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The sounds of Coruscant echoes throughout the levels of the Core planet. Honks and yells and thumps on the ground. Laughs and cheers and blaster shots in the air. The city planet never sleeps; she’s always awake for even the most nocturnal alien.
This is why the Temple has shifts between the knights. There is always a precaution taken to ensure the inhabitants were safe from dangers of the outside crowd.
Anakin knows this. He knows this as easily as he knows the ways around machines. The mechanics of his own wedding ring are easy to understand once looked at. It is no different from the Temple itself. The mechanics of the home he lives under are easy to understand once looked at. The weaknesses point themselves out on their own.
When his friend asks him for the impossible, he knows where he could strike, the weaknesses in which he could sneak in through. When his friend croaks an order, Anakin could see the weaknesses exhibit themselves in the office. The shaky hands, the wrinkled skin, the slow beat of his heart.
Anakin prides himself on being the best. He prides himself on knowing where to strike and coming out on top. He prides himself in his skill and his knowledge. Most importantly, he prides himself on his connection. The Force wraps around him like a cloak with a warmth only his mother has had. It speaks to him in his times of need and comes to his aid when he calls for it. Unlike the other Jedi, he has no reason to work hard on his Force skill when the natural talent lies in his fingertips.
It should be no surprise that his arrogance is the catalyst.
He strikes, listening to the Force like a child to a parent learning a new skill. He evades an attack and consumes the lightning thrown his way. The Force whispers of trust and love, the emotions of his mother, and he lets himself fall to the abyss. It slips under his skin and into his nerves; he rushes through his veins and curls in his heart. He can feel it drip from his mouth, mixed with the blood and saliva of his own being. His eyes burn with the intensity of the Force, dark and light at his core.
This, he thinks, is power.
Strands pass his vision, white in their path. His fingertips glide on top and watch as the strands turn direction to his palm. Time becomes less important, as does his thoughts.
Who is he? For what was he made?
The Force whispers of safety and Anakin nods. He grins then laughs. He feels utterly free in this place with only strands to keep him company. His ears catch sound of a song, familiar from his time as a child, and he turns towards it.
“Mother?” he calls out. Except it cannot be his mother. As slaves, they were not privy to having such luxuries such as music. But this melody…
This melody was one he fell asleep to many times.
He walks from the strands to the pulsing light behind him. Curious, he reaches out but pulls away at the flinch of the light. He leans down, turns an ear towards it.
Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba.
1, 2, 3, 4.
Beat, beat, beat, beat.
It is the same sound of his home.
“Mom?” he says, even though he knows he only has one mother. Warmth fills him down to his bones and he wonders if his mother was being honest when she said there was no father. He reaches out again, more slowly. The light is as soft as a tooka’s fur, as it wraps itself up his limb.
Anakin, he hears faintly. Anakin!
It sounds like Obi-wan and the Jedi turns to his master’s voice but only darkness greets him. When he turns back to the light, he hears another call.
Anakin, come back!
“Not now, Snips.” His eyes brighten in fascination as the light makes its way around his torso.
Anakin, please!
The melody increases in volume. Anakin hums in satisfaction, dropping to the floor in a crisscross position. He listens to the song of his childhood and ignores the repeated calls of his name.
Anakin!
When the light wraps around his neck, he hears the unfiltered voice of the Force. Mine, it claims, and its deep voice rumbles throughout the room. Anakin agrees blissfully.
“Yours,” he says with no care in the world. He wants to belong to someone. Anyone. Padme.
He regrets it immensely.
His breathing cuts off, as his body squeezes in the worst possible ways. The feeling of fur turns quickly into barbed wire, and it digs into his skin. He lifts a hand to his throat but there is nothing there to pull away. He scratches and scratches and tears at his own skin as he feels the wire cut deep into his esophagus.
Anakin, he hears again.
Anakin turns his head, tears in his eyes at the strangulation. There is nothing but darkness ahead of him. Nothing that could save him.
Anakin, let go!
“Obi-wan,” Anakin gasps out. His heart is erratic, attempting to escape the trap his owner has fell into. “Help me.”
His legs go numb, pain moving up to his torso. It intensifies under his weak attempts of getting the wire off him. With the delusion of a dying man, Anakin thumps his head back. Again, and again, and again. His head cracks and he wonder when he can hit hard enough to pass out.
Anakin!
Mine.
Anakin squeezes his eyes shut as his mouth opens out into a scream. His neck rips apart as fingers struggle to mend what they cannot feel.
“Please,” he gargles and wonders who he is asking. “Please,” he begs and wonders why his end must come like this. “Please,” and his eyes open to the white of the Jedi Temple medbay.
He blinks. Hands come up to his neck and smooth skin is all he feels.
He breathes. There is no struggle like before. He wiggles his toes and his stomach sinks with another exhale.
He whispers gratitude before his eyes shut once more.