Chapter Text
The throne room of Sundari shimmered with harsh, artificial light—red and blue cutting across the polished floor like dueling blades. The air was thin with heat from the torches lining the steps of the obsidian throne, each flame fed by Maul’s cruel aesthetic: Mandalore corrupted by a Sith’s scarlet vision. The smell of smoke and metal stung Obi-Wan’s nose as he was shoved forward, wrists in binders, boots scraping against the cold floor.
Satine stood only a few feet away, already pulled from her knees by a violent invisible grip. Her slender frame lifted off the ground as the Force tightened around her throat. She did not cry out. She refused to give Maul that satisfaction. But Obi-Wan watched her fingers tremble against the pressure as she fought for breath.
Maul’s voice slithered through the hall, savoring each word.
“Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you…”
His yellow eyes flared.
“...and your Duchess.”
Satine’s breath hitched as Maul raised her higher. Her boots dangled inches off the ground. Obi-Wan felt the old familiar panic clawing at the edges of his composure, the terror of helplessness he had sworn he would never allow again.
“You should have chosen the dark side, Master Jedi,” Maul hissed. “Your emotions betray you. Your fear, and yesss… your anger! Let your anger deepen your hatred!”
Satine managed to rasp out, “Don’t listen to him, Obi!”
“Quiet!” Savage snarled—but Maul lifted a hand without looking, a gesture for silence that meant the opposite. He *wanted* them to speak. He wanted to savor it.
Obi-Wan’s heart pounded like a war drum against his ribs. But he forced his voice to steady, forced his breath to slow. He clung to the Jedi discipline Satine had always admired. “You can kill me,” Obi-Wan said, “but you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the dark side. Only the weak embrace it.”
Maul smirked, cruel and sharp. “It is more powerful than you know.”
“And those who oppose it,” Obi-Wan answered, “are more powerful than you’ll ever be. I know where you’re from. I’ve been to your village. I know the decision to join the dark side wasn’t yours. The Nightsisters made it for you—”
“SILENCE!” Maul roared, his voice rattling the very throne. “You think you know me? It was I who languished for years thinking of nothing but *you.* Nothing but this moment. And now, the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you, but I will make you share my pain, Kenobi.”
Satine’s face darkened from lack of oxygen, but her gaze remained locked on Obi-Wan. Defiant. Alive.
His calm façade cracked—not into rage, but into something fiercer and purer. A vow.
He closed his eyes.
The Force surged around him, a current deep and vast, pulling him downward into memory.
*The Mandalorian Civil War… a burning village at dawn… Satine gripping his arm as they ran through smoke-filled corridors, her voice sharp with argument and concern. Nights spent patching each other’s wounds by the dim glow of ration-lamp light. The warmth of her hand lingering a moment too long as she pressed gauze to his shoulder. Her laughter—forceful, unexpected—when he mispronounced a Mandalorian phrase. The way her eyes softened when she believed he was asleep, when his guards finally dropped.*
Those memories were not attachments the Jedi demanded him to sever.
They were anchors.
Satine’s life flickered like a torch in a storm—and the Force howled around him.
When Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open, Maul had already drawn the Darksaber. “Let us end this pitiful exchange.”
“Obi—!” Satine choked out, barely able to form his name.
Maul hurled her across the room.
The world narrowed to a single point.
Obi-Wan didn’t think. He *moved.*
He twisted his body, using the Force to rip himself from Savage’s grip. His binders shattered as his legs coiled beneath him. Every muscle, every instinct, every breath belonged to a single purpose—
Her.
He sprinted across the floor, the Force igniting around him in a raw blue pulse. Maul’s Darksaber streaked forward, aimed straight for Satine’s chest as she careened helplessly toward the far wall.
Obi-Wan leapt.
Time slowed. He heard nothing—not the blasterfire outside, not the crackling of Maul’s saber, not his own heartbeat. Just Satine’s gasp as she reached out a hand.
The blade grazed her palm as Obi-Wan caught her mid-air, twisting his body to shield her from impact. A flash of sizzling heat burned across her skin—a shallow cut, bright and angry—but not fatal.
Her fingers clenched in his tunic, her breath ragged as he landed in a skid, clutching her close. She was alive. She was alive.
Maul’s howl tore through the room. “NO! You will not deny me this!”
But chaos erupted before he could strike again.
The ceiling exploded in a shower of sparks as Nite Owls descended on jetpacks, their blue-and-gray armor gleaming. Bo-Katan’s voice rang out over the comms as they opened fire. “For Mandalore!”
Death Watch traitors crumpled under the barrage. Savage spun to meet the onslaught, roaring as he blocked blaster bolts with his axe. Maul lunged toward Obi-Wan, murder burning in every line of his body.
A jetpack blast struck the throne. Debris scattered across the floor.
In the chaos, a familiar silver cylinder skittered across the tiles, knocked loose from a fallen trooper. Obi-Wan saw it glint in the torchlight—
His lightsaber.
He reached for it but three Death Watch loyalists cornered him first, blasters raised.
Satine ripped a pistol from a dead soldier’s holster before Obi-Wan could react.
The first shot hit a loyalist square in the chest.
The second clipped another’s helmet, sending him sprawling.
The third—precise, clinical, Mandalorian—took the last man down before he could even pull the trigger.
Obi-Wan blinked at her in disbelief. “Satine—”
She cocked the blaster with a sharp flick. “I was always a pacifist, Obi-Wan. Not an idiot.”
A rush of affection and awe surged through him, stronger than anything Maul could ever corrupt.
Maul lunged again, but Obi-Wan rolled forward, snatching his saber from the floor as he came up. He ignited it with a snap-hiss—the sound of home. The sound of defense, not destruction.
Blue met red and black in a shower of sparks.
Savage barreled toward them, bellowing, but Bo-Katan slammed into him with a jetpack-assisted kick, driving him backward. Nite Owls swarmed over the larger Zabrak, forcing him into a defensive stance.
Obi-Wan grabbed Satine’s hand. “Come on!”
They sprinted through the war-torn halls of Sundari’s palace, blasterfire echoing behind them. Satine stumbled once—her injured hand throbbing—but Obi-Wan steadied her, pulling her close to his side without breaking pace.
“You need medical attention,” he said.
“I need to not be murdered by Maul. Priorities, love.”
He almost tripped. “Love?”
Satine gave a breathless, pained laugh. “Slip of the tongue.”
He didn’t have time to respond before another explosion rocked the corridor. A squadron of Death Watch turned a corner—blasters ready—but Obi-Wan pushed Satine behind a pillar, deflecting bolts with rapid precision.
She slid around the opposite side, taking shots with her uninjured hand. Even shaken, even injured, she moved like someone who had spent her life surrounded by danger and politics and expectation—and who had never once backed down from it.
“Two more on the left!” she called.
“I see them!”
He redirected a bolt that ricocheted cleanly into the last attacker. The hallway fell quiet except for their ragged breaths.
“We have to move,” Satine urged. “Maul will send more.”
“I’m aware.”
“And your Jedi calm isn’t nearly as reassuring as you think.”
Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips. “Would you prefer I panic?”
“At least then I’d know you care.”
He caught her face gently, thumb brushing her cheek. “Satine… if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.”
Her eyes softened—bright blue and unbearably brave. For a moment, the war seemed to still.
But footsteps thundered from behind. No more time.
They ran again.
They burst into a landing bay. A sleek silver-and-blue Mandalorian courier ship sat powered and waiting, hatch open.
Another explosion shook the bay. Debris rained. Savage’s bellow echoed somewhere above.
Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate. He ushered Satine into the ship, sprinted up the ramp, slammed the hatch shut, and vaulted into the co-pilot’s seat as Satine strapped herself in.
The engines roared to life.
More explosions.
Blasterfire.
Shouts echoing through the comms.
“Obi-Wan!” Satine cried.
He looked up—and saw Maul charging into the hangar, Darksaber raised high, hatred contorting his face into something monstrous.
Obi-Wan punched the thrusters.
The ship blasted off the platform just as Maul hurled his saber at the viewport. It struck the glass with a shriek of energy, leaving a spiderweb crack as the craft rocketed into Mandalore’s sky.
Clouds streaked past in blue and gold. Sundari shrank below them, a wounded but unbroken jewel.
Only then—only when the danger fell away and the stars opened before them—did Obi-Wan finally allow himself to collapse back in his seat, breath trembling.
Satine leaned back, staring at her injured hand. The burn was shallow but painful, a dark welt marring her palm. He reached for her gently.
“May I?”
She nodded.
He removed his glove and cupped her hand between his own. The Force flowed through him, warm and careful, as he eased the pain with practiced precision. Satine’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, a quiet sigh escaping her.
“You saved me,” she murmured.
“You saved me first,” he replied.
She opened her eyes. “You leapt for me.”
Obi-Wan held her gaze, unable to hide the truth any longer. Not today. Not after almost losing her again. “I will always leap for you.”
Satine’s breath caught.
The hum of the hyperdrive filled the silence as Obi-Wan wrapped her hand in a clean strip of cloth, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.
“Where do we go now?” she asked softly.
He exhaled. “Coruscant ”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” he said. “This war… the Jedi… Mandalore… everything is changing. But I will not lose you again.”
Satine reached up, touching his cheek with her uninjured hand—tentative, tender, earnest.
“You jumped as though your heart had made the decision for you,” she whispered.
He covered her hand with his own.
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “it did.”
The stars stretched out before them as the ship leapt into hyperspace—leaving Mandalore, Maul, and the moment destiny had tried to write.
But this time, destiny had failed.
Obi-Wan had chosen differently.
And the galaxy would never be the same.