding in a blur of blue and green. He parried a high strike and countered with a low sweep, forcing the Jedi to leap over the blade. As the Jedi came down, Anakin spun into a powerful upward slash that nearly caught his opponent off guard, grazing the edge of his robe.  

“Anakin, we need to end this!” Obi-Wan called out again, his voice urgent. He parried another strike, countering with a quick thrust that forced the Kel Dor back. “You’re letting your emotions control you!”  

Anakin blocked another overhead strike, their blades locking once more. He stared into the human Jedi’s eyes, his anger radiating in waves. “You don’t deserve the title of Jedi,” he said, shoving the Jedi’s blade aside and delivering a swift kick to his chest. The Jedi stumbled backward, his grip on his lightsaber faltering.  

The human Jedi coughed as he regained his balance, glaring at Anakin. “You attacked us unprovoked,” he spat, “and I can feel the anger and fear boiling in your mind. So what does that make you?”  

The words struck at the raw edge of Anakin’s emotions, but he didn’t falter. His jaw tightened, and his hand shot out as he raised his palm. He unleashed a powerful Force pull, yanking the Jedi’s weapon from his grasp and sending it clattering to the ground. In the same motion, Anakin stepped forward and pointed his blade at the disarmed Jedi’s throat, his voice low and deadly. “You're finished.”  

The human Jedi froze, raising his hands raised in surrender. The Kel Dor, seeing his ally’s defeat, faltered. His masked face tilted toward Anakin, then Obi-Wan, as if weighing his options. After a tense pause, he let out a heavy breath, deactivated his lightsaber, and took a cautious step back. His mask obscured his expression, but his voice was sharp. “You think you’re helping her, but you’re only delaying the inevitable. The Sith poison everything they touch. She’s no exception.”  

Anakin glared at him, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his lightsaber still humming at his side. “Leave,” he said.  

The human Jedi glanced between his partner and the two strangers. He clipped his lightsaber back to his belt. “Her parents were Sith. She is a Sith,” he said coldly. “And though you dress as Jedi, you’re clearly Sith sympathizers. You may have gotten the best of us this time, but there will be a next time.”  

The Kel Dor gave a final look at the Togruta girl before turning toward a pair of nearby speeder bikes. “Let’s go,” he muttered. The two Jedi mounted their bikes, engines roaring to life. Dust and debris kicked up around them as they sped off into the night, their figures disappearing into the shadows.  

The girl, still trembling, clutched her bound hands to her chest and locked her tear-filled eyes on Anakin. “You saved me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.  

Anakin turned to her, his expression softening as he knelt down to her level. “You’re safe now,” he said, his voice gentle despite the storm still raging in his mind. He cut through her restraints with his lightsaber and reached out a hand to help her up.  

Obi-Wan stood silently for a moment, his gaze fixed on the direction the two Jedi had gone. The distant roar of their speeder bikes had faded into the night, leaving behind only the sound of the girl’s quiet sniffles and the occasional rustling of leaves.  

“These Jedi…” Obi-Wan began, his voice low and thoughtful. “They’re much different than I expected.”  

Anakin looked over at him, still simmering with anger. “Different? They’re ruthless.” He turned his attention to the girl, who sat on the ground hugging her knees, her wide amber eyes darting between the two men.  

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, they are. Ruthless, hardened… I suppose centuries of war will do that to anyone.” He sighed. “But it’s troubling to see it.”  

“They’ve lost their way entirely. What they were trying to do wasn’t about defending the peace—it was cruelty. That’s not what the Jedi are supposed to be.”  

“I agree,” Obi-Wan said. “But we must remember that this isn’t our time. The Jedi of this era have been fighting for survival against the Sith for generations. They’ve likely made compromises we can’t fully understand.”  

“That doesn’t make it right,” Anakin shot back. “Killing a child’s parents and treating her like a prisoner… I don’t care what era we’re in. That’s not the Jedi way.”  

Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I don’t disagree with you, Anakin. But we must tread carefully. We’re outsiders here, and there’s far too much we don’t understand about the context of this conflict.”  

Anakin exhaled sharply, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he crouched down next to the girl again. “Are you all right?” he asked.  

The Togruta girl nodded hesitantly, her white head-tails twitching slightly as she looked up at him. “I… I think so.”  

Anakin offered a small, reassuring smile. “What’s your name?” he asked gently, trying to ease her obvious fear.  

She hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously at Obi-Wan before returning her gaze to Anakin. “Kaelari,” she said finally, her voice steadier now. “My name is Kaelari.”  

“Kaelari,” Anakin repeated, nodding as if committing it to memory. “That’s a beautiful name.” He gestured toward the park around them. “Do you have somewhere safe you can go?”  

The girl perked up slightly at that. “My uncle lives close by,” she said, her voice still shaky but gaining a hint of hope. “We could go there. He’s nice. He’ll help us.”  

Obi-Wan hesitated. “Your uncle?” he asked carefully. “Is he… like your parents?”  

The girl’s face scrunched in confusion for a moment before answering. “He’s really nice to me. He always tells me stories and lets me stay up late when I visit.”  

Anakin gave Obi-Wan a grin. “See? Sounds harmless enough. And if there’s trouble, the two of us can handle it.”  

Obi-Wan frowned. “We must be careful, Anakin. We’re not just dealing with a handful of Sith. From what we know, this era is overrun with them, and neither of us has much experience fighting against their kind.”  

Anakin stood, his hands on his hips. “We’ve handled Sith before. Maul, Dooku… We’re not totally new to this.”  

“This isn’t Maul or Dooku,” Obi-Wan said, clearly trying to be patient. “These Sith aren’t hidden in the shadows or restrained by political games. They’re numerous, entrenched, and unrelenting. And we’re in their time, their galaxy. That’s a significant difference.”  

“And what would you suggest? Wandering around in the open, waiting for another fight to come to us?”  

“I’m only suggesting we be mindful,” Obi-Wan replied. “Every decision we make here could have consequences we don’t fully understand. If this uncle of hers is trustworthy, fine. But we need to stay vigilant. There’s no guarantee he’ll be safe—or that he’s not Sith himself.”  

The girl flinched at the word “Sith,” her small hands gripping the edges of her tunic. “He’s not Sith,” she said quietly. “I promise.”  

Obi-Wan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll go,” he said finally, “but if there’s any sign of danger—”  

“Then we’ll handle it, like we always do,” Anakin interrupted. He offered the girl a reassuring smile. “Let’s go see your uncle.”  

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a sidelong glance but chose not to argue further. Instead, he gestured for the girl to lead the way. “All right,” he said. “But stay close. And if anything feels off, we leave immediately.”  

The girl nodded. She looked at Anakin before turning and pointing down a narrow side street. “This way.”  

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a brief look before following her into the shadows of the unfamiliar world.  

Chapter Text

The chamber was silent, save for the distant hum of energy still clinging to the edges of reality. The mirror stood before him, tall, ancient, and now useless. It no longer pulsed with the eerie glow it once had, and its surface was now dark and motionless. The doorway it had provided was gone, sealed behind time and fate. 

Anakin exhaled slowly, letting the breath ground him as he extended his senses outward. He reached out through the Force, feeling the presence of the room itself, not just as a collection of stone and shadows, but as something alive in its own way. Dust hung suspended in the air, shifting ever so slightly with each movement he made.  

Beneath his feet, buried deep within the temple’s foundation, something stirred. He could feel the mechanisms—vast, intricate, hidden gears and interlocking plates forged by his hands long ago, waiting in silence for his command to move once more. Age had not dulled them, nor had time eroded their purpose. They were patient, bound to the will of the one who knew how to awaken them. 

The Force wove through all of it, threading through every stone, plate, gear, and sigil. 

Stepping forward, his boots barely made a sound against the polished floor. The runes encircling the mirror had been carefully etched, their flowing lines forming an unbroken pattern around the pedestal. Each symbol carried power. Symbols of transference, of concealment, of binding, to form a seal meant to ensure that the mirror would never be used again. 

Kneeling, he pressed his hand against the cold stone. The runes thrummed in response, sensing his presence and awakening at his touch. 

He closed his eyes and reached deeper into the Force, feeling the intricate weave of energy tied to the mirror. Anakin channeled his will into the runes. Power surged through them like blood through veins, golden light flickering along the cracks, igniting each symbol in a sequence that had not been completed for millennia. He didn’t need to chant an incantation, didn’t need to speak the words of the long-dead architects who had helped him create this place. He was beyond that now. 

The air grew thick, and a deep, resonating click echoed beneath him. The temple rumbled in response. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the floor began to move. 

With a groaning of hidden gears, the pedestal sank, stone folding in upon itself like a mechanical puzzle, swallowing the mirror into the depths. The light from the runes flickered and then dimmed, their purpose fulfilled. 

A moment later, the chamber was still again. 

He stood, staring at the now-empty space where the mirror had been. There was no triumph in all of this. No sense of victory. Just necessity. The cycle that had begun long ago had now closed, the loop finally sealed. The past had been tended to, its echoes fading into silence, and now, only the future remained. 

Anakin breathed out slowly, feeling the Will of the Force, the way it rippled outward as if acknowledging the choice he had made. He had lingered long enough in the remnants of what once was. What mattered now was what lay ahead: the battle that waited, the power that still needed to be claimed. There was no more looking back. 

Turning on his heel, he strode toward the temple doors, bidding them open with a casual push of the Force. 

Outside, the war awaited him. 

Anakin stepped into twilight, his silhouette cutting against the dimming light of Dromund Kaas' storm-laden sky. The lone sun was sinking beyond the jagged horizon, its fading glow casting the landscape in muted shades of deep amber and ashen gray. Above, the planet’s two moons had begun their slow ascent, their pale light barely piercing the thick cloud cover that churned in the upper atmosphere. Shadows stretched long and restless across the temple grounds, shifting with the distant crackle of lightning. The wind howled through the ruins, carrying the last bit of warmth away, leaving only the cold breath of encroaching night. 

He barely had time to take another step before the ambush revealed itself. 

A squad of battle droids and droidekas stood at the ready, positioned in a tight formation just beyond the temple steps. Their photoreceptors flared red as their targeting systems locked onto him. Servo motors whirred as blasters adjusted, angling upward toward the lone figure that had emerged from the temple. The lead droid, a standard B1 unit, twitched slightly before its vocoder crackled to life. 

“It’s a Jedi. Blast him!” 

“Roger, roger.” 

There was a beat, a fraction of a second where everything seemed to hold still. 

Then the world collapsed around them. 

Before a single bolt could be fired, before the droids could even process the moment between thought and action, they imploded, crushed inward by an unseen force. Metal crumpled like brittle parchment, their spindly limbs snapping, torsos compressing with a series of sickening crunches. The droidekas barely had time to activate their shields before the same fate met them, their reinforced frames warping as if gripped by an invisible hand and folded into themselves. 

Anakin had not moved. 

His hands remained at his sides; his lightsaber untouched. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was heavy like the event horizon of a black hole, an inevitability from which there was no escape. 

The sand beneath the ruined mechanical bodies hissed as heat from ruptured power cells met the cooling air of twilight. The only sound that remained was the distant wail of the wind sweeping across the barren terrain. 

Anakin stepped forward without sparing the wreckage a second glance. 

The wind whistled through the ruins as Anakin strode across the temple grounds. Ahead, resting on a small landing platform worn by time and the elements, sat a sleek, yellow Jedi Interceptor; the ship of his younger self. 

It was a design he had not seen in ages, paradoxically a relic of an era that now felt distant. The interceptor’s frame was still pristine, its surface smooth despite the dust that clung to its edges. The twin solar collectors gleamed under the dying light, their sharp wings folded in, waiting. It was strange, seeing it like this: untouched, exactly as he had left it so long ago. 

Anakin reached out, running a hand over the cool durasteel, his fingers tracing the familiar contours of the ship’s hull. He could almost see the boy who once piloted it—reckless, impatient, filled with hope and certainty . A boy who had believed in the Republic, in the Jedi, and in himself . A boy who had yet to understand the depths of war, betrayal, and power. 

That boy was gone. 

With a flip of a switch, the cockpit hissed open, and the interior flickered to life as systems powered on. He climbed inside, settling into the pilot’s seat, hands moving instinctively over the controls. The distantly familiar hum of the reactor vibrated beneath him as the ship responded as if it remembered him. 

The interceptor ascended, engines roaring as it lifted from the platform. Lightning flared in the distance, momentarily illuminating the darkened skyline as the ship climbed higher, piercing the thick cloud cover. 

Anakin punched in the coordinates for Coruscant, his face expressionless as he watched the stars streak past the cockpit. Yes, he was done with the past. Now it was time to shape the future.  

Chapter Text

The Jedi Temple loomed on the city-planet of Coruscant, its towering spires reaching into the dusk-lit sky, defiant against the encroaching darkness. It stood perched above the endless urban sprawl like a sentinel carved from stone and hubris. Once, Anakin had thought it a beacon—an unshakable pillar of peace and wisdom standing watch over the chaotic city surrounding it, its presence a symbol of stability in a galaxy unraveling at the edges. As a boy, he’d looked up at it with awe, believing the Jedi within to be keepers of some sacred, unassailable truth. But ten centuries of experience had stripped away the illusion, layer by layer, until all that remained was the stark, unvarnished truth: the Temple was a hollow shell, its foundation cracked by arrogance, and its towering walls were erected more to contain ignorance than to inspire enlightenment. 

Now, he saw it for what it truly was. It was a monument to failure, a mausoleum dressed in the trappings of authority. The grand spires weren’t reaching toward the stars in aspiration; they were clutching at relevance, desperate to hold onto an illusion of control that had long since slipped through their fingers. The crimson glow of the setting sun cast long, scarlet shadows down its pristine facade, streaking across durasteel and glass as if the Temple was bleeding. It was fitting, really. The sun was setting on the Jedi Order, and they were too blind to see it. But Anakin could see it. He could feel it. And he had come to deliver it to them. 

Below, Coruscant pulsed with life, oblivious. Speeder traffic wove through the towering skyscrapers like luminous veins, bright and frantic, carrying beings whose lives spun on without pause, without knowledge of the storm about to break. The distant hum of engines, the kaleidoscope of neon signs flashing advertisements for things as trivial as caf or starship parts; it all blurred together into a meaningless haze. None of it mattered. 

Anakin Skywalker ascended the Temple steps with steady strides, each footfall echoing faintly against the ancient stone. The dark folds of his cloak billowed behind him, trailing like the shadow of something larger and hungrier. The fabric whispered against the cold air, a sound barely more than a breath. It was a rustle too quiet to be noticed under normal circumstances, but here, in these sacred halls carved from sterile silence and self-righteousness, it felt louder.  

The grand entrance yawned open before him—tall, imposing, framed by towering statues of long-dead Jedi Masters carved in solemn, watchful poses. Their expressions, frozen in serene contemplation, had once inspired awe in him as a child. Now, they looked like silent judges. He met their unblinking stares without flinching. They had no wisdom for him, no comfort. They were relics of an order that had doomed itself long before he’d ever set foot inside its walls. 

The doors hissed open with a soft mechanical sigh, parting like the jaws of some great beast and revealing corridors bathed in sterile, artificial light. The air inside was tinged with the faint, clean scent of polished floors and ancient stone warmed by generations of footsteps. It smelled the same. It looked the same. 

But it wasn’t. 

Anakin’s boots echoed softly as he moved through the halls. He passed many Jedi—Knights, Padawans, even a few Masters—each engrossed in their routines, too distracted by the rhythm of their orderly lives to notice him slipping between them. 

But then some of the more perceptive did take notice. Their heads turned, subtle at first; an instinctive response to a disturbance they couldn’t quite define, like animals sensing the shift in the air before a storm. Their eyes followed him, drawn not by recognition alone but by something deeper: a disturbance in the Force, faint but undeniable, permeating the very space he occupied. A few offered brief nods, respectful gestures borne out of habit, remnants of the deference they had shown to the man they believed was the Chosen One—the prodigy, the rising star of the Jedi Order, a burgeoning hero of the Clone Wars. 

But their gazes lingered too long. 

There was a sharpness to his features that hadn’t been there before, carved by years they couldn’t account for, shadows gathering in the hollows of his cheeks and beneath his eyes. And his eyes… his eyes no longer burned with the reckless fire of youth, the impulsive flare of a boy desperate to prove himself. That fire was gone, extinguished, leaving behind something colder. Older. A slow, smoldering intensity that didn’t flicker with fleeting emotion but burned steady and unrelenting, like embers buried beneath ash; quiet on the surface, but capable of igniting into an inferno without warning. 

Conversations faltered in his wake, voices dropping to hushed whispers. Some looked away quickly, discomfort flickering across their faces, while others stared a moment too long, frowning as if trying to place a memory that didn’t quite fit anymore. 

They didn’t understand what they were seeing, but they felt it all the same. 

He moved past them without a word, their whispers trailing after him. 

"Is that Skywalker?"  

"Something’s… different."  

"Do you feel that?"  

He didn’t slow. 

The doors to the High Council Chamber slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a room drenched in the fading amber glow of Coruscant’s setting sun. Light poured through the massive windows, casting long streaks of gold and crimson fractured by the geometric patterns of the transparisteel panes. Beyond the glass, the city stretched endlessly, its towering spires and bustling skylanes indifferent to what was about to happen here. 

Yoda was there, perched on his seat, his small frame cloaked in shadow despite the fading light. His gnarled hands rested lightly on his cane, but there was nothing fragile about that grip. Those hands had wielded power older than empires and shaped destinies with the ease of breathing. His eyes, twin lamps of ancient green fire, fixed on Anakin with a gaze that felt less like observation and more like exposure. There was no comfort in that look, no warmth, only quiet judgment. 

Beside him, Mace Windu sat rigid, seemingly carved from the same stone he used to grind his convictions. His dark eyes reflected only the barest glint of the setting sun, hard and flat as polished onyx, and his jaw was set with the familiar line of perpetual skepticism. Mace rarely needed to speak; his very presence was an accusation, a verdict waiting for the sentence to be read aloud. Anakin had always known that Mace never truly liked him. He gave Anakin respect given out of obligation, never belief. Mace didn’t trust him—not his power, not his instincts, not the potential that others had praised as the will of the Force. Where Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had seen promise, Mace had seen a problem. And standing there now, Anakin could feel it radiating off him as clearly as heat from a dying star. 

But then again, today he may end up proving Mace correct. 

Plo Koon, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Shaak Ti were there as well, their faces composed with the serenity expected of Jedi Masters. They were looking at him, but unlike Yoda and Mace, who knew him well enough to sense the difference immediately, these three did not have that same clarity. They knew Anakin, of course. They had watched him train, fought beside him, shared brief conversations in council chambers and war rooms, but their knowledge of him was distant and shaped more by reputation than by familiarity. Yet even from that distance, they could tell something had changed. 

Anakin stepped into the center of the chamber, the doors sliding shut behind him.  

Yoda’s ears twitched slightly and his ancient eyes narrowed. “Anakin Skywalker, I see before me,” Yoda said quietly. “But sense… someone else, I do.” 

Anakin said nothing at first. Slowly, he reached up and pulled back his hood. Their reactions were subtle but undeniable. Plo Koon leaned forward slightly, but his masked face betrayed nothing other than curiosity. Ki-Adi-Mundi’s brow furrowed and his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Shaak Ti tilted her head just enough to study him from a new angle. 

“I am Anakin Skywalker,” he said finally. “But not the one you know.” 

Mace Windu’s dark eyes narrowed. “Explain.” 

Anakin’s gaze swept over them, taking in their familiar faces and their familiar doubts. “It’s a long story,” he said, “one none of you would believe. I can hardly believe it myself.” His voice held a bitterness. “But that story doesn’t matter. There’s another one that does. A story about the darkness that’s suffocating this Order even as we speak.” 

Plo Koon’s voice was low and distorted through the modulation of his mask. “What darkness do you speak of?” 

“Surely you’ve felt it.” said Anakin. “The dark side clouding your minds, twisting your perceptions. It’s been creeping in for years.” 

A pause. Then Shaak Ti nodded slowly. “We’ve… sensed something,” she admitted in a cautious voice. “A dark veil over the Force. But its source remains elusive.” 

Anakin shook his head. “It’s not elusive. You’ve simply refused to see it.” 

The Council remained silent. 

“The Clone Wars,” Anakin said, stepping forward, “are an elaborate plot designed not to win territory or topple governments, but to destroy the Jedi. Everyone knows the Jedi are too strong to defeat when they stand together. But if you scatter them across the galaxy, spread thin over countless battlefronts, and surround each one with armies of clone soldiers bred for war...” He let the words sink in. “Then it becomes feasible.” 

“An interesting hypothesis,” Mace said in a cool tone. “But what proof do you have of this?” 

“Let me tell you a story.”  

Anakin recounted to the Council how, decades ago, a young noble from Naboo met a Muun Sith Lord who sensed the darkness festering within him. This noble, filled with ambition and resentment toward his family, eventually murdered them, sealing his path to the dark side. Under the Muun’s guidance, he was trained in Sith philosophy, manipulation, and the dark arts, all while secretly raising his own apprentice as an assassin. 

In time, Anakin explained, the noble betrayed and killed his Sith Master, claiming the mantle for himself. Seeking to expand his influence, he found a disillusioned Jedi, seduced him to the dark side, and tasked him with secretly commissioning a clone army for the Republic without their knowledge. 

To create the chaos needed for his rise, he manipulated a powerful trade federation to blockade his own homeworld, sparking a crisis that thrust him into the political spotlight. His calculated moves ensured he was elected Supreme Chancellor. Although his silent assassin was eventually slain, it didn't change much in the grand scheme of his plans. 

The fallen Jedi then became his apprentice and led a Separatist movement, which then ignited tensions that plunged the galaxy into war. The clone army, commissioned years prior, was unveiled as the Republic’s savior, allowing the Sith Lord to consolidate power under the guise of wartime emergency measures. 

When Anakin finished, the Council members stared at him. 

Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned forward and broke the silence. “Are you accusing the Chancellor of being a Sith Lord?” 

“I’m not accusing him,” Anakin said simply. “I’m informing you that he is.” 

Shaak Ti’s expression darkened. “That would explain… everything,” she murmured. “The war. The Senate’s blind loyalty. The way the Force has felt clouded and distant.” 

“This is a grave accusation,” Mace Windu said. “One that, if true, means the Republic is already under Sith control.” 

“The Republic has been under Sith control for a long time now,” Anakin snapped. “You just refused to see it.” 

Yoda’s eyes remained fixed on Anakin. “Decide how to confirm this without tipping Palpatine off, we must,” he said. 

Anakin shook his head. “I came as a courtesy,” he said flatly, “to let you know that after I leave here, I’m going to destroy Palpatine.” 

The Council members shifted in their seats. Mace Windu leaned forward toward Anakin. “That’s a dangerous course of action without learning more first. There are things we don’t yet understand.” 

“I’ve had a long time to think about it,” he replied. “And with all due respect, Master Windu, I’m not asking for your permission.” 

Mace stood slowly, his hand hovering near the hilt of his lightsaber. “Let me say this plainly, Skywalker. You are to take no action until the Council has deliberated." 

Anakin didn’t respond. Not with words. 

Instead, he simply exhaled and reached for the Force, and then the storm broke loose. 

His Force presence exploded outward, not as a wave, but as an all-consuming tidal surge. It wasn’t just felt, it was heard. A deep, resonant sound vibrated through the chamber, unlike anything the Council members had ever experienced before in all their years of training, meditating, and mastering its currents. This wasn’t the gentle hum of life. This was a roar. 

It echoed through the vast chamber like the bellow of a krayt dragon carried on desert winds. The sound wasn’t made with air or voice—it vibrated through stone, metal, and bone, rattling teeth and sending shivers down spines. It was the very fabric of reality flexing under the pressure of something it wasn’t meant to contain. 

The Force didn’t ripple from Anakin Skywalker. It detonated. 

It hit the Council members like a shockwave, slamming into them with the dense and absolute crushing gravity of a collapsing star. The impact wasn’t just physical, it was existential, like standing at the edge of an abyss and realizing it was staring back. The pressure was so immense it felt as though the very oxygen had been ripped from the room, leaving the chamber suffocating and hollow. Breathing became an afterthought, and now their survival was an instinct fighting against inevitability. 

Mace Windu was the first to fall. His feet were yanked from beneath him as if the floor had vanished, and his body crashed down with a violent thud. His knees struck the polished stone hard, and his face twisted in shock and fury. 

Shaak Ti’s sharp gasp was swallowed by the roar of the Force as she was lifted from her seat and flung backward like a rag doll. Plo Koon’s strong hands gripped the armrests of his chair, claws digging into the wood as he fought to resist. But resistance was futile. His fingers were peeled away one by one, and his arms trembled violently before his strength gave out entirely. He and Ki-Adi-Mundi collapsed together as the Force bore down on them both mercilessly. 

And then even Yoda, the indomitable Master himself, fell. His cane clattered to the ground, spinning uselessly across the floor. His small form sagged, as if the gravity of the entire galaxy had settled on his shoulders. His eyes squeezed shut from the sheer strain of withstanding Anakin’s presence. 

And then it was gone. 

The Force snapped back into stillness, and the oppressive gravity vanished. The Masters remained sprawled across the floor, gasping for breath. 

“I don’t want to hurt any of you,” Anakin said. “But I can’t let you stand in my way. This is too important.”  

With that, he turned and left. 

The guards outside Palpatine’s office never saw him coming. 

They stood at attention, clad in crimson armor and guarding the doorway to the most powerful man in the galaxy. But that power was an illusion and would be easily shattered. 

With a mere thought, and the first two guards were ripped from their positions and flung against the walls with bone-jarring force. Their helmets cracked against durasteel, consciousness slipping away before they even registered the threat. No blasterfire, no cries of alarm, just the hollow thud of bodies collapsing to the floor. 

The others turned, hands moving toward their weapons. Too slow. They, too, were swept aside. 

Anakin didn’t waste time on pawns. They were irrelevant. Their lives, their oaths of loyalty, none of it mattered. They were obstacles to him, and obstacles had only one purpose: to be cleared. 

The heavy doors to the Chancellor’s office stood before him, tall and imposing, carved with the ornate symbols of the Republic. Symbols meant to inspire awe and intimidate. 

But Anakin felt nothing as the doors slid open. 

And he stepped through, not as a Jedi, and not as a servant of the Republic. 

But as judgment. 

The office was dimly lit, and the grand window overlooking the vast skyline of Coruscant offered the only real illumination. The room was spacious and elegant in its deceptive simplicity. 

And there, at its center, stood Sheev Palpatine.  

He did not turn immediately. His hands were clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the city, apparently unconcerned. The reflection in the transparisteel cast an eerie distortion of his face; one side bathed in the golden glow of the city, the other lost in shadow. 

“Anakin, my dear friend,” Palpatine finally said, his voice calm and carrying no surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

Anakin took another step inside, and the doors slid shut behind him with a finality that neither acknowledged. 

“You know why I’m here.” 

Palpatine turned at last, and there was a flicker of something in the depths of his golden eyes. Amusement. 

“I had hoped we would have more time,” he mused. “But then again, you’ve always been so impulsive.” 

Anakin was too old to rise to this bait. He simply watched the man. 

Palpatine sighed as if disappointed. “The Jedi have always feared what they cannot control. And now they send you to do their dirty work? To strike down the Chancellor of the Republic under the guise of justice?” 

Anakin didn’t move. Didn’t blink. 

“No one has sent me, and you won’t be able to talk your way out of this.” 

A small smile crept onto Palpatine’s lips, touched with dark amusement. “Ah, there it is... that clarity, that fire. You’ve always been quick to anger, Anakin. I’ve always admired that about you. It’s honest.” His eyes gleamed with predatory satisfaction. “I’m proud of you, you know. For catching on. Most of the Jedi are too blind, too self-righteous to see what’s right in front of them. But not you. You’ve always seen more, felt more. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you powerful.” 

Anakin still said nothing. Palpatine continued, his voice softening and slipping into something almost paternal. 

“But you still don’t understand, do you? You think this is about me, about some shadow lurking behind the Senate. But the darkness you’re so desperate to destroy isn’t here,” he gestured lightly to himself, “it’s there,” he pointed out the window, “in the Jedi Temple, in their hypocrisy, in their arrogance. They’ve poisoned the galaxy with their stagnant ideals, their endless cycle of war masked as peacekeeping.” 

He stepped forward toward Anakin. “The Jedi preach peace, yet they command armies. They speak of balance, yet they hoard the Force for themselves. I am not the problem, Anakin. They are. Surely you must see that.” 

Palpatine’s voice grew softer, almost conspiratorial. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. You could rule at my side. Imagine it... a galaxy truly free, not shackled by the corruption of the Senate or restrained by the Jedi’s narrow-minded dogma. No more hollow codes. No more lies wrapped in robes of virtue. Together, we could reshape the Republic into what it was always meant to be.” 

He turned slightly, his gaze drifting out toward the sprawling city beyond the window. “A galaxy with order, with purpose! No chaos, no endless wars driven by the incompetence of politicians or the pride of Jedi Masters. Just strength, peace, and stability under a single vision.” Palpatine turned back to face Anakin, his smile fading into something colder. “ Our vision.” 

Anakin shook his head and spoke with a voice cold and absolute. “I’m not here to negotiate.” 

Palpatine’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed. And then, he moved. 

His hand flicked toward his desk—whether for a weapon, a hidden control, or something else, Anakin would never know, because he was faster. 

There was no hesitation. No preamble. 

The Force discharged from Anakin’s outstretched hand like a cannon blast, an invisible surge of pure power that slammed into Palpatine’s chest with the force of a meteor strike. The Sith Lord was blasted from his place, his feet leaving the floor as he was hurled backward. His body collided with the massive transparisteel window overlooking the cityscape, hitting with such a violent impact that the reinforced glass cracked. 

Palpatine slumped to the floor, gasping, and his carefully composed mask shattered along with the illusion of the kindly Chancellor. When he looked up, there was no pretense left—only the Sith Lord beneath, eyes burning yellow with anger, hatred, and malice. 

With a guttural growl, Palpatine thrust his fingertips forward, and the room lit up in a blinding flash of Force lightning. The jagged bolts of blue energy screamed through the air, crackling with raw, hot power as they crashed into Anakin’s chest. 

Anakin didn’t even flinch. 

The lightning surged over him, wrapping around his body like coils of electricity seeking to tear him apart. Yet he stood firm and unmoving. His face was illuminated, and his eyes narrowed—not with pain, but with pure disdain. 

Palpatine’s snarl faltered, and confusion spread across his face, quickly morphing into disbelief. 

“Impossible…” he hissed. 

Anakin slowly raised his hand, pointed his index finger toward Palpatine, and then unleashed his own lightning. 

But it wasn’t like Palpatine’s. 

It wasn’t the wild, chaotic tendrils typical of the dark side. 

The energy that erupted from Anakin’s fingertip was a single, overwhelming torrent, thick and blinding like the trunk of a tree made of pure, molten light. It roared through the air, veins of raw power branching out like limbs of crackling fury. The sound was deafening. 

The bolt slammed into Palpatine, and his limbs contorted grotesquely as the energy consumed him. His scream was brief, cut off almost instantly as the lightning burned through flesh, seared bone, and incinerated the very essence of what remained of his soul. 

When the blast finally faded, Palpatine’s body crumpled to the floor—a charred, lifeless husk, twisted and insignificant, barely more than ash. 

A moment later, the office came to life. Holoscreens flickered on. 

Anakin turned sharply as the dim glow of dozens of displays illuminated the room, revealing a pre-recorded message. A holographic image of Palpatine appeared, standing tall, his expression eerily calm and composed. 

"If you are seeing this message, it means I have been assassinated… by the Jedi Order.” 

Anakin’s blood ran cold. 

The message played on, meticulously crafted, each word carefully chosen to maximize damage. Palpatine spoke of betrayal, of a Jedi plot to overthrow the Republic, to seize power for themselves. He framed himself as a martyr, a leader who had sought peace only to be struck down by those who had sworn to protect it. 

And then the screens shifted. 

The security footage was damningly clear. Anakin, standing several feet from Palpatine who was sprawled out on the floor of his chamber, called forth deadly lightning, striking him down. 

No context. No sound. Just cold, undeniable imagery. 

The final words of the recording echoed through the chamber, chilling in their simplicity. 

"The Jedi are enemies of the Republic. They must be hunted… and destroyed." 

For the first time in a long time, Anakin hesitated, unsure of what to do. 

His hands curled into fists. “You planned this…” he murmured, his voice low and seething. 

Even in death, Palpatine had won. 

Even in death, he had played them all. 

The galaxy would still turn against the Jedi and the Republic would collapse. Everything he experienced and went through was all for nothing.  

But as Anakin stood there, surrounded by the flickering images of Palpatine’s final deception, he made a decision. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders. It would not end this way.  

"You think this will stop me?" he whispered, more to himself than to the empty room. 

Then, with a final glance at Darth Sidious’ charred corpse, he turned. 

He would still save the galaxy. 

No matter the cost. 

Chapter Text

Anakin was certain they had taken a wrong turn. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time he had followed bad directions; though usually, it was because he had ignored someone else’s. But now, as he and Obi-Wan trailed behind Kaelari through the narrow, lightless alley, a flicker of doubt nagged at him. Maybe putting their trust in a frightened child actually wasn’t the best idea. Maybe she had misremembered the way, or maybe her uncle had moved, or maybe— 

His thoughts were cut off as his boot scuffed against something slick that nearly sent him off balance. He looked down and grimaced. The ground beneath them was slimey, uneven, and littered with scraps of discarded metal plating and ancient stains that had long since seeped into the cracked duracrete. 

The alley’s strange design seemed like an afterthought in the cityscape, flanked on either side by towering, uneven walls that had clearly been patched and repatched over the years with mismatched materials. Some parts were old stone, others hastily reinforced with rusting plating. The surfaces were streaked with grime, and moisture clung in patches where the heat of the city hadn’t quite burned it away. Cracks spread through the structure like veins, some no more than hairline fractures, others gaping wide enough that Anakin could see the deeper layers beneath. 

Anakin slowed his pace, glancing at Obi-Wan. His former master was just as alert, though his expression remained neutral. That was always the difference between them. Anakin had always felt things so intensely—anger, fear, hope, instinct, all of it surging through him like wildfire, demanding action. But Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan could walk into nearly any situation, no matter how horrific or dire, and speak as if they were debating the weather. He felt the same things Anakin did. He had to. But he had mastered the craft of burying it, like most of the other Jedi. 

That restraint had always infuriated Anakin. It made Obi-Wan seem detached, distant, unwilling to truly engage with the world around him. How many times had they argued over it? How many times had Anakin snapped that Obi-Wan didn’t understand, that he couldn’t possibly feel things the way Anakin did? 

But right now, Anakin didn’t need to see his face to know the truth. 

Obi-Wan did feel it. He just wouldn’t say it aloud. 

This place was wrong. 

Every time Anakin reached for the Force, it was like reaching through thick grease in search of clean water. It tried to recoil from him and felt nothing like the Force from his own time. But wasn’t the Force something that was eternal and unchanging? That’s what he had always been taught. The Force was a constant river that flowed through all living things and binding the galaxy together. Feeling it here, though, made Anakin think maybe that was not so. 

Kaelari suddenly stopped walking. 

She turned, hesitating for a brief moment before pointing to what appeared to be nothing more than a featureless slab of wall. Anakin frowned, scanning the space. Then, as his eyes adjusted, he noticed it: a thin seam that was barely visible in the dim light, running in a narrow rectangle along the duracrete. A door? 

It was unmarked, without a keypad or visible handle, as if whoever had placed it there had gone out of their way to ensure it blended in completely. It was the kind of place that even if someone stumbled across it, they wouldn’t stop to question it. Just another empty wall in another forgotten alleyway. 

Kaelari stepped forward and pressed her palm flat against the wall. There was a pause, then a quiet  click  as something within it disengaged. The door shifted inward by barely a centimeter. 

Anakin tensed as Kaelari pushed the door open. 

The inside was dim, and the air was warmer than the alley outside, though not stifling. It smelled of spices and simmering broth, of aged wood and the faintly metallic scent that tends to cling to well-used technology and old furnishings. The walls were smooth, but they had been softened with rich tapestries and faded wall hangings depicting landscapes Anakin didn’t recognize. The flickering glow of recessed lights and a few glowpanels cast a gentle, uneven illumination that pooled in the corners and left parts of the room in shadow. 

Anakin had expected something sparse and utilitarian, maybe even barren, judging by the hidden, run-down exterior. Instead, the space felt lived-in, carefully arranged, and unexpectedly welcoming. 

A low seating area dominated the center of the room, with a circular holotable surrounded by a mix of cushioned chairs and a long, deep-backed couch that looked as though it had been repaired more than once. It wasn’t the sterile, minimalist furniture of Jedi Temple quarters; this was the kind of seating someone actually used. It was soft but sturdy and slightly worn at the edges; the kind of place where someone could sit for hours without discomfort. 

The walls were lined with shelves filled with a mix of objects—datapads stacked in uneven piles, old, paper books with cracking spines, small carved figures, and a few pieces of machinery that had been taken apart and half-reassembled. Some shelves held jars of preserved spices, dried herbs, and vacuum-sealed rations. In the far corner, a compact but well-stocked kitchenette was separated from the main seating area by a narrow counter. A pot of steaming broth sat on a heating element, its lid slightly askew, allowing tendrils of fragrant steam to escape. A plate of a half-sliced root vegetable of some kind rested nearby, along with a small cutting knife and a cloth smeared with traces of red spice. 

Near the back of the room, a narrow doorway led to what was likely a sleeping area, though the door was closed. Beside it, a long storage chest sat beneath a row of faded holo-images, the figures in them just blurred enough to make it unclear whether they had been taken down out of caution or grief. 

“I see Jedi in my home, but I don’t know why.” 

Anakin spun toward the source of the voice, and a man stepped out from the hallway near the back of the home. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His dark tunic was simple but well-worn, sleeves pushed to his elbows, revealing strong, calloused hands that had clearly known a lifetime of labor. His montrals were streaked with gray, and his deep-orange skin was lined with age, though his russet eyes still looked sharp and clear. 

He had barely finished speaking before Kaelari let out a delighted gasp. 

“Uncle Calaith!” 

Without hesitation, she tore away from Anakin’s side and ran toward him. Calaith barely had time to react before she threw herself at him, her small arms wrapping around his waist. He let out a small, startled sound before instinctively catching her and lifting her into the air. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

Kaelari, still clinging to his tunic, suddenly stiffened. Her grip tightened, and for the first time since they had arrived, her bright energy flickered and extinguished as the weight of everything that had happened came crashing down all at once. Her small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Calaith’s clothing, and then, a moment later, she broke. A choked sob tore from her throat, and her entire body began to tremble as she buried her face against his chest. Tears spilled freely, silent at first, then coming in gasping, shuddering waves. 

Calaith’s entire expression changed, and the sharp wariness on his face gave way to something raw and aching. He pulled his niece closer, his hand rubbing her back in slow, soft circles. He didn’t speak and he didn’t try to quiet her. He simply held her, letting her cry into his shoulder. 

Anakin watched the heart-breaking exchange in silence. Calaith’s reaction was one of grief, but not shock, and that told him all he needed to know. He had expected this. Maybe not today, maybe not so soon, but at some point he must have known this was coming. There was no stunned disbelief in his face, no desperate denial, and no grasping at false hope. Instead, there was just this heavy, weary acceptance; the kind that came from a man who had already imagined this moment long before it arrived. It meant he had lived with this looming over him for who knew how long, and now that it had finally come to pass, there was no relief or closure, only the bitter confirmation that his fears had been justified. 

“I am sorry to report,” Obi-Wan said, bowing his head, “that she was taken after her parents were killed.” 

Calaith only nodded, as if hearing the words spoken aloud made something he had long accepted feel final. 

“Was it you?” he asked quietly. 

Before either of them could answer, Kaelari pulled away from his chest just enough to look up at him, her face still damp with tears. “No,” she said through her sobs, shaking her head. “They saved me. From the ones who did.” 

Calaith’s eyes moved to Obi-Wan again and then to Anakin. Finally, he gave a slow, tired nod. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. The gratitude was genuine but heavy with grief. 

A silence settled between them, and Calaith ran a hand over his montrals, before shaking his head. “You all must be hungry,” he said at last in a quiet, flat voice. “There’s stew cooking.” 

A few minutes later, the four of them were at the table, eating and commiserating mostly in silence.  

The broth was rich and fragrant, and the warmth of it settled deep in Anakin’s stomach. No one spoke much beyond the occasional murmur of thanks when Calaith passed more food their way. Kaelari sat curled up beside her uncle, eating quietly, her face still blotchy from crying. She hardly finished half her portion before her exhaustion won out, and by the time they had cleared the bowls, she had fallen fast asleep on the long sofa, curled up with her head against a thick pillow. 

Calaith watched her for a long moment before standing and gathering the empty dishes.  

“You said you weren’t with the Jedi?” 

Obi-Wan inclined his head. “We walk the path of the light side of the Force,” he said smoothly, “but we do not stand alongside the Jedi Order in this war.” 

Anakin cast a sideways glance at his former Master. That was clever. It wasn’t a lie—not exactly—but it was crafted in a way that made people hear what they wanted to hear. The phrasing was careful, implying a separation without actually stating one. 

They did follow the light side, and they weren’t part of this Jedi Order. But the way Obi-Wan said it suggested something more intentional, as if they had once been involved and had chosen to break away. As if they were disillusioned wanderers rather than men who had quite literally fallen through the cracks of time. 

Anakin almost smirked, despite the situation. The Jedi Code frowned upon outright deception, but Obi-Wan had always understood the value of tactful omission. 

Calaith frowned. “That’s an interesting distinction,” he muttered. “And one I don’t often hear.” 

Anakin leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Let’s just say we’re not exactly locals,” he said, trying to choose his words as carefully as Obi-Wan had. “We don’t know the details of this war or what’s happening.”  

Calaith studied him for a long moment. “You must be from far away indeed if you’re confused about a war that’s been going on for a thousand years now.” 

Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged a glance. 

Calaith shook his head. “I won't lie, it’s very difficult to believe what you say,” he admitted, his tone blunt but not unkind. “But Kaelari… she’s exceptionally good at understanding the character of others.” He looked over toward her sleeping form, his expression softening slightly. “And if she trusts you, then I’ll choose to trust you, too.” He paused then rubbed a hand across two day old stubble. “I knew my sister and her husband would find this fate eventually,” he said. “I spent years preparing for the day it would come.” 

Obi-Wan straightened in his chair. “You knew they were Sith?” 

Calaith nodded. “Yes. My sister wasn’t always,” he said. “She joined them after our parents were killed in an orbital bombardment by the Republic. They said later that it was an accident, one of those ‘tragic casualties of war’ that you hear about in reports but don’t think about when they aren’t your family. But it happened, and she never forgave them for it.” 

His voice was steady but bitter. “She was angry and lost. When the Sith offered her a place, she took it. She met her met her husband at the academy on Korriban, and then later…” His eyes landed on Kaelari, and something in his expression darkened, just for a moment. “Later, she had Kaelari.” 

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “The Jedi that took her said they were after her because of her parents,” he said gently. “But I sense no darkness in Kaelari at all. Surely they would have sensed the same.” 

Calaith let out a small, mirthless chuckle and shook his head. “Kaelari has so much sunshine in her that no darkness could ever take root,” he said. “But I doubt that’s the actual reason why the Jedi wanted her.” 

Anakin frowned. “Then why?” 

Calaith exhaled, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because of the way she was conceived,” he said. 

Silence. Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a brief, confused glance before Obi-Wan asked, “What do you mean?” 

“My sister and her husband were obsessed with an old Sith prophecy,” he said dismissively, waving his hand. “The prophecy of the Sith’ari.” 

“I’ve heard the term before,” Obi-Wan admitted. “But I’ve never seen a clear explanation of what it actually means.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s just religious nonsense anyway.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “The way my sister explained it, is the Sith’ari is a prophesied ‘perfect Sith’ who would destroy all the other Sith completely… and somehow in doing so, make them stronger than ever before.” 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “That seems… contradictory.” 

Calaith chuckled. “Exactly.” He glanced toward Kaelari, still fast asleep on the sofa, her small frame rising and falling with slow, even breaths. “But the Sith are obsessed with the idea of power through destruction. They see death, ruin, and loss as a means to something greater.” He gestured vaguely. “To them, tearing something down isn’t failure; it’s just the first step to rebuilding it into something stronger.” 

Obi-Wan exchanged a glance with Anakin, his expression troubled. “And your sister and her husband believed this prophecy?” 

Calaith’s eyes darkened. “They didn’t just believe it,” he said. “They were convinced they could create it.” 

“And they thought... Kaelari was the Sith’ari?” asked Anakin. 

Calaith shook his head. “They wanted her to be. They thought they could bring the Sith’ari into being through a ritual during conception. Some kind of Force-binding process, drawing on both of their strengths to create the most powerful Sith the galaxy had ever seen. But then little Kaelari was born. And she was just… Kaelari.” 

His expression softened as he looked toward where she lay curled into the cushions. “She wasn’t some destined destroyer or a harbinger of a new age for the Sith. She was just like any other baby. And as she grew, she was nothing like them.” 

A faint smile found itself on his lips. “She was a beacon of light in a family of dark.” 

Anakin stared at the girl. A child born of Sith, raised among them, shaped by their beliefs and power… yet untouched by it. Untouchable by it. 

And the Jedi wanted her dead. 

Anakin had to swallow down a bitter taste rising in his throat. 

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan had many nightmares that night. 

They came in flashes. He had fractured glimpses of some darkness in the Force that felt far beyond his ability to comprehend. He saw Anakin first, kneeling. His head was bowed, lightsaber laid across his palms in supplication, but it was not the Jedi Council he was bowing to, but a man. The gigantic, armored being's skin was ashen, almost luminous against the deep shadows, but it was not the pale complexion of a sickly man; Obi-Wan knew it was somehow wrought by the dark side, though he could not say how he knew. His features were sharp, chiseled like a statue, and his eyes burned a red-orange like smoldering coals. They were not wild with fury as Maul’s had been, and they were not filled with madness. They were steady and cold.  

The ashen figure lifted a gauntleted hand and placed it on Anakin’s head. 

And then the dream shifted. The armored figure was kneeling now. 

The massive creature who had been looming over Anakin now bowed his head before him, his great hands resting on his thighs in a mirror of the position Anakin had taken before. The red-orange glow of his eyes had dimmed, and his heavy cloak pooled around him, the fabric dark as dried blood. Anakin stood above him, but it was not quite the same Anakin Skywalker that Obi-Wan had trained. He was speaking, and though Obi-Wan could see his lips move, he could not hear the words.  

The dream shifted again to flashes of war. 

Anakin moving, his blade carving through warriors in black and red armor like they were nothing. The battlefield stretched wide and endless around him, a sea of corpses with weapons still clutched in lifeless hands. His robes were torn, his skin streaked with dust and blood, but he did not stop or even slow. 

Another flash, and Anakin’s enemies were different now. An army of Jedi and soldiers stood in formation before him, their ranks stretching into the distance, white and gold armor gleaming beneath a storm-dark sky. He began his work cutting them down. 

Obi-Wan gasped awake on the sofa to the sound of Kaelari screaming. His hand instinctively reached for his lightsaber, but before he could reach it, two other lightsaber blades—one green, one blue—materialized and hovered inches from his throat. 

The two Jedi from earlier stood over him. 

“You are under arrest,” the human one said coldly. “For treason against the Jedi Order and colluding with Sith forces.” 

Obi-Wan remained very still, making sure to keep his hands visible. “You are mistaken,” he said slowly. “I can assure you, neither my companion nor I have conspired with any Sith.” 

The Kel Dor’s grip tightened on his saber. “Enough. Get up.” 

Before Obi-Wan could respond, another scream came from down the hall, followed by the unmistakable crackle and hum of an igniting lightsaber. 

Oh no, Obi-Wan thought. Anakin... 

The human Jedi barely had time to react before a blur of motion shot into the room and slammed into him, knocking him into the wall. Anakin was already engaged in combat with another Jedi, his blue blade sweeping in wide arcs as he shielded Kaelari behind him. The girl clung to the fabric of his tunic, trembling as Anakin deflected strike after strike. 

When the Kel Dor Jedi turned to intervene, Obi-Wan saw his opening. 

He reached out with the Force, yanking a heavy ceramic jar from the nearby shelf. It hurtled through the air and smashed against the Kel Dor’s temple. The Jedi stumbled, his lightsaber wavering just enough for Obi-Wan to roll off the sofa, seize his own weapon, and ignite it in one smooth motion. 

All at once, the small room became a battlefield of clashing lightsabers and Force energy. 

Anakin was fighting two Jedi now, his blade spinning so fast that Obi-Wan could barely follow it. His movements were extremely aggressive and impossibly precise; an unrelenting storm of blue light that met every attack with overwhelming force. 

The Force pulsed outward in waves, rattling the walls, shattering furniture. Shelves splintered, tapestries ripped from their hooks, and the air became thick with the scent of ozone and burning fabric. 

Then—a sharp, pained cry. 

Obi-Wan turned just in time to see Calaith stumble forward, his hands clutching his side where jagged shrapnel from an exploded piece of furniture had embedded itself deep inside him. Blood bloomed across his tunic with startling speed. 

Kaelari screamed again. 

Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted. They needed to end this, now. His muscles tensed as he shifted his stance, angling his lightsaber against his opponent’s for a deflection. The impact sent a jolt up his arm, but he barely registered it. His mind was already racing ahead as he sank into the force, calculating, searching for any possible advantage. 

Their blades locked, humming violently against each other, and the Jedi before him gritted his teeth, pushing harder, trying to force Obi-Wan off balance. Obi-Wan twisted his wrist at just the right angle, breaking the deadlock, and sent his opponent staggering back a step. 

That was when he saw the deep gashes running across the grain of the wooden support beams above them. The floor trembled beneath his feet, and his chest tightened as he realized the structure was failing. 

“Anakin!” he shouted, deflecting another strike as his opponent lunged again. He barely had time to throw up a counter, his blade twisting against the other Jedi’s with an explosion of sparks. “The ceiling—!” 

But before he could finish, a loud snap, like the breaking of a great tree, echoed through the room. The beams above them buckled, and for a fraction of a second, everything seemed like it might hold.

Then, with a deafening roar, the entire ceiling collapsed. 

Everything around Obi-Wan slowed in that last moment, frozen in the instant before ruin. In that moment, Obi-Wan could see and feel the truth of everything. 

He saw Anakin, the boy he had trained, the boy he had guided, the boy he had loved like no other, and suddenly, he understood an unbearable truth with crystal clarity. 

He had failed Anakin. 

Not in teaching him to fight. Not in training him to be strong. But in being the master he needed. 

Qui-Gon would have known. Qui-Gon would have seen the boy for what he was; not just the Chosen One, not just the strongest Jedi warrior of his generation, but a child who needed love. Qui-Gon would have never held him at arm’s length, never let duty and tradition stifle what should have been affection, trust, unconditional belief. 

Obi-Wan had done his best, but now, in this one final moment, he realized with a deep, aching sorrow that his best had not been enough. 

He should have been kinder. He should have told Anakin he was proud of him, that he was grateful for him, and that despite all the arguments, all the misunderstandings, all the struggles, he was never disappointed in him. Because he wasn’t. Even now, as the world came crashing down around them, Obi-Wan could see the man Anakin had become. He was brilliant, and there had never been another Jedi like him. There never would be again. 

With all the strength left in him, Obi-Wan reached out. 

Not with his hand, for his arms were already pinned and of no use to him now, but through the Force, through the connection that bound them together in a way no Jedi doctrine could ever sever. He poured everything into that connection—his pride, his love, his regret, his hope. 

Anakin. 

He hoped that this loss would not destroy him. He knew that Anakin would surely grieve but hoped that he would not lose himself to that grief. He hoped that he would rise and carry onward and remember him not as the master who failed him, but as the brother who loved him. 

Across the room, still in that one final moment, Anakin’s blue eyes turned toward Obi-Wan. And for a moment, just a moment, time was nothing. 

The fear on Anakin’s face was raw, and his lips parted, his expression caught between panic and devastation, but Obi-Wan could see beneath it. Anakin felt him, and he understood. 

Dust and ruin rained down, but Obi-Wan managed one final breath for one final truth, pushing it past the literal and figurative weight crashing down on his chest. A truth he had never spoken but had always been there. 

"You are my brother, Anakin... I love you." 

Then the moment passed, and the world went dark. 

Chapter Text

Pain and darkness. 

They were all that remained. They were everything. They consumed him, swallowed him whole, and left nothing else behind. 

The pain was fire—searing, ravenous, and unrelenting. It devoured him from the inside out, turning his nerves into embers and his flesh into smoldering ruin. Every shattered bone and torn muscle throbbed and pulsed in time with his failing heartbeat. 

The darkness was ice—biting, merciless, and suffocating. It coiled around him, seeping deep into his skin, dulling sensation until he could no longer tell where his living body ended and the wreckage began. It filled his lungs with a cold so sharp it felt like drowning. 

And then there was the crushing weight. The sheer tonnage of mass comprised of shattered stone and twisted durasteel pressed down hard on him, grinding against fractured ribs and pinning him beneath the ruin of what had once been a building. He was trapped. 

And he was dying. 

His breath came in ragged, wet, shallow gasps, each one worse than the last. Something was broken inside him. Ribs, obviously, shattered and driven inward, stabbing into his lungs with every inhale. Or maybe it was worse, and his lungs had already collapsed, filling with blood instead of air. 

He could taste it; the liquid was thick and coppery, pooling in his mouth, coating his tongue. 

His vision blurred, flickering in and out like a failing holo. The world narrowed to a tunnel of shifting shadows, flickering light, and drifting embers. It was becoming impossible to focus. 

He clenched his teeth. No, he refused to let go, but even as he clung to consciousness, he could feel his life slipping away. 

He couldn’t move his right arm. 

No... he couldn’t even feel his right arm. 

A surge of panic cut through the haze, sharper than the pain. He forced his head to turn, blinking away the blood and sweat dripping into his eyes. His mechanical arm was nothing more than a mangled ruin of durasteel and sparking wires, crushed beyond repair. His left hand was still there, but limp, weak, and useless. 

He tried to move his legs. Only one responded. 

The other… 

A spike of agony tore through him, and he nearly blacked out. He felt the break and the way his leg bent where no joint should exist. A fresh wave of nausea surged through him, his stomach twisting violently against the pain, but there was nothing to expel other than the taste of blood on his tongue.  

There was no way he would be able to stand, but he had to move. If he survived, then maybe... 

No, he couldn’t think about that right now. One thing at a time. He needed to get out first because his mind was already betraying him, spiraling into places he couldn’t afford to go. 

His good hand clawed forward, fingers scraping against dirt and broken wood.  

Move.  

He planted his palm against the rubble above him and pushed, muscles screaming in protest and agony. The structure groaned and shifted slightly, but not enough. There was too much weight and too much damage. 

Panic flared in his chest and his breath came faster. His pulse thundered in his ears as he reached out for the Force, grasping at it desperately, trying to draw upon its strength. The Force was his ally, and through it all things were possible. When he managed to let go and surrendered to it, the Force caught him like an updraft catching a soaring bird, lifting him beyond fear and hesitation and pain. It was instinct and will, bound together as one with motion and clarity to create the purest expression of being that one could ever achieve. He would let himself fall into it, and in return, it would rise up to meet him and carry him forward. When he called out, it answered. 

Until now. 

He reached harder, further, grasping and pulling and trying to force it back but it was like clutching at smoke, dissipating before he could hold it. His connection, a deep, intimate bond he had known since childhood, was slipping away, retreating like water draining from a broken vessel. 

His agony turned to anguish and fear. The Light was leaving him. He reached even deeper, trying to summon the warmth of it, the familiar current that had always been there, guiding him, but it continued slipping away. It was like the dying embers of a fire. Distantly, he sensed it like the last flicker of light before the sun vanished beyond the horizon. 

A wave of terror crashed over him like he had never known. It was a true, soul-deep fear. Not of death, not of pain, but of being completely and utterly alone. 

Anakin had always feared loss. Feared abandonment. He had spent his whole life clinging to the things and people he loved, holding on so tightly because if he didn’t, they would slip through his fingers like sand in the Tatooine wind. And now, when he had nothing else left, the Force itself was abandoning him. 

Anakin let out a strangled breath. His body trembled and his mind was reeling. He was losing it—losing himself, and something else was waiting to take its place. 

Something cold. Something powerful. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. Not yet. He had to get out first. Had to move. 

With the last reserves of his strength, he planted his hand firmly against the rubble and reached out—not to the Light side of the Force as he had always done in the past, but to something else. 

The air around him trembled and the rubble groaned. A deep, guttural growl tore from his throat as he pushed—not just with his muscles, not just with his will, but with the sheer force of his rage and fear. The debris above him lurched, then lifted, and was thrown aside in a sudden, violent burst. 

Anakin dragged himself forward, gasping, his good arm pulling him through the wreckage. His leg burned, his mechanical arm still useless, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. 

The cold night air hit his skin like a slap; the contrast from the suffocating heat beneath the rubble shocking him back to full awareness. He heaved himself over a broken beam, collapsing onto his stomach as he coughed, spitting out dust and blood. 

For a long moment, he simply lay there, chest rising and falling, his body trembling with the effort of survival. The Force still felt distant... or at least, the Light did. But something else had answered him. Something stronger and hungry. He knew what it was, but he refused to admit it, even to himself. 

A shuffling sound of movement a couple meters away caught his attention. He lifted his head, blinking wearily through the haze of dust and pain. 

Across the ruins, another figure was emerging. A human man staggering out from the wreckage, bloodied but standing. His robes were scorched and tattered, and his face was lined with exhaustion and pain. 

A Jedi. 

The man’s gaze swept across the destruction, then locked onto Anakin. His expression twisted with horror. 

“You’re still alive,” he coughed, voice hoarse and disbelieving. He reached down and plucked the hilt of his lightsaber from the rubble. His fingers tightened around it, knuckles whitening. "You should not be." 

Anakin said nothing. He couldn’t; his body was barely holding together. Every breath was agony, and every movement sent waves of pain through his shattered bones and burned flesh. 

The Jedi stumbled forward, raised his weapon, and ignited it.  

Anakin knew he would not survive this fight, but he still picked up his lightsaber. The weapon felt heavy in his hand; heavier than it ever had before. His fingers barely had the strength to curl around the hilt, but they did. He forced them to. The sapphire blade hissed to life and the odor of ozone rolled off from it. 

His vision blurred. His muscles trembled. His legs refused to hold his weight. 

But none of that mattered. Not compared to the truth that burned inside him, hotter than any fire and sharper than any blade: this Jedi had taken everything he had left from him. His mentor. His friend. The only person in the galaxy who had ever truly understood him, who had never abandoned him and never stopped believing in him, even when the rest of the Order had often turned their backs on him. Obi-Wan was gone. Because of him.  

He had killed Kaelari, a little girl who had done nothing but exist, who had never known cruelty until the Jedi had found her. 

He had murdered her uncle, a man who had given her shelter and loved her and only wanted to keep her safe. 

This Jedi—this monster—had taken them all. He was not a warrior of justice. He was evil, and that same evil had infected the entire Jedi Order of this time. 

The Jedi surged forward, his blade cutting through the dust. Anakin barely raised his own saber in time. Their blades collided with a violent, crackling hiss. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Anakin’s ruined arm, forcing him to grit his teeth against a scream. 

The Jedi struck again. Faster this time. Harder. 

Anakin staggered. His left arm trembled violently as he parried, barely able to hold his blade steady. 

The Jedi’s eyes burned with something close to revulsion. “I don’t know what you are,” he snarled, slashing downward with brutal strength. Anakin caught the strike at the last second, but the force of the blow nearly ripped his saber from his grasp. The Jedi sneered, pressing down and forcing Anakin even lower. “But I do know this,” he growled. “You should not exist.” 

Blow after blow rained down on Anakin’s blade and then something happened. 

He let go. 

He let go of the pain, of the weakness, of the part of him that still thought there was a way out of this. 

The fury took hold, and it made him stronger. 

The burning agony in his shattered leg—gone. 

The blinding pain in his crushed and assaulted arm—nothing. 

His body no longer trembled from his injuries. The Force steadied him, filling his limbs, replacing his failing strength with something new. Something dark. 

He exhaled and let himself fall into it. 

The fight shifted. 

Where before his body had struggled, now it moved. Reacted. There was no thought, no hesitation; only instinct. The Force guided his blade with perfect precision. 

The Jedi snarled in frustration as Anakin parried, sidestepped, countered. 

Anakin was moving faster now. His strikes became sharper, more refined, and more ruthless. He no longer needed to think about his next move. He had never been this deep in the Force before. It felt intoxicating. 

The Jedi's attacks became more reckless, more desperate. He struck again and again, hammering down against Anakin’s blade, trying to break him, but Anakin was no longer breaking. He was winning. 

Until suddenly— 

His strength wavered. 

The Jedi pressed forward as Anakin’s body slowed. His movements lost their unnatural flow and precision. The darkness that had been carrying him began to slip. 

The Jedi felt it, and he struck even harder and faster, unrelenting in his attacks. 

Anakin stumbled, forced back to his knees as his legs buckled under him. He gasped, blinking the sweat and blood from his eyes. The Jedi loomed over him, blade raised high, ready for the final blow. 

And then— 

Blaster fire. 

A storm of red bolts tore through the night and slammed into the Jedi’s back and side. He gasped, his lightsaber slipping from his fingers and deactivating before it hit the ground. He collapsed backward onto the rubble, staring up at the night sky with unseeing eyes. 

Anakin turned his head, vision swimming. Beyond the ruins, black and red armored figures appeared from the darkness and approached, their weapons still raised with smoke curling from their barrels. 

One of them was shouting something at him, but he couldn’t hear him. Their voices were distant and muffled, as if they were speaking to him underwater. Everything around Anakin blurred. 

None of it mattered. Not the figures, not their orders, not the battle that had just ended. Because beyond them, half buried in the rubble, he saw a glimpse of torn, brown fabric. 

The agony of his injuries was nothing compared to the grief that crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He dragged himself forward, broken fingers clawing against shattered stone, his ruined body screaming. He barely had the strength to move, barely had the breath to speak, but he would find the strength to reach him. He had to. 

One of the armored figured stepped forward, reaching for him. "Stay where you are. You're—" 

Anakin’s hand shot up and a pulse of power exploded outward, sending the man flying backward. 

Anakin barely registered it. His world had narrowed to a single point. 

His fingers tore at the rubble, pulling away chunks of stone, digging, clawing through the wreckage with the last of his failing strength. His nails cracked, blood smeared across the rocks, but he didn’t stop—couldn't stop. He wrenched away a larger slab of debris as his vision blurred with sweat, dust, and tears. 

And then— 

He saw his face. 

Obi-Wan. 

Anakin’s breath caught in his throat. 

His former master lay still beneath the broken remnants of a pillar, his body half-crushed and unmoving. 

“No...” 

The strangled and desperate word barely left his lips. His chest heaved and his heart pounded against his ribs like a beast trapped in a cage. He reached for Obi-Wan, grasping his tunic with shaking fingers, as if willing it to be could bring him back. 

"Master," he whispered. Then louder—"Master!" 

He didn’t respond. 

Anakin shook him, his hands gripping the fabric of his tunic and robes like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. 

"Obi-Wan, please," he begged. "Please, I— I can't—" 

A raw and ugly sob wrenched its way up his throat. 

"I'm so sorry." His voice broke, the words tumbling out like shattered glass, each one cutting deeper than the last. "I'm sorry for being so reckless. I'm sorry for never listening—" his breath hitched, tears streaking down his dirt and blood stained face, "—for being the worst student you could ever have had." He gripped the fabric tighter in his fingers. "I was never what you wanted in a Padawan, I know that. I was selfish. I was stubborn. I thought I knew better than you, all the time, and I didn’t." 

His shoulders shook violently. 

"But you still believed in me." His voice cracked. "Even when I didn't deserve it, even when I failed over and over again, you still believed in me." 

His forehead pressed against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his body collapsing under his grief. 

"You were the best master I could have ever asked for," he whispered. "You were my brother. My friend." He squeezed his eyes shut. "And I never told you how much I appreciated you. How much I needed you." 

The words ripped through him, breaking something deep inside, something he had kept buried for so long. Everything he had never said, everything he had always felt, spilled out in one terrible, unstoppable flood. 

And then something changed—a retaining wall ruptured deep within him, like floodgates breaking. The pain in his body vanished; the grief in his chest became something else. The Force surged, rising inside him like a storm breaking free from a dam. 

He gasped— 

And then Anakin Skywalker detonated.  

The ruins of the house flew outward with the force of star going nova. Chunks of shattered stone and twisted metal were ripped from the earth and hurled violently into the night sky like meteors flung from an angry god. The very air shook, splitting apart with a deafening boom that rolled across the city streets like thunder. 

The ground beneath him cracked open and deep fissures spiderwebbing outward, swallowing broken beams and charred debris into the abyss below. The ancient duracrete buckled and caved inward, as though the footprint where the house had sat had been struck by a giant fist. A deep, guttural roar tore through the air, not from Anakin's throat, but from the Force itself, as the fabric of reality fractured under the weight of his pain. 

A violent, howling maelstrom of power erupted from Anakin’s body, tearing through everything in its path. Bodies were ripped from the ground, flung away like motes of dust in a hurricane. The armored soldiers were caught mid-step, thrown backward and swallowed by the swirling chaos.  

The stars above blurred, warped by his gravity; their light stretched and twisted unnaturally in the wake of his power. The crater beneath him widened, its edges glowing faintly from the friction of the destruction. The exposed rock at its center began to melt and the dust fused into glass from the impossible heat radiating from the epicenter of Anakin’s devastation. 

Anakin’s body lifted from the ground; not by his own will or choice. The Force held him suspended, as though caught within the eye of the storm. His limbs hung limp, and his robes whipped violently around him in the swirling winds. 

His eyes fluttered and his mind slipped, drifting, lost somewhere between agony and oblivion. The Force had never felt like this. It had never consumed him. It had never burned through him like wildfire, tearing away everything. 

And then it ended, and Anakin’s body fell to the ground, and he surrendered to the darkness. 

Chapter Text

The meditation chamber in the Jedi Temple was silent, save for the ever-present soft hum of Coruscant’s distant traffic outside. Anakin sat cross-legged on one of the circular meditation chairs with his hands resting lightly on his knees the way Master Yoda and Obi-Wan had taught him all those years ago. Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. Let the breath guide the body. Empty the mind. Let go of all distractions. Focus on the breath. Focus on the Force. 

The Jedi taught that true serenity came when one surrendered to the Force, letting its currents move through them like a river flowing past a stone, but Anakin never quite felt like a stone. He felt more like the rushing current, eager to push forward, to move, to act. Sitting still had never been easy for him, but he did try. He tried to quiet the noise, to silence the storm of thoughts that always threatened to pull him away from the moment. 

He felt confusion, and darkness curled at the edges of his thoughts, creeping in like shifting smoke. Fragmented flashes of images and sounds came unbidden by him, no matter how hard he tried to empty his mind. Small fingers clinging tightly to his tunic, a strained voice calling his name, the crack of stone and a collapse. Distant pain. Hopelessness. 

His breath wavered. No. He shouldn’t chase them. He didn’t want to chase them. Let it go.  

He forced himself to focus on his body, on the slow breath that filled his lungs and the measured exhale that left his lips.  

"Hello again, my young friend," came a deep, warm, familiar voice. 

Anakin’s eyes snapped open. Across from him, somehow, sat Master Qui-Gon Jinn. 

The man was exactly as Anakin remembered—broad shouldered, with long hair falling loosely over his Jedi robes and shortly trimmed beard that was slightly unkempt at the edges. There was also something more now, but he couldn’t place exactly what it was; something ethereal to the master, even though he seemed completely solid. 

Anakin blinked. “Master Qui-Gon?” His mind scrambled for logic, but none came. "How are you here? You're—" 

"Dead?" Qui-Gon finished for him with an amused expression. "And yet, here I am." 

Anakin swallowed. "What’s happening?” He looked around the meditation chamber, and memories slowly started coming back to him. Painful memories. “This... doesn't make sense." 

Qui-Gon nodded and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "Well, life and death aren’t as binary as you might think." He gestured toward Anakin. "After all, you are here as well." 

Something cold settled in Anakin’s stomach as more memories came rushing back. The battle. The collapse. He exhaled sharply. "Am I dead?" 

Qui-Gon didn’t answer right away, but then smiled and said, "Do you feel dead?" 

"I've never been dead before,” said Anakin, frowning. “So, I wouldn’t know what it feels like." 

Qui-Gon chuckled. "A fair point. No, Anakin. You are not dead. Not yet, but you are at a crossroads." He gestured to the chamber around them. "If you wish, you can be at peace and move on, joining with the Force. Or…" He paused, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Anakin’s. "You can return, though you will not find peace for a good, long while if you do." 

Silence stretched between them until Anakin lowered his gaze, hands curling into loose fists on his knees. 

Anakin’s breath caught as a thought suddenly struck him. "Obi-Wan—" His voice cracked as he turned back to Qui-Gon. "Is he here?" 

"No.” Qui-Gon said, his features softening into something close to sorrow. “This place is just for you. Time moves differently here. He will be along. But not yet." 

"Oh... Well then I’m not sure I see the point in going back,” he said. His voice was hollow. Not angry. Not bitter. Just… empty. 

Qui-Gon said nothing. He simply waited. 

Anakin inhaled shakily. "I failed them." The words came easily, because he knew them to be true. "I failed Obi-Wan. I failed the girl. I failed her uncle. They're all dead because of me." His throat felt tight. "Maybe the Council was right all along." 

Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed slightly. "Right about what?" 

Anakin exhaled slowly and his shoulders slumped. "That I should never have been trained. That I was dangerous. That I was never meant to be a Jedi." He forced a hollow chuckle. "Maybe the Force agrees. Maybe that's why it’s punishing me now." 

For a long moment, Qui-Gon didn’t speak, but then stood and walked over to Anakin, kneeling beside him and resting a firm hand on his shoulder. 

"I know what it’s like to feel like a failure, Anakin." 

Anakin frowned, glancing at him. 

Qui-Gon nodded. "I failed both you and Obi-Wan. My choices put things into motion that neither of you were ready for. I defied the Council, believing that I knew the best path forward. In doing so, I forced Obi-Wan into a role before he was ready. He was still grieving me when he became your teacher." 

A rumble of something stirred in Anakin’s chest. He had never really considered that. He had spent so long blaming Obi-Wan for being too rigid, too cautious, too controlled... but Obi-Wan had never wanted to be a master. He had been thrust into the role without much choice out of loyalty and obligation to his own master. 

Qui-Gon continued, "But things happened as they did because the Force wills it." He smiled the same kindly smile that he gave Anakin when he was a boy. "And I have learned more since passing on than I ever did in life." 

Anakin’s expression hardened. "The Force is punishing me." 

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. The Force does not take sides. It simply is." He gestured around the empty room. "The Jedi and Sith only see fragments of the Force. The Jedi fear the dark because they do not understand it. The Sith embrace the dark because they believe it is all that matters. Neither Order sees the whole because they choose not to." 

Anakin was quiet, digesting the words. Qui-Gon let the silence linger for a while before continuing. 

"The Jedi seek peace without change. The Sith seek power without restraint. Neither will ever truly succeed, because the Force does not bend to our will. We must learn to move with it.” Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "I said before you are at a crossroads. If you do decide to come with me, you will have peace, but the Republic will fall." 

“W—what?” Anakin stuttered 

"The war will end, but not in victory. The Republic will crumble under its own weight, devoured by the darkness festering at its heart. A great empire will rise, built on fear and ruled by cruelty. Entire worlds will burn, and the Jedi will become nothing more than whispers of a past that was wiped away. The galaxy will descend into decades of oppression, war, and despair." 

Anakin felt his hands tremble. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes softened, but his words did not. "But if you return—if you choose to endure—you may still change what is to come." 

He stepped closer, lowering himself back to Anakin’s level. "The Force does not demand, Anakin. It does not choose for us; it only offers us paths, and right now, the path before you is one only you can walk." 

He searched Anakin’s face, as if waiting for the words to sink in. 

"But you must decide." 

"If I still have a choice,” Anakin said slowly, “if I can still change what’s to come, then why can’t I feel it?" 

Qui-Gon cocked his head, a confused look on his face. 

"The Force has gone from me, Qui-Gon. I reach for it, and there’s nothing. No warmth, no guidance, not even the faintest whisper." His eyes fell onto his hands. "I am empty." 

Qui-Gon nodded, and the words that came were firm, but not unkind. "The Force has not abandoned you, Anakin, but you have turned away from the path of the Jedi. You will find the Force again, but it will be down a different road." 

Anakin stared at Qui-Gon, disbelieving. "I can’t believe this." He scoffed. "I’m having a hard time believing that Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn is actually encouraging me to embrace the dark side and become a Sith." 

The warmth in the older man’s face was suddenly gone, and his blue eyes narrowed with something Anakin couldn’t remember ever seeing in them—anger. 

"You haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said." His voice was not raised, but there was a distinct edge to it now. "I told you that neither the Jedi nor the Sith see the Force for what it is. Both cling to half-truths and refuse to understand the whole." 

Anakin opened his mouth, but Qui-Gon pressed forward. 

"If you are to make a difference, you must learn where the two philosophies overlap and live there. You are the Chosen One. You were never meant to be a Jedi or a Sith. You must learn from both, but you are beyond either. You are the balance." 

Anakin felt frustration boiling beneath the surface. "Then how am I supposed to do that?" he demanded. "How do I do that? I don’t know what I’m doing! I have no one and nothing left. How am I supposed to learn what I need to?" 

Qui-Gon held his dark and stormy gaze. "All you have to do is wake up." 

Anakin’s frustration slipped for a moment, giving way to confusion. 

"What?" 

Qui-Gon lifted a hand, and before Anakin could react— 

“Wake up!” 

A sudden, powerful Force push slammed into him, lifting him from his meditation chair and sending him hurtling backward. 

The chamber vanished, and then— 

Anakin was... floating and weightless. His mind felt sluggish, adrift in a haze and caught somewhere between sleep and waking. His battle senses activated as he surveyed the situation. There was no ground beneath him and no air on his skin. His body could move, but only barely. It felt like he was trying to push through Halla honey. 

His lungs tried to instinctively gasp, but his mouth and nose were sealed beneath a mask that was snug against his face, delivering oxygen to him in steady, mechanical bursts. The air it carried had a faint chemical sterility; it was too clean and stripped of anything organic or real. His lungs took it in, though. 

As his vision slowly cleared, he became aware that he was suspended in a thick, bluish liquid, and could see distorted shapes beyond the glass in front of him. Everything was blurred and distorted by the liquid and the curved surface of his confinement warping the world outside. 

Anakin was struggling to focus when he saw the droid standing just outside the tank, with its mechanical gaze fixed on the consoles before it. Its spindly fingers moved, adjusting controls and seemingly monitoring the readouts. 

He moved a hand toward the transparisteel before him, and the resistance of the bacta was immediate. Its dense, gel-like consistency made even small movements feel delayed and unnatural. He had never been in a bacta tank before, and he found it quite claustrophobic, feeling like he was about to suffocate despite the mask providing him air.  

He tried focusing on something else, taking stock of his body. He seemed to be healed of his injuries, though he had aches in his muscles and a dull stiffness in his joints, but those were to be expected from being mostly motionless for a long period of time. Then, by instinct or by accident, he reached out for the Force, but it was gone. He had never known what it was like to be without it, even as a child, before he understood what he was. The Force had always been there as his constant companion, but now, as he stretched outward, searching, there was nothing. No warmth, no current, no presence beyond himself. 

His heart began to race, a dull, pulsing thud in his ears, muffled by the thick bacta. He tried again, reaching out even while knowing the result would be the same. There truly was just... nothing. 

His breathing grew uneven as his body suddenly felt too confined and too restricted in the weightless suspension of the tank. His chest tightened and a deep, twisting pressure began spreading from his sternum outward. He tried inhaling deeply, but the filtered air from the respirator felt thin and unsatisfying, like he was breathing through fabric and unable to pull in enough oxygen no matter how much he tried. 

No, no, no, no...  

His heartbeat pounded faster as the sterile blue glow of the bacta tank seemed to narrow around him, the curved transparisteel walls closing in. He could no longer tell if he was sinking or floating. The sensation of direction was gone, lost in the dense, clinging liquid that now felt more like a cage than a healing agent.  

He needed to get out. 

Anakin’s breath caught, and in that instant, panic fully took hold. 

His muscles seized and his back arched involuntarily as he struggled against the thick gel that held him in place. The artificial weightlessness was unbearable. His mind screamed at him that he was trapped, that he would never get out, that he would be left in this suffocating muffled silence forever. 

His breathing grew erratic and he took sharp gasps through the mask as his body desperately tried to escape the nonexistent threat of drowning. He knew, logically, that he was not—but panic didn’t listen to logic. 

His arms jerked, fingers clawing at the liquid, trying to push, to force movement where there was none. His legs kicked wildly, the dense bacta resisting every motion and making each struggle feel slow and ineffective, like fighting through a nightmare where nothing responded as it should. 

He let out a strangled, guttural sound, but it was swallowed and absorbed by the thick fluid before it could reach his own ears. 

His mind was unraveling, spiraling further into terror as the sheer helplessness consumed him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel the Force. 

He was dying. 

Then, movement outside the glass as the droid had turned, its photoreceptors locking onto him and registering his violent thrashing. A moment later, it turned back to the control panel, and its fingers moved swiftly across the illuminated display. 

There was a low mechanical hiss, and the bacta began to drain. 

The liquid rushed downward, and there was a rapid, disorienting shift in pressure as the thick gel was sucked away into the filtration systems. His body sank, and his limbs became suddenly heavier as gravity began to return. His feet brushed the smooth bottom of the tank, but he barely felt it over the feeling of his heart still hammering in his chest. 

As the bacta receded past his shoulders, his skin prickled at the sudden exposure of the cold air and a damp chill rushed over him. The mask over his mouth and nose disengaged, releasing with a sharp hiss, and without thinking, he gasped and pulled in his first breath of unfiltered air. 

The air felt too sharp and raw, and it hit his lungs like a physical force. He coughed violently as his body rebelled at the sudden change. His muscles tensed in an attempt to brace himself against the remains of his panic, and he tried to reorient himself to reality. 

He was out of the bacta. He was breathing. He was alive. 

There was a sharp hiss as the bacta tank’s transparisteel panel disengaged and swung open. The last remnants of the thick, blue-tinted liquid clung to Anakin’s skin and dripped down his arms and legs to pool onto the cold metal beneath him. 

Though he was able to stand unsupported momentarily, his knees began to buckle, unaccustomed to bearing its own weight after the prolonged suspension, and he nearly collapsed. His legs felt like gelatin, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he thought he was going to crash onto the floor until firm, mechanical hands caught him. 

The medical droid, suddenly standing beside the tank, stabilized him, gripping his arm and shoulder to keep him from falling. 

"Careful," the droid intoned in a neutral, synthetic voice. "You may feel disoriented and weak. Bacta immersion reduces muscle tension and inhibits motor function temporarily. This effect will pass." 

Anakin’s breath came fast, and his chest rose and fell with the effort of simply staying upright. His head swam and a dull fog clouded his senses. His fingers curled against the droid’s cold, durasteel arm, grounding himself. 

The droid’s hand lifted from his shoulder and a thin syringe extended from its wrist. "This will assist in your recovery," the droid said. "A concentrated stimulant infused with electrolytes and metabolic enhancers to counteract the effects of prolonged immersion." 

Before Anakin could react, a sharp sting pierced the side of his neck as the droid injected the serum directly into his system. A brief, spreading warmth followed, then— 

Strength.  

It was nearly instantaneous. The weakness in his legs faded, his muscles tightened, and his senses snapped into sharper focus. The sluggishness that had made his limbs feel like lead melted away. 

He pulled away from the droid’s grip and straightened, his balance now stable. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m okay, I think.” 

A moment later, the doors to the medical bay slid open, and two figures strode in.  

The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man, probably in his late forties, with a rigid posture that made Anakin think he was likely a career soldier. His dark uniform was immaculate, every seam pressed perfectly, and the insignia on his chest seemed to mark him as someone of considerable authority. 

The second was a lean, striking woman, likely in her mid-to-late thirties, with a composed, almost feline grace. She was tall but not imposing, with sharp cheekbones and a cool, almost amused look on her face. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight braid, keeping every strand perfectly in place, while a thin scar traced the edge of her jaw, barely noticeable unless the light hit it just right. Her uniform, though just as pristine as the man’s, seemed to mold to her movements rather than restrict them. She was beautiful, Anakin thought, in a rugged sort of way. 

The man was the first to speak. 

"We weren’t sure if you would survive," he said in a voice that held no warmth. It was only a practical statement of fact devoid of sentiment. "I am Captain Jareth Korr, commanding officer of this vessel.” He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is Subcommander Varis Dorne.” 

The woman grinned predatorily and gave Anakin a wink. She turned toward the droid and said, “Get him some clothes, droid, then bring him to Lord Veydris." 

The droid bowed its head slightly. "Acknowledged, Subcommander." 

Varis turned back to Anakin, her sharp green eyes holding his for a beat before smiling again. "Welcome aboard the Doomspite." 

With that, she and Captain Korr turned sharply on their heels and strode out of the room, the doors sliding shut behind them. 

Anakin let out a breath as he watched them go. "Quite the welcoming committee." 

The droid turned to face him, its photoreceptors flickering briefly, then moved toward a nearby storage compartment. A panel slid open, and it retrieved a simple, gray tunic and pants, neatly folded. It turned back toward Anakin, extending them forward. 

"Your clothing," it said. 

Anakin took them, the fabric rougher than what he was used to, but functional. As he unfolded the tunic, he glanced toward the droid again. "What's your name?" he asked. 

"I do not have one," it said simply. 

Anakin frowned. "You don’t have a name?" 

"Correct." 

He thought for a moment. "Well, then what’s your designation?" 

"BT-7Q." 

Anakin nodded, considering. The alphanumeric name wasn’t exactly personal, but it was something. He let the name roll through his mind for a moment. "Mind if I call you ‘Seven’?" 

The droid was silent for a brief moment, then responded with the same neutral tone. "You may call me whatever you choose." 

Anakin raised an eyebrow, then gave a small shrug. "Alright, Seven it is,” he said. “By the way, what exactly is the Doomspite?" 

"The Doomspite is a Sith Warblade-class light cruiser," Seven replied. "It is a specialized warship used by the Brotherhood of Darkness for fast-strike engagements, Jedi-hunting operations, and fleet support." 

Anakin’s fingers tightened around the tunic for the briefest of moments, though outwardly he forced himself to remain still. 

A Sith vessel?  

He kept his expression neutral, but inside, his thoughts raced. He had been rescued—or captured—by Sith. Slowly, he pulled the tunic over his head, adjusting it to fit his frame. "And who is Lord Veydris?" he asked carefully. 

"Lord Veydris is a Sith Lord of the Brotherhood of Darkness," Seven responded. “The Doomspite is her flagship.” 

Anakin frowned, his mind working through fragmented memories as he searched for recognition of the name. He had definitely heard it before—somewhere. 

His thoughts drifted back to his early years at the Jedi Temple, seated cross-legged in the dimly lit archives as Master Jocasta Nu, Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives, droned on about ancient conflicts.  

“The Sith took many forms throughout history,” she had said. “While their core ideology remained the same—hunger for power and domination over those they saw as weaker than themselves—their methods and structure evolved over time.” 

There had been names that he could remember scribbling half-heartedly, but he had been more interested in perfecting a new levitation trick under the table than absorbing the finer details of a war that had happened a thousand years ago. 

Now, standing aboard a Sith warship in the past, he cursed himself for not paying better attention. Frustration flared in his chest, but he forced it down, focusing instead on the droid. 

"What is the Brotherhood of Darkness?" he asked. If his own education had failed him, then he would have to learn from the enemy instead. 

"The Brotherhood of Darkness is the dominant Sith Order of this era; a militarized faction composed of Sith Lords and warriors united under a single cause," the droid stated in its flat, mechanical voice, as if it were reading from an article in its databanks. "Unlike previous Sith orders, they reject the old ways of Sith rivalry and infighting, choosing instead to function as a single unified force." 

Anakin’s brow furrowed slightly. That didn’t sound like the Sith he had learned about. The Sith were defined by their selfishness and endless betrayals and backstabbing. They had always devoured themselves, their own greed and ambition preventing them from ever holding power for long. 

Seven continued its recitation, "Under the leadership of Lord Kaan, the Brotherhood has abandoned the doctrine of the strong ruling the weak. Instead of each Sith vying for dominance over their own empire, they have forged a singular war machine, where all Sith fight side by side rather than against one another. Through unity, they believe they can finally achieve their ultimate goal—the destruction of the Jedi and the Republic." 

Anakin felt a cold weight settle in his chest and his mind spun with questions, but before he could ask another, the droid spoke again. 

"Please proceed quickly. Lord Veydris does not like to be kept waiting, and I will be held responsible for any delay." 

He glanced at the droid. It didn’t seem afraid, it was a machine, after all, but it seemed to truly understand the consequences of making a Sith Lord wait. Swallowing his unease, he pulled the last of his clothing into place and then followed the droid out of the medbay and through the corridors of the ship. 

Anakin’s thoughts churned with the information the droid had given him. The Brotherhood of Darkness seemed unlike the Sith he knew from his time that were monolithic in their selfishness, always seeking to rise above one another. Every Sith was willing to kill anyone—even their own kind—to claim power for themselves. Darth Maul. Count Dooku. All of the Sith that he could remember learning about were all consumed by their own singular pursuits, their own identities, never truly loyal to any cause beyond themselves. 

Could the knowledge of the Sith that the Jedi had be flawed somehow? 

The more Anakin thought about it, the more he realized that even the two Sith he had personally encountered had been entirely different from one another. 

Maul had been a weapon; nothing more, nothing less. He was a creature of rage and vengeance. He had not been a strategist, nor had he seemed to hold any personal ideology beyond destruction. He had fought with the single-minded intensity of a beast let off its leash, more a manifestation of hatred than a man. And that was what had made him terrifying. He was pure, unthinking aggression. 

And then there was Dooku. Dooku had been something else entirely. He had been composed, refined, elegant, everything Maul was not. He had not fought to destroy, not the way Maul had. He had fought to control. 

Unlike Maul, Dooku had once been a Jedi, and not just any Jedi, but a Master and former member of the High Council. He had not been raised in the darkness, nor had he been shaped by pain and suffering. He had chosen the Sith and turned his back on the Jedi Code because he believed himself above it. His fall had not been one of rage, but of pride, and of disillusionment with the Republic and the Jedi Order itself. 

Anakin had learned from Obi-Wan that Dooku’s loyalty had always been conditional, bound by his own sense of superiority. He had been a man who saw himself as righteous, as a leader who had been wronged by a flawed system and had taken it upon himself to fix it on his own terms. 

They had both been Sith, but they had been nothing alike, save for one fundamental flaw that bound them together: selfishness. That was the Sith way—betrayal, ambition, and destruction from within. They could never build anything lasting, because their own hunger for power would never allow it. Whether through blind devotion or sheer arrogance, they all fell eventually. 

And yet, if what Seven said was true, the Brotherhood of Darkness had somehow moved past that. If the Sith’s greatest weakness had been removed, and these Sith had somehow found a way to abandon personal ambition in favor of collective power, what would that mean? 

The idea was unsettling, because a Sith Order that refused to destroy itself was not just dangerous; it would probably be almost unstoppable. Yet, as Anakin followed the droid aboard this Sith flagship, everything about the ship itself struck him as underwhelming. 

The corridors were narrow, tighter than he would have expected for a warship. He saw few crew members, and those he did pass had their eyes forward and expressions devoid of curiosity. There was no idle chatter, no sense of life beyond the ship’s function. It couldn’t have been much larger than a Consular-class Cruiser, the Republic’s ship of choice for diplomats, of his own time, so if this was one of the flagships of the Sith fleet, then perhaps their Empire was not as impressive as he had feared. 

They finally stopped before a large set of doors, engraved with intricate Sith sigils similar to those Anakin had seen in the underground temple on Dromund Kaas. Seven lifted its metal hand to the control panel and pressed a button. 

A soft chime echoed through the air; a brief, melodic note that felt almost out of place in the cold atmosphere of the ship. 

From hind the door, a voice, smooth, rich, and unmistakably feminine, called out. "Come." 

A moment later, the engraved metal doors slid open with a deep hum, parting smoothly to reveal the chamber beyond. 

Seven stepped aside and gestured inward. "Lord Veydris will see you now." 

Anakin hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, and as he crossed the threshold, the doors sealed shut behind him with a quiet hiss. 

The chamber was unexpectedly elegant. A large, sleek metal desk sat at the center, flanked by two chairs. The walls were lined with soft crimson and black tapestries, and the lighting was warmer than the sterile white glow of the corridors. A few artifacts and old scrolls rested on nearby surfaces, but there was nothing excessive or ostentatious. 

Lord Veydris, Anakin assumed, stood near the desk, waiting for him. To his surprise, she was breathtakingly beautiful. She had the deep olive skin of someone who might have been born under a warm sun, with a golden undertone that caught the warm light in the room. Her high cheekbones, full lips, and softly angular jawline gave her an aristocratic beauty. 

Her dark, almost black hair was gathered into a series of elegant twists, held in place by subtle silver pins shaped like the Sith symbols on her door. Her eyes, a striking amber that glowed ever so faintly in the dim light, peered at him with an expression that seemed welcoming. 

Veydris was dressed in a deep red and black robe that was cut in such a way that it clung to her figure and made Anakin want to blush. When she smiled, it was warm and inviting. 

"Welcome," she said, then gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Please, sit." 

Anakin hesitated for only a moment before moving forward and sinking into the chair, his body still adjusting to the weight of full gravity after the bacta tank. Veydris took her own seat and folded her hands on the table. 

"I am Lord Veydris," she said, still smiling at him. "And you are?" 

He barely thought before the words left his mouth. "Mace Windu." 

For a moment, silence hung between them. Then, Veydris let out a rich laugh, shaking her head. 

"Really?" Her amber eyes sparkled with mirth. "I can appreciate the attempt, but if deception was your intent, you could have chosen a more believable sounding name." 

Anakin tensed, but she lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture. 

"I understand your hesitation," she continued soothingly. "But if you prefer not to say, I can always pull it from your mind if it makes things easier. I have a particular skill in reading the thoughts and emotions of others, you see." She looked at him for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "And I sense a great deal of fear in you." 

A surge of irritation stirred in Anakin’s chest, and before he could stop himself, the words came out. "I'm not afraid of you." 

Veydris arched a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her lips curving just slightly. "Of course you are," she mused. "You are Jedi; I am Sith. These are the way of things. But even if it isn’t me that you fear, you are afraid all the same. Very much so." 

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. "But fear is not the only thing I sense in you." Her gaze grew almost pensive, something thoughtful settling into her expression. "There is loss as well, isn’t there?" 

Anakin remained silent. 

"You have lost much," she continued, as if peeling through layers of thought without needing to be told. "People, certainly. But also…" She stared into him for another long moment and then closed her eyes. "You have lost something far more intimate." 

Anakin’s stomach tightened. 

Veydris inhaled slowly, letting the realization take shape behind her closed eyes. “Yes,” she said. "Yes, you have lost your connection to the Force, haven’t you? You poor dear." 

Anakin’s pulse spiked, though outwardly, he did not react. 

Veydris’ golden eyes opened again, locking onto his. There was no cruelty in her expression, no gloating satisfaction at his suffering. Her voice softened, almost pitying. "That must be terrifying, and strange, is it not? To be reduced to something ordinary. To feel... small. Especially after what I felt even here in orbit." 

"What do you mean?"  

"I felt your power," she said simply. "It was raw, untamed, and magnificent." 

She seemed to be studying his face for a reaction, but he would give her none. 

"I have seen it before, you know. Jedi burning themselves out." Veydris leaned forward slightly. "It happens when they try to do what they were never learned how to do. They call upon too much power, more than they have ever tried to wield, and they aren’t able to handle it. Their bodies survive, but their connection to the Force does not. It burns out." 

Anakin’s remained motionless, but a fresh wave of fear washed over him. 

She continued watching him carefully. "But the truth is, that is not what truly severs them from the Force. Do you know what is?" 

Her gaze suddenly seemed very predatory to him. 

"It is their fear of that power that does it.... Jedi are taught to fear their power," Veydris continued, almost lazily, as though discussing something indisputable yet amusing. "They wield it with caution, with restraint, always afraid of what they might become if they take too much. Always hesitating, always holding back." She chuckled softly. “I can hardly even imagine such a thing.” Her voice dipped lower. "And so, when they do finally reach for it—when they grasp the full magnitude of what the Force can offer them—it terrifies them." 

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs once more, watching his reaction. "That fear is what severs them. That fear is what chokes the connection. Some even die from it, if you can believe it!" 

Anakin felt his pulse pounding in his ears. 

Her voice dipped into something softer and silkier. "But the ones who survive it… the ones who find their way back?" She gave him a smile. "They learn to embrace that immense power. To crave it. To take it." 

She let the silence stretch for a while as she watched him. Then she said, ever so softly, "And you, Anakin—do you want to take it back?" 

His breath caught. 

Anakin.  

The name fell so casually from her lips, as if she had known it all along. 

"I can help you, you know,” she said. “I can help you find your way back and achieve a power greater than any Jedi. If that is what you wish.” 

The next few hours were a blur for Anakin. 

Lord Veydris, it seemed, had no intention of wasting time. She had immediately called the bridge over the comm and gave the order to jump to lightspeed. The deck officers had responded, and within moments, the Doomspite shuddered as it jumped into hyperspace. 

And then, the lessons began. 

She told him about Sith beliefs, some of which he already knew—power was strength, passion was fuel, the weak would always fall beneath the strong—but there was more, things he had never been taught, ideas that he had never considered. 

She spoke of Lord Kaan, the man who had unified the Sith and brought together thousands of dark warriors under a single cause. The Sith had always been divided, she told him, clawing at one another, always seeking to outmaneuver and betray until Kaan had changed everything. He had forged them into an army, an empire built not on personal ambition but on the strength of collective their power. 

"He did what no other Sith before him could do," Veydris had said, her eyes gleaming with something close to admiration. "He made the Sith a force that could truly rival the Jedi. No more scattered warlords, no more infighting. The Brotherhood stands together, and because of that, we are stronger than we have ever been." 

Anakin listened in silence and absorbed every word. Hearing this history, while also living it, was far more interesting than being a thousand years removed from it. 

She told him about the Sith Academies and about the harsh trials that awaited those who sought to claim the title of Sith Lord. 

"Not all Sith are trained equally," she had explained, pacing slowly through her chambers. "There are many academies across Sith space—Korriban, Ziost, Ambria, Thule. Each one produces warriors, assassins, inquisitors. But the Academy on Korriban?" She grinned. "Only the most powerful are trained there, and that’s where you are going." 

The Sith were divided into ranks of ability, from the new initiates barely strong enough to command the Force, to the Adept-class warriors, the Acolytes, and finally the true Lords of the Sith. She spoke of battle meditation, of the dark rituals used to instill terror into enemy ranks, of Sith alchemy that could warp flesh and imbue weapons with unnatural power. 

She told him that there were no Sith Masters in the Brotherhood, that Lord Kaan had abolished the title and thereby ensuring that no Sith claimed dominion over another. They were all Lords, all equals—at least in principle. 

And through it all, Anakin listened. He learned. He cataloged every piece of information because he knew that knowledge was the only weapon he had right now. 

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the comm chirped sharply, cutting through their deep conversations. "My Lord," came the voice of Captain Korr. "We have arrived and are in orbit of Korriban." 

Veydris smiled broadly. "Acknowledged, Captain. Prepare my personal shuttle." 

She turned to Anakin, standing with a grace that seemed almost inhuman. 

"Come," she said. "It is time for you to see where your journey truly begins." 

The shuttle rumbled softly beneath them as they descended toward Korriban’s surface, the metal walls vibrating with the low hum of the repulsorlifts as they adjusted to the planet’s thin atmosphere. Anakin sat across from Veydris in the small cabin, his gaze locked onto the ever expanding landscape beyond the viewport. 

It was barren, windswept, and endless. For a moment, it reminded him of Tatooine. The same harsh reds and browns, the same vast emptiness, the same unforgiving sun burning down onto desolate terrain, though Korriban only had one. 

The wind stirred thick clouds of dust and sand, casting shifting patterns across the ancient ruins below. Massive stone monuments—some half-buried, others towering over the valley—marked the landscape and their carved figures stood as silent sentinels over the place.  

The Valley of the Dark Lords, Veydris pointed out, stretched out beneath them, and its many tombs cast long, black shadows across the cracked land. Anakin could feel it, even without the Force. There was a heavy, unseen presence that lingered over the world like a phantom of something long dead but never truly gone. It was similar to Dromund Kaas, but not nearly as potent. The Sith had made this world their graveyard, but somehow, it still felt alive. 

Veydris watched him as the shuttle neared the academy. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she mused.  

Anakin said nothing. 

The shuttle touched down on the academy’s landing platform with a soft thud, the engines whirring as they powered down. Outside, the massive structure of black stone and crimson banners over the entrance waited for them. 

“Come,” Veydris said, rising gracefully from her seat and gesturing toward the exit ramp as it lowered into place. "Lord Qordis is expecting us." 

Veydris walked beside him, descending deeper into the academy grounds. "Korriban is more than a world," she said. "It is the heart of the Sith. The birthplace of our kind. Every stone here is steeped in that power, in the memory and the unshakable will of those who came before us." 

Anakin glanced around at the worn, sandblasted structures, the ancient obelisks, and the tombs that stretched into the distance. 

"These ruins," she continued, gesturing toward a colossal structure carved into the mountainside, "are the remnants of the first Sith temples, built when Korriban was still ruled by the original Sith species thousands of years before the Republic existed, and before the Jedi even knew we were here." 

Anakin absorbed the information as they continued to descend. 

"Then came the exiles," Veydris said, her voice taking on a note of deep reverence. "Jedi who rejected the lies of the Order and sought to harness the Force in its true, untamed form. When they came to Korriban, they were worshipped as gods, and from their union with the Sith species, a new empire was born." 

"And the academy?" he asked. 

Veydris smiled. "It was built on the bones of what came before. The old temples were repurposed and reshaped into a place of learning, of testing, and of ascension. From here, the strongest of our kind are forged. Only those who prove their worth rise above the rest. Only those who embrace the Sith Code fully survive." 

Anakin cast her a sidelong glance. "You sure know a lot about this." 

Veydris chuckled softly. "Knowledge, Anakin, is the one true power that no one else can take from you." 

Anakin slowed his steps for half a heartbeat. Almost those exact words had been spoken to him before when he was a boy in the Jedi Temple. Master Nu had said it more than once, when he had been impatient with his studies. "Weapons can be taken,” she had said, “strength can be outmatched, but knowledge remains. Knowledge is power, young Skywalker." 

Finally, they reached a large set of double doors, different from the others; heavier, darker, adorned with Sith runes that pulsed faintly. Veydris paused, casting a glance at Anakin before she lifted a hand and pressed a small panel beside the entrance. A soft chime rang through the air. 

"Come in,” called a voice, and the heavy doors slid open.  

The chamber of Lord Qordis was a vast hall lined with artifacts and ancient texts, and the air smelled of burning incense and old parchment. The walls were embellished with intricate carvings that depicted battles and what might have been the stories of the rise and fall of Sith Lords who had come before. 

At the center of the room, lounging in a high-backed chair of blackened durasteel, was Lord Qordis. 

He was an older man, perhaps in his late fifties, but still displayed an impressive amount of regal arrogance on his face. He reminded Anakin of Dooku. The comparison struck him immediately. Like the fallen Jedi Master, Qordis clearly carried himself as though he belonged above others, as though he had seen the rise and fall of lesser beings and had never doubted that he would endure. 

But there was a subtle difference. Where Dooku’s refinement had been meticulously crafted as a result of years spent among nobility and politics, Qordis’ arrogance seemed older and much more deeply rooted. He did not need to convince anyone of his superiority. He knew it as fact. 

The moment Veydris entered, Qordis’ demeaner lifted and his posture straightened slightly as his eyes roamed over her with undeniable interest. 

"Veydris," he said, smiling. "You always bring me the most interesting gifts." 

Veydris laughed softly, stepping forward and purposely, Anakin thought, swaying her hips just enough to hold his attention. "Only the best, my lord." 

Qordis’ gaze met Anakin’s. “Well, what do we have here?" he asked. 

Veydris turned to Anakin and gestured toward him as if presenting a prize. "Someone with more potential than any I’ve ever seen." 

“Is that right?” Qordis hummed in thought, tilting his head and rubbing his chin. "That’s a big statement, coming from her,” he said, nodding toward Veydris. “Tell me, boy, why have you come?" 

Anakin straightened his posture and met Qordis’ gaze head-on. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it all the way. No half measures.  

"I was a Jedi," he said carefully, allowing some of the bitterness he felt to seep in. "But that life is behind me now." 

Qordis stared at him. “Why? Why is that life behind you?” 

"The Jedi never trusted me, even after everything I gave them." 

His breath came sharper now, his anger rising. He didn’t have to force it because it had always been close to the service. 

"They never wanted me. I was never supposed to be trained because they said I was too old and too different. I didn't fit their mold." His voice was laced with the quiet fury that had simmered inside him for years. "They only took me in because they felt obligated to the Jedi Master who found me and then died. And no matter what I did, it was never enough for them." His eyes dropped to the floor, looking back through the past decade of his life. "They held me back. They questioned me at every turn. They wouldn’t listen to me, even when I was right." 

He could see them now, the council chambers, the narrowed gazes, the doubt in their eyes every time he spoke. 

"They wouldn’t even save my mother." 

The words came out quiet, but the weight behind them was anything but. 

And then the ground trembled. 

It was subtle at first, faint, almost imperceptible shifting beneath his feet. He didn’t notice it, as he was too lost in his own words and the fire he was building his chest with the pain that had long turned to rage. 

Qordis and Veydris, however, felt it instantly. 

They exchanged quick, electrified glances as the very air in the chamber began to vibrate. The holocrons lining the walls rumbled against their pedestals, and loose scrolls fluttered where they lay.  

But Anakin didn’t see any of it. 

"She was suffering, enslaved, left to rot on a backwater world, and they did nothing." His teeth clenched together as something flickered at the back of his mind, but he shoved it away. "They preach compassion, but when it actually matters, they do nothing." 

The tremor beneath them grew, the stone floor grinding against itself. Qordis gripped the armrests of his chair, but his expression was nothing short of exhilaration. 

Veydris’s eyes widened and her breath quickened, lips parting in something close to a hunger, almost awe. 

Power.  

It was raw, untamed, and spiraling out of Anakin with every word, every thought, every ounce of fury he unleashed. 

And he still didn’t see it. 

"They sent me into battle. They praised me when I won their conflicts, but they still didn’t trust me." He scoffed bitterly as he reached to feel the knife twisting deeper into wounds that had never truly closed. 

The sconces flickered and the lights flared and dimmed around them. 

"No matter how many times I bled for them, no matter how many times I saved their lives, I was always a danger. Always a problem to be handled." 

The tremors grew stronger, a hairline crack splitting the stone beneath Qordis’ chair. 

Still, Anakin remained unaware, his focus locked inward, drowning in memories, in anger, in everything he had lost. 

"And then they killed the only person who ever believed in me." 

The air cracked like thunder. 

Veydris let out a nearly maniacal laugh, and Qordis straightened in his chair, his grin growing more wicked every second. 

But then the chamber settled. The flickering sconces steadied, their flames shrinking back to their original size. The tremors in the stone floor faded, and the heavy tension that had filled the room eased, though it did not disappear entirely. 

Anakin exhaled, slow and controlled. The fire in his chest still smoldered, but it no longer raged unchecked. The moment had passed, and the emotions that he had unbottled, and whatever had cracked open inside him, had been reined in once more. 

Anakin lifted his chin, his voice steadying. "I’ve come to learn the ways of the Sith." 

Qordis looked toward Veydris, then back at Anakin. The wild look on his face evaporated, and now the poised bureaucrat was back.  

"Many who come here," Qordis said, his tone quieter in a way that almost felt reverent, "choose to shed their old names. A name carries weight, carries memory. It ties to a life that can no longer exists.” 

Anakin’s stomach dropped at the thought, but he knew it was true.  

“Some take on a new name as a declaration of their future," Qordis continued, watching him, "and a severance from their past." He gestured toward Anakin. "You may do the same, if you wish." 

Anakin took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reached out, not just for the Force, but for the truth of himself. 

He had spent his entire life fighting parts of himself, burying them, forcing them into neat, contained spaces because the Jedi had told him that was the way. That fear led to anger, and anger led to hate. That his attachments would ultimately lead to destruction. 

But what had that given him? 

A lifetime of restraint, control, and suppression, and then he still ended up losing everything. 

He had always been taught to push away his emotions, to keep them locked behind an unshakable wall of discipline, but discipline had failed him. Restraint had failed him. And now, standing in the depths of a Sith academy a thousand years before he was born, he understood what he had to do. 

He had to stop fighting it. 

He reached into his fear, the terrible, suffocating fear of being powerless, of being left behind, of not being enough. He let it settle in his chest, let it breathe through him, instead of trying to crush it beneath layers of control. 

He reached into his anger, the righteous fury that had burned in him since he was a boy, the rage at the injustice of the universe, at the Jedi’s blindness, at how they had abandoned the people they claimed to protect. 

He reached into his hurt, the wounds that had never healed—the mother who had been left in slavery, the master who had died before he could teach him the things he truly needed to know, the friends and mentors who had looked at him and seen only a threat instead of a person. 

He reached into his pride, the part of him that had never accepted weakness, the part that had refused to be small, that had pushed himself beyond limits no other Jedi dared to cross. The part of him that knew—knew—that he was meant for something greater. 

And instead of forcing them into the box the Jedi had given him, instead of trying to control them, silence them, and destroy them—he let them in. 

He accepted them. 

He let every part of himself close in around him, like a cloak wrapping around his shoulders; armor reforging itself from the shattered pieces of who he had once been. 

And then the Force answered him. 

It was faint, barely a whisper, a presence so small and delicate that he almost missed it entirely. But it was there. A single thread, the barest flicker of something vast and unseen, just waiting for him. 

He strained to listen, to follow it, to pull it closer. 

Then, softly, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if it came from himself or from something else entirely, the name formed in his mind, and the fire in his chest had settled, not extinguished, but shaped, contained not by discipline, but by acceptance. 

His eyes opened and he met Qordis’s gaze and spoke with absolute certainty. 

"Vader." 

Qordis’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "A strong name," he murmured. "One that will be feared." 

He leaned back, clearly pleased. 

"Welcome to Korriban, Vader."