Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Anakin used to dream of the Stars.

When he was a child, he had laid on the sand of Tatooine. Looking up at the endless night sky and imagine what it was like to walk among the stars. Live up to his name for Skywalker. Each point of light in the Heavens above seemed like a promise of something greater. A life beyond slavery, beyond the harsh twin suns and endless dunes. He dreamed of freedom, adventure, and a destiny far away from the world that tried to chain him and his mother.

The stars had been his hope. His escape. He had made a vow to see them all one day.

Oh, how dreams crumble and turn to dust.

It had been a long time since Vader hadn't cared for anything like dreams and hope. Since his Fall, he had also been detached from everything around him. It was ironic, really, wasn't it? Once, he had cared too much. Loved too deeply. That was what had broken him, after all. The attachments he’d once held too close. His mother, Padmé, Ahsoka, Rex, and even Obi-Wan. It all had driven him to his endless desperation, to his blinding anger, to the darkness that now consumed him. And now, here the shell of man he was. Detached an cold from. 

He would make a good Jedi now, wouldn't he?

If Anakin could, he could have laughed.

It was once said,  when death was sure at hand, all the good in their life would flash before them. He had to have heared from some Jedi, he knew. But what would flash before Anakin's eyes? For his life was was only full of regrets. 

Regets for the life he failed. The people in his life he failed.  The life with a family he never knew. 

The life he had always dreamed and dreamed of when he was younger. The life he had been building his Padmé of but had been denied of. Denied by his own hands. He failed to let a mother. who would still be alive if not for him, smiling as she watched her son and daughter grow. A life where Padmé's laughter woukd have filled their home, where their children, their beautiful wonderful children, would have grew up in peace, untainted by war or the Dark Side. A life where Ahsoka had stayed by his side, and not standing against him. A life where Rex hadn't been forced to choose between duty and friendship, and where Obi-Wan hadn't been his enemy but still his brother.

Anakin could also picure it, for he had dreamed of a life like in his bacta tank, as if it were a holovid playing in the corner of his mind.

But it wasn’t real.

It had never been real and it never will be.

Wasn't that the cruelest truth of all. The choices he had made to try and ensured that life had been in truth the choices to never allow it to be. 

A son and a daughter.

He would cry if his tear ducts weren't melted shut. For so long he had thought he had lost everything and anything he cared of. But it had been there. And he was the reason he didn't have them. The reason they didn't have a father, a mother, a family.

Anakin had so many quesion. Quesions that couldn't be answered by the spy that had dug into Luke's past. Obi-Wan had been wised to place his son his step-father, Vander would never take another step on Tatainoo if he could help it. But what of Leia? There had that trouble in the past, didn't she? When she had been taken by the  Third Sister? His rage left so many gaps in his memory. But he knew she had been taken in by the Organa's.

The thought made him wince and the guilt nearly consumed him. Anakin had killed his daughter's adopted family. Killed her planet. 

Regret was his constant companion now, as he laid dying on the ground. He was just an echo of the man he used to be. He could hear his mother's dying voice now, a whisper in the back of his mind. You're meant for greatness, Anakin. Don't look back.

But all he could do was look back. That was all he had ever now. 

It was getting harder to breathe now, but he didn't know if that was due to his failing respirator or the flames slowly getting closer.

Only death would be his release. 

The pain, the weight of his armor, the endless regrets, death would take it all away. Perhaps then, Anakin Skywalker could finally rest. Perhaps then, he could find peace in the void, where no expectations, no failures, no betrayals existed.

It sounded more than he deserved.

He closed his eyes as the world around exploded.

The Force was not a benevolent guide, nor was it an impartial tide flowing through the galaxy. It was ancient, incomprehensible, and vast beyond mortal understanding. A being that existed outside the confines of time, space, and morality. It was the rhythm that shaped creation, the silent breath behind every living thing and the guide for the dead.

It had no shape, yet it could take one if it so desired. It existed everywhere and nowhere, watching, listening, and feeling every ripple of emotion, every scream of pain, and every burst of joy across the stars. It was beyond comprehension, a thing of ancient will, timeless and unyielding. It was love and wrath, creation and destruction, a paradox of infinite possibilities. 

Oh, and how loved Anakin Skywalker.

From the moment of his birth, the Force had reached out to him, cradling his fragile existence like a parent holding their only child. It had whispered to him in dreams, shaping him, crafting him to be its chosen instrument. He was not a mistake, not a mere accident of the cosmos. He was its son, born of its will, flesh and blood sculpted to bring balance to an ever-spiraling galaxy. It watched him grow on the desolate sands of Tatooine, feeling his boundless potential and the ache in his heart. It saw his suffering, his longing, and it ached with him.

But the Force was not a kind or gentle parent. It was vast and unfathomable, its love incomprehensible to mortal minds. It did not interfere when Shmi suffered, nor when Anakin was taken from her. It did not soothe him when his dreams become nightmares or when loss tore at his soul. It allowed him to hurt, to bleed, to break, because it believed in him. It believed he could endure. It believed he would rise.

Even as he fell, spiraling into darkness, the Force did not abandon him. It clung to him, its whispers turning to anguished cries as Anakin became Vader. It was there when he slaughtered innocents, when he burned the galaxy in his fury. It screamed with him in his torment, not as a deity casting judgment, but as a parent watching their child destroy themselves.

And when Anakin died, finally embracing it again, it felt something never thought possible. 

Sorrow.

This would not stand.

Anakin was its child, it's Chosen. The Force did not simply let him go.

It reached out into the universe and pulled its will from the very fabric of existence, unraveling the laws of life and death. It was not a god of mercy or forgiveness- it was the will of creation itself, bound by no rules but its own. The Force reached into the dying remnants of Anakin Skywalker’s essence, pulling him from the precipice of oblivion, reshaping him once more.

Everything felt like a dream.

Anakin floated, weightless, surrounded by a darkness so deep it seemed to swallow him whole. He didn't want to open his eyes. He felt.. safe? And he was in no...pain...? When was the last time he didn't feel pain? 

Everything around him felt like nothing and everything at once. It alo felt like his bacta tank, but somehow lighter? Also like he was being suspended between two worlds. Like where he was in a place where time and space no longer held any meaning. The coldness of the void embraced him, but there was no fear. No pain. Just an eerie calm that felt both alien and familiar.

Anakin had no sense of direction, no sense of self, only the overwhelming presence of something, someone, watching over him.

Distantly, he knew what was watching him. How, he didn't know. He simple did.

The Force.

It whispered to him, though its words were not clear, not in any way he could understand through his mortal mind. It was like an ancient song, felt rather than heard, reverberating through his very being.

"You are not done, my child."

The words echoed, not through his ears, but within him, resonating in the core of his soul. They felt like a comfort, but also an unyielding command. Like he wasn't supposed to be here. This was not his end.

He tried to remember... remember what? He couldn't think. He had to focus, but each thought was like trying to hold water in cupped hands. Think, Anakin, think .

The last moments. The explosion. The pain. The sense of finality.

He should be dead, no? Was this death? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Or was this endless space be where he paid for his sins? To exist endless with no senses or time until he went mad. If he could get madder then he already was.

The Jedi had talked about a place like this, in hypotheticals. A place where only the Force existed. The World Between Worlds.

"Open your eyes child. Please."

Anakin didn't want too. 

The darkness held him like a cocoon. No weight. No fire eating through ruined nerves. No phantom ache where metal met burned flesh. No memories clawing at him with teeth.

Peace.

If he opened his eyes… the pain might come back.

But the voice waited.

It didn't feel impatient. Or demanding. Just simply... there.

The Force pulsed around him, vast and endless, like an ocean breathing.

Again the voice spoke, softer this time.

“Please.”

Something in that word tugged at him.

Please.

No command. No judgment.

It reminded him so much of his mother. 

Anakin opened his eyes.

It was beautiful.

Everything around him shimmered and shifted like starlight poured into infinity. The void was no longer empty but filled with glowing pathways that stretched into eternity. Bridges of pale light arched through the darkness, weaving together like threads in some impossibly vast tapestry. Each path pulsed faintly beneath his feet, alive with quiet energy.

Anakin slowly realized he was no longer floating.

He was standing.

The surface beneath him felt smooth and cool, like polished stone, though when he looked closer it seemed made of condensed light rather than matter. It hummed gently under his boots, resonating with the same quiet rhythm he felt in the Force itself.

Wait-

Boots?

He froze.

Looking down, he was seeing the impossible. It couldn't be... could it? 

Without thinking, he raised his hands to look at them.  Anakin wiggled his fingers and watched as the hands wiggled its fingers. That was this hands. But it was far from noraml. 

It took a second because of the weirdness of it all, that he could not have a hand there to begine with. Either of them. Nor should he have legs, by the hands felt weirder. 

His whole body was covered in light.

Not armor, not fabric, but pure, radiant energy. His form shimmered, translucent and solid all at once, as though the Force itself had woven him a body out of starlight. Every movement left a faint trail of brilliance, like a comet streaking through the void. His reflection, mirrored in the infinite stars around him, bore no scars, no burns, no darkness. 

He looked... whole.

Was he alive? 

“No… and yes.” Something answered. 

Anakin spun around but there was no one there. Just more void. What...?

The laughter echoed through the void, soft and knowing, almost like a parent amused by a child’s confusion.

“Who’s there?” Anakin called, his voice almost alien to him. It was strong, no longer muffled by mechanical respirators or weakened by the weight of his pain. Force, when was the last time he sounded like him?

The laughter subsided, replaced by a voice, warm and resonant, as if it emanated from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Welcome, Anakin Skywalker. Or… should I call you Darth Vader?” the voice mused, teasing yet gentle.

Anakin bristled at the name, his fists clenching reflexively. “That name…” he growled. “That thing is gone.” So was Anakin, if asked. But Vander was a harder handle then his birth name. 

“Is it?” the voice asked, no judgment in its tone, only curiosity. “You carry the shadow of him still, just as you carry the light of the boy who dreamed of freedom.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Anakin admitted, his voice faltering. He looked down at his glowing. “Am I… alive?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the voice replied enigmatically. “You are not as you were, nor as you might have been. You are with me now.”

Anakin felt a pang of frustration. “And what is that? Why am I here?”

A figure began to materialize before him, emerging from the void like a flame igniting in the darkness. It was neither man nor woman, neither young nor old. It was glowing but darken, shifting from light to dark throughout its body. Its form was fluid, shifting, as though it was every possibility at once. Its eyes, however, were steady, glowing with the light of a thousand stars. 

“You are here because your story is not yet finished,” the figure said, stepping closer. “I've always watched you, Anakin, from the moment you took your first breath to the moment you took your last. It has seen your triumphs, your failures, your pain, and your love. And I loved you throughout it all”

Anakin frowned, his brow furrowing. “Another chance? At what? Redemption? Balance? I failed at all of it. I destroyed everything. I…” His voice broke, and he turned away, unable to meet the figure’s gaze.

The figure’s voice softened, filled with a compassion that felt almost unbearable. “ I am not to punish you, but to help you.”

“Help?” Anakin asked, his voice barely a whisper. Why would it not punish him? For all that he has caused, he deserves it. 

“To where you must go next,” the figure said, gesturing to the void around them. The stars began to shift, swirling before setting down into a different formation. It pulsed with an energy that felt both familiar and foreign, as if it was calling to him.

It was then it clicked in his mind who just was this was. 

“You are the Force.” Anakin breathed out in disbelief.

The figure smiled, its expression both ancient and timeless, and inclined its head slightly, as if amused by the realization. “Yes, little Skywalker. I am the Force, though not as you may have understood me before. I am creation and destruction, the infinite and the intimate. I am the light, the dark, and the space in between. And I have always been with you.”

Anakin... Anakin didn't know quite how to feel about this. This being... The personification of the Force... 

His other parent, really. 

The thought struck Anakin like a lightning bolt. His other parent. The one who had been with him from the beginning, whispering to him in his dreams, pulling him toward his destiny, yet silent in his darkest moments.

His jaw tightened as a storm of emotions swirled within him. Anger, confusion, sorrow, and a strange, aching comfort all warred for dominance. “If you’ve always been with me,” Anakin began,  trembling, “then why did you let me fall? Why did you let her die?"

The word hung heavy between them.

Her.

He didn’t have to say the names.

Shmi Skywalker.

Padmé Amidala.

The Force regarded him silently.

Then it tilted its head, its luminous eyes gazing at him with an unfathomable depth. “I did not stop you, Anakin, because to do so would have been to deny you what makes you who you are: your ability to choose. I am the Force, and I guide. I do not command. I love you, as I love all things, but love does not strip away freedom. It cannot.”

Anakin shook his head, turning away to hide the tears he could feel welling up. “You let me destroy everything,” he said bitterly. “You let me become a monster.”

“You became what you chose to become, what you were guided by other to become” the Force said gently, though its words carried a weight that pressed down on Anakin’s shoulders. “And yet, even in your darkest moments, I never abandoned you. My love for you did not waver. It cannot waver.”

He laughed bitterly, but it was directed at himself more than at the other being. Why would be blame the stream for flowing down hill? He was he one to build a dam.

Anakin fell to his knees, tears threatening to fall. His mind was catching up him. Twenty-two years of surpassed emotions starting to unravel now.  “Why? Why show yourself to me now?”

The Force, the embodiment of creation and destruction, watched Anakin silently as he knelt in the void. It did not reach out to comfort him with empty words or promises of absolution. Instead, it allowed him the space to truly feel the weight of his guilt, his sorrow, and the anguish that had defined his life.

“Because I am giving you another chance to live.” It spoke softly as light slowly grew next to it.

Anakin stared at the point of light, his mind racing. 

At first it was no bigger than a star.

But it grew.

Slowly.

Steadily.

The glow stretched outward like a tear in reality, widening into a circular opening that hummed with quiet energy. The bridges of light around them responded instantly, their soft luminescence bending toward the opening as if drawn by gravity.

Anakin felt it too.

A pull.

Not physical, nothing in this place seemed bound by such limits, but something deeper. Something in his very being leaned toward it.

Toward life.

“What… is it?” he asked hoarsely.

The embodiment of the Force stood beside him, its shifting form reflecting both darkness and brilliance as it gazed into the growing light.

“A beginning,” it said gently.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t deserve forgiveness.” 

“Perhaps not,” the figure said, stepping closer. “But forgiveness is not about what you deserve. It is about what others choose to give. And it is about what you choose to give yourself.”

Anakin closed his eyes, feeling the weight of those words. For so long, he had been consumed by regret.

By anger.

Self-loathing.

Hate.

But here, in this place of light and void, he felt something he hadn’t felt in decades.

Hope.

He opened his eyes and met the figure’s gaze. “What must I do?”

The figure smiled, a radiant warmth emanating from it. “Step into the light, my child. And begin again.”

Anakin stared, his mind racing. Could he really return? Could he face those he had wronged, those he had failed? Could he make amends for the countless lives he had taken, the pain he had caused?

The figure's gaze softened, understanding his uncertainty. "This is not the end, Star Child. It is a beginning. A chance to live the life you were meant to lead. But you must choose it. You must take the step. And then the first test will begin.”

Anakin nodded along, hearing but not fully listening as he stood again. He slowly made his way to the light and raised his hand.

He took a deep breath-

Do for them, he thought. Do this for them.

-and touched the light.

Pain.

Anakin.

That was the first thing Anakin registered. Pain was everywhere. It was radiating from every fiber of his being. It wasn’t just physical, though that alone was unbearable, the raw ache of a broken body. This was deeper, sharper, the weight of a soul torn apart by years of regret and sorrow.

       Anakin?

He gasped, or tried to, but the breath felt caught in his chest, heavy and suffocating. Memories flooded his mind: the fire of Mustafar, the screams of the younglings, Padmé’s lifeless face, and Luke’s anguished plea as he told the boy the truth. Each moment cut into him like shards of glass that reached into his soul.

            Dear one?!

Distantly, he thinks he's yelling. But something that felt like hands were pushing him down, suffocating him. It only makes the pain worse, like burn on his skin. He tried to move- to do anything. Push, punch, claw. 

                     Anakin!?

What was going on? Death would be better then this. Anything would be better then this. 

                            Anakin!!

But this pain, he deserved it. He did this to himself. The pain he used to hurt other upon himself.

"ANAKIN!"

A snap back to reality. A blurry but familiar face took up most of his vision.

But it couldn't be-

“Obi….Wan…?”

With that, the world turned dark.

Chapter Text

It had been a week.

A very numbing week of consciousness.

Being numb to the world around him wasn't knew for Anakin. As Vader numbness had been a constant companion, something he had learned to welcome. Numbness meant the pain was quiet. Numbness meant the memories stayed buried where they belonged.

This was something... different from that.

Anakin had been released from the Healers a day ago.

Technically.

In reality, the healers had simply moved his confinement.

Now instead of a sterile medical room in the Temple’s healing wing, he was confined to his quarters under what they politely called bed rest. Which, as far as Anakin could tell, meant three separate healers checking on him every few hours and a standing order from the Council that he was not to leave the Temple grounds.

It felt like, if he tried, half the Order would descend on him. Not that they would care. Not at the moment, anyways.

Anakin sat upright in the bed, staring blankly at the far wall.

The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of airspeeders far below the towering heights of Coruscant. The Temple was high enough that the noise was muted, more like the steady breathing of the city than the chaos he remembered.

It still amazed him sometimes, how alive everything felt. It almost felt wrong. Like he was standing on the surface of the sun itself.

Alive in a way the galaxy hadn’t felt in decades.

His hands rested loosely on the blanket draped across his legs.

Real hands.

He flexed them slowly again.

The movement was almost compulsive now.

The subtle pull of tendons.

The warmth of skin.

The faint brush of fabric against his fingertips.

No durasteel joints.

No mechanical servos.

Just a living body.

His body.

At twelve years old.

"Anakin?" The voice made him tense up. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest at the sound of the voice. 

Yes, that little detail was just one thing added to the pile that was slowly adding up. 

“Anakin?”

The voice made him tense instantly.

His heart slammed against his ribs, so suddenly and violently that for a moment he thought the healers’ monitors might start screaming again.

That voice.

He knew that voice.

Slowly, far more slowly than necessary, Anakin turned his head toward the doorway.

Standing there, framed by the soft light spilling in from the other room, was a tall robed figure with a neatly trimmed beard and tired blue eyes.

Younger.

So much younger.

Not yet lined by war.

Not yet haunted by the things they would do to each other.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Anakin’s breath caught.

For a moment the room seemed to tilt around him.

Mustafar flashed across his mind, fire and screaming and a lightsaber burning through flesh.

You were the Chosen One!

He had heard that voice filled with rage.

With grief.

With betrayal.

Now that same voice was soft with concern.

“…Master Kenobi?” Anakin heard himself say automatically.

The words came out smaller than he expected.

Higher.

Twelve years old- right. Force, he needed to get used to that. 

Obi-Wan stepped into the room, the door sliding shut quietly behind him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said with a faint, reassuring smile. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

If only you knew.

Anakin swallowed hard.

For a terrifying second he wondered if the Force had made a mistake.

Because standing in front of him was not the calm, seasoned Jedi Master he had known in the war.

This was the Obi-Wan from before everything fell apart.

Still a newly minted Knight.

Still learning how to be a teacher.

Still trusting the galaxy to make sense.

Still trusting him.

Anakin’s chest tightened painfully.

No-! He needed to calm down. He needed to focus on something or he would lose consciousness again.

He had learned that he had been in training with Obi-Wan when he passed out and started to scream. Blood had been coming from his nose and ears and went into seizures. Apparently he had been in and out of conscience for days, with some of the Healers thinking he would pass.

He almost died already; it was almost laughable. But the Force had said there was a first test, no? Was that it? Or was there something else? 

This was so overwhelming. It felt like the feeling was like staring at the dying sun for far too long. Yet at the same time, he felt numb and cold. He barely had the energy to move.

Trying to ground himself, he touched the pulse to his right arm. It felt so surreal to be able to feel the flesh there. To be fair, it felt surreal to feel flesh anywhere on his body, but, his arm had been gone the longest, since he was 19. 

He didn't know how to feel about it. About any of this. He didn’t deserve this.

Anakin didn't move when Obi- Wan came deeper into the room.

Obi-Wan paused a few steps into the room.

He didn’t approach immediately.

That, more than anything, made Anakin’s chest tighten.

Even now… even like this… Obi-Wan was careful with him. Concern etched into every line of his face.

It almost made Anakin sick to his stomach. 

“You’re very quiet,” Obi-Wan said gently.

HA- Did his master ever call him that in the past? It was almost a joke. 

“I-” His voice caught, and he had to swallow before trying again. Anakin’s fingers stilled against his wrist. “I’m fine.”

The older man stared for a beat, before he sighed tiredly. It made Anakin want to curl into a ball even more. 

As Vader, whenever he was forced to go through long periods in a bacta tank, he had dreamed of this. Of being with Obi-Wan again. Being close with him without pain and hatred. There bond open and almost loving. But at the moment, all Anakin remembered was the feeling of burning and eyes filled with sadness and disappointment.

But they had never held hatred. Not even at the very end.

Anakin just barely registered something being placed down on the side table when he felt Obi-Wan sit down next to him.

Obi-Wan didn't say anything at first. They just... didn't move. Sat there. Even though Anakin could feel a whirl of emotion within him, he couldn't help but feel antsy at doing nothing. Some habits were hard to kick, eben now. Especially not when his master, alive, was right there.

He risked a quick glace. His master's eyes were on him, but they weren't focused. Like he was off in a distance memory.

Anakin swallowed and forced himself to look over back up at his teacher, and really, really looked. 

Anakin could remember the last time he saw Obi-Wan. He had aged so fast, had been a shadow of his former self at the end of his life. But he still hoped that somewhere in Vader, was Anakin. Oh, the hatred in his bones back then for Obi-Wan was strong enough to match his own. Still, it hadn't sat quite right with Vader at how older Obi-Wan had looked.

But now? Obi-Wan was so much younger, his beard was only made up of peach-fuzz. His frame was leaner too, less worn down, less… burdened. He still had a slight sadness in his eyes, but nowhere near as pronounced as it was when Anakin killed-

Anakin felt tears well up in his eyes, and he almost hated himself for it. He blinked it away. He was a broken 45-year-old man inside the body of a 12-year-old. He could barely deal with his emotions when he really was 12. How was he supposed to do this?  

Obi-Wan seemed to have come back to himself and see Anakin's teary eyes as his face contorted into a look of concern.

“Anakin?”

He leaned forward without thinking, the careful distance he’d been keeping dissolving in an instant.

Anakin stiffened.

He didn't he meant t, but his body remembered before his mind could stop it.

Fire.

Burning.

Being left alone to die.

Don’t.

The thought snapped through him, but it was too late, his shoulders had already drawn tight, his breath catching in his throat.

Obi-Wan froze.

For a long moment, the two just started at each other. 

“…I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice gentler now. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

That made it worse.

Anakin shook his head quickly, a little too fast. “No, I- I’m fine.”

Another lie.

Another one Obi-Wan didn’t call out.

He needed to get ahold of himself. Now. 

So, Anakin forced himself to move. 

He needed to get ahold of himself.

He needed-

Anakin’s breath hitched.

It wasn’t working.

The grounding, the control, the distance, none of it was working. All because Obi-Wan was right there.

Alive.

And for one horrible, fleeting second, Anakin realized something that terrified him more than anything else in the room-

He didn’t want distance.

He wanted-

Before he could stop himself-

Anakin lurched forward, hands clutching at Obi-Wan’s robes as he pressed into him, burying his face against his shoulder like he was trying to disappear. He bearly noticed the tunic becoeming wet. Had he started to cry?

Like he was trying to hold onto something before it was ripped away again.

Obi-Wan went completely still for a long moment, before he moved his hand to rest on his padawan head. It took everything in Anakin

"Anakin, what's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked gently, running a hand through his curls. He sounded lost. "Please, how can I help you, my Padawan?"

It took a few tries, but Anakin found his voice. "Everything is o-overwhelming." He could barely recognize his own voice. It was raw and shaky from screaming and crying and lack of use. And so very young. "Everything is too...loud. Too bright," he sobbed. 

"Take deep breaths, focus on my presence. You're safe," Obi-Wan spoke softly, continuing to gently stroke Anakin's hair. "You're safe."

Anakin focused on Obi-Wan. In the Force, Obi-Wan was like the sun, bright and passionate but still as calm and tranquil as a slow river. Like a bird gliding on a current of warm air.

Just Obi-Wan in the Force.

Bright gold and blue and river-calm, sunlight across moving water. Young still, yes, less tempered, less layered than the man will become, but unmistakably him. The same soul. The same center. The same impossible, infuriating, gentle goodness that had survived war, betrayal, and heartbreak.

It hurt.

It hurt so much that Anakin’s fingers tightened in Obi-Wan’s robes until the fabric bunched in his fists.

His breathing came ragged and uneven against the older man's shoulder. He could feel each inhale snagging halfway in his chest, like his lungs had forgotten how to work around grief this old.

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan murmured, voice low and even. “Slowly. Don’t force it.”

A hand stayed at the back of his head, fingers threading carefully through his curls. The other had shifted to the middle of his back, warm and firm and impossibly grounding.

Anakin’s whole body gave a small, involuntary shudder.

Obi-Wan didn’t recoil.

Didn’t question.

Just stayed there and let him shake.

“Good,” Obi-Wan said softly, after Anakin managed one slightly steadier breath. “Again.”

Anakin obeyed because he didn’t know how not to.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The room was still too bright. The air still felt too sharp. But Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force gave his mind somewhere to put itself besides the edge of panic.

A few more breaths passed before the frantic pounding in his chest eased from unbearable to merely awful.

It was enough to think again.

Which, unfortunately, meant it was enough to remember what he was doing.

Anakin jerked back like he’d been burned.

Not far, his exhausted body didn’t have the strength for that, but enough to pull his face from Obi-Wan’s shoulder and stare down at the wet patch he’d left on the tunic.

Humiliation hit him hot and fast.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, wiping clumsily at his face with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I shouldn’t have-”

“Anakin.”

The word wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t even particularly loud.

But it stopped him.

Anakin went rigid.

Obi-Wan had drawn back just enough to look at him properly. One hand was still resting lightly at the back of his neck, as if he was afraid Anakin might bolt or collapse if he let go entirely.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin stared at him.

There was no reproach in his face. No discomfort. No hidden revulsion. Just concern, yes, and some confusion still, but not the kind that made distance.

The kind that wanted to understand.

Anakin looked away first.

He couldn’t bear it.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said gently, slowly, as if taking to a startled frighten predator. "I don't...know what's happening but I'm here. We'll work through this together. Just tell me what you need."

He couldn't tell him, Anakin knew that much. Even if Obi-Wan didn't throw him into an asylum and believed his story, he could bear for those eye's to look at him with that disappointment and sadness again. 

Anakin nodded, unable to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. The room fell into a calm stillness, only broken by Anakin's occasional sniffles.

Think, Anakin, think. He needed to move the conversation. Now.

Before Obi-Wan kept looking too closely. Before that patient, impossible gaze peeled back something Anakin could not afford to expose yet. He needed something normal. Something plausible. Something a shaken twelve-year-old might ask for that would explain at least part of this without inviting the wrong questions.

His fingers twisted in the blanket. He kept his eyes lowered and forced himself to sound smaller. Younger. Not easy, not when half his mind still thought in battlefields and funeral ash.

Then, something popped into his mind. 

“…Can we go to Dex’s tomorrow?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Obi-Wan blinked.

The abruptness of it clearly caught him off guard.

“Dex’s?” he repeated.

Anakin nodded too quickly. “Please.”

The silence that followed was not suspicious, exactly. More startled. Obi-Wan leaned back just slightly, studying him with careful attention. Anakin looked down. Anakin had another sudden thought. Had at this point in time been to the dinner? He hoped so, or they would end up having the conversation Anakin was avoiding. 

Then a hand raised to Anakin's check and made him look at his teacher's face.

All he saw was a soft smile that could sweeten tea all on its own. “Of course, dear one. Is there anything else?”

A pause.

Anakin had always been a greedy person. 

"Can.... you stay the night?”

Obi-Wan’s expression changed so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

The soft smile stayed, but something deeper moved beneath it, surprise first, then a tenderness so open that Anakin instantly regretted asking. Not because he didn’t want it. Because he did. Too much. He ways always too much.

The kind of wanting that had ruined him before.

For one terrible second Anakin thought Obi-Wan might say no.

Instead, Obi-Wan’s thumb brushed once beneath Anakin’s eye, catching the last dampness there.

“Yes,” he said softly.

No hesitation. Just that.

Anakin’s throat tightened.

Obi-Wan seemed to see it happen, because his voice gentled even further. “If that is what you need, I’ll stay.”

Anakin nodded, unable to trust his voice.

Obi-Wan undid he boot and sat them to the side before scutted around Anakin on the bed. The he laid down, opening his arms an open, wordless invitation.

"Come here."

The words hit something old.

Something very old.

For a moment, Anakin didn’t move.

Then, almost without realizing it, he obeyed. He curled into Obi-Wan's open arms and put a single hand on Obi-Wan's chest. 

Feeling the other's heartbeat soothed something very deep within his broken heart.

Obi-Wan’s hands settled at his shoulders, steady, careful, just enough to let the boy pull away if he wanted to.

Anakin didn’t.

Something deep in Anakin’s chest ache as a memory hit him like a brick. 

Smaller hands, a younger body, the overwhelming vastness of the Temple and the world outside, fear pressed tight in his chest. Obi-Wan, younger still, awkward and trying, carefully settling him into bed that first night, unsure of himself but determined anyway.

The same hands.

The same care.

Only steadier now.

Obi-Wan adjusted the blankets over him, smoothing them down with quiet precision, tucking the edges just enough to keep the weight grounding without feeling restrictive.

“Is that alright?” he asked softly.

Anakin swallowed.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

For the first time in a long time, he was more than alright.

Anakin woke up.

This time, Anakin knew where he was. The Place Between was still breathtaking, the endless void made of stars stretching into the infinite. Anakin marveled at the celestial tapestry that surrounded him, feeling a connection to the Force in a way he never before. Anakin felt at peace again.

He noted that he was back to his normal height and proportions. It seems them place let his true shine though.

Anakin wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

“Do you feel it?” 

Anakin turned around. The Force had the appearance of last time, but this time they are around seven foot tall instead of being a giant. 

"Do you feel it?” They asked again.

It took a second for the question to make sense 

Anakin nodded, somehow knowing what they were talking about. " I do, it felt…" Anakin thought of the right words to say, "'Like the Light was blinding me. Overwhelming me.”

While Anakin had been overwhelm by his own feelings and thoughts, it hadn’t helped that the Light itself had been pressing in on him from every direction. Almost as if to drown him.

The Force nodded in acknowledgment, its ethereal form pulsating with pride. It sat down on the see-through catwalk. "This is unbalanced, my Chosen, too much of anything is bad.”

Anakin frowned, "Then I was right then? Are the Jedi evil?” He remembered yelling something like that at Obi-Wan in rage. Much, much later in life, he wasn't sure of it or not. In his Fallen life, he had came to think as everything as vail and evil.

Oh, how his son had helped him to see that good still existed. 

“Yes,” The being smiled as he walked forward to stand next to them, "And no.”

Anakin blinked, waiting for an explanation. 

"The Jedi, like all beings, are bound by their own choices," the Force explained. "It is not the organization that is inherently evil or good, but the actions and intentions of individuals within it. Balance is about understanding the shades between the extremes. The Jedi have chosen the Light, and only the Light. The issue is in Light, the shadows it casts are long.” As the entity talked, it raised one of it many arms and a bubble of light formed in its hands.

The sphere of light swelled in their palm and at first, it was beautiful.

Soft. Radiant. Pure.

Anakin found himself drawn to it immediately, his eyes catching on the way it shimmered, like a star held in gentle suspension.

Then- 

It grew brighter.

And brighter.

And brighter.

The glow sharpened, turning from warm illumination into something harsher, more piercing. The edges of the sphere blurred with intensity until it was almost painful to look at.

Anakin squinted, instinctively raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“…It’s too much,” he muttered.

“Yes.”

The Force did not dim it.

Instead- 

It lifted its other hand.

Behind the sphere, something stretched outward.

At first, Anakin didn’t notice it. Then he did.

A shadow.

Thin at first, then widening, stretching far beyond the sphere itself, cast across the invisible surface beneath them, distorted, elongated, reaching farther than the light itself seemed capable of touching.

Anakin’s breath stilled.

“The brighter the light,” the Force said softly, “the longer the shadow.”

The sphere pulsed once.

The shadow shifted, warped, stretched, almost alive in its movement.

“The Jedi,” the Force continued, “seek purity. They strive to remove all shadow from themselves. To deny it. To cut it away.”

The light flared again.

The shadow deepened.

“But shadow denied is not shadow destroyed.”

Anakin stared.

Because he knew that.

Force, he knew that.

He had been that.

“They do not teach you how to hold it,” the Force said, voice quieter now. “Only how to ignore it.”

The sphere dimmed slightly, not gone, but softened.

The shadow shrank with it.

Present but balanced.

Anakin swallowed.  “They told me to let go,” he said. “To not feel too much. To not- attach.”

“And yet you were made to feel everything,” the Force replied. It wasn't a accusation, just truth. “You were never built for their version of stillness.”

Anakin let out a shaky breath.  “That’s what broke me.”

“Yes.”

He swallowed. This all made his head hurt, 

 “So," He brain rack for the way to understand all he's been told.  "The Jedi accepted a little bit of Darkness.” He asked as he sat down next the Force.

The Force chuckled, "To put in simple terms. The Light and the Dark coexist within the hearts of all beings. It is the conscious decisions that tip the scales in favor of one side or the other. Balance is not the absence of darkness but the acknowledgment and harmonious integration of both. Balance is both Light and Dark, not one without the other. If we forget the Darkness within us and others, we lose understanding and compassion for others and their situations.” The light bubble drifted away from its hand, joining the others in the sky.

“I know this is hard, especially given all you know is being challenged. You have time, my child, relax.”

And with that the entity kissed his forehead and Anakin finally drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

When Anakin woke up, he was warm. 

He couldn't feel the bone chilling cold that seemed to haunt him when he was younger. Force, that cold. He had never forgotten it. It was differnt from every other cold he had been through later in life. Probably as it had never really been about temperature. Not just that, anyway. It had been absence.

Of heat. Of touch. Of something solid enough to hold onto.

Of something that didn’t slip through his fingers the moment he reached for it.

That kind of cold had lived in his bones for years, long before the armor, long before the lava, long before he had learned how to stop feeling anything at all just to survive it.

But now he was warm and he knew why before he opened his eyes.

Obi-Wan was sleeping next to him, letting Anakin use his arm as a pillow. The other arm gently held him close. The gentle heartbeats was almost like a lullaby that could make him fall asleep.

Anakin used the moment to just look at his master. Obi-Wan looked even younger as he slept, relaxed without his worry lines.

Guilt flashed again. 

It curled low in Anakin’s chest, familiar as breath, heavy as gravity.

You don’t deserve this.

The thought came easily. Too easily. It always had.

Anakin swallowed, his gaze tracing over Obi-Wan’s face. Softer in sleep, unguarded in a way he had almost forgotten was possible. No tightness around the eyes. No careful control. Just… rest.

He had seen Obi-Wan sleep before, of course. Back in war camps. On ships. Sitting upright against cold durasteel walls, head tipped forward, never fully letting himself drift. Even back when he was younger, but that had been rare. The older made had also kept space between them in.

Even then, there had always been tension.

Even then, Obi-Wan had been ready.

This-

This was different.

Here, now, Obi-Wan looked… safe.

Anakin wouldn’t lose this, not again. He would do whatever possible to make sure of it. 

Closing his eyes, he snuggled back into Obi-Wan's warmth. 

He let himself breath. In and out. In and out. Let himself live in this moment for just a second longer.

Or maybe a a few seconds.

...maybe a minute. 

Or couple. 

It was only when Obi-Wan shifted, did Anakin open his eyes again. The older man wasn't awake yet but he would be soon. He always early riser. Somehow.

Carefully, care-ful-ly, Anakin began to shift.

Slow enough that the movement barely existed. He eased his head off Obi-Wan’s arm, inch by inch, pausing the second he felt any change in the steady rise and fall beneath him.

Obi-Wan’s breathing hitched, just slightly.

Anakin froze.

Don’t wake up.

Not yet.

Not when his thoughts were still too loud, too sharp, too tangled to face those eyes again without something slipping.

A second passed.

Two.

Then Obi-Wan’s breathing evened out again.

Still asleep.

Anakin let out the smallest breath, barely more than air leaving his lungs.

Okay.

Again.

He shifted a little more, sliding free of the arm that had been wrapped around him. The warmth immediately faded, not gone, but less, and something in his chest noticed the loss far too quickly.

Ignore it.

He had to.

He couldn’t cling to this.

Not like before.

Not like-

No.

Focus.

Anakin eased himself upright, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. The blankets rustled faintly as he moved, and he stilled again, listening.

Nothing.

Still asleep.

Good.

He glanced back.

Obi-Wan had shifted slightly onto his side in his absence, one arm still half-extended where Anakin had been moments before. His expression hadn’t changed, still relaxed, still unguarded.

For a second, Anakin just… looked.

Memorized it.

Then he forced himself to move.

The tray sat where Obi-Wan had left it the night before, the tea long gone lukewarm, forgotten in everything else that had happened.

Anakin picked it up carefully, making sure the cups didn’t clink. Making his way slowly out of the room, he moved slowly at first. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet, smooth Temple stone instead of durasteel or scorched ground or anything that burned just by existing.

It was when he crossed the threshold into the small kitchenette did he freeze. 

It hit him all at once.

The walking.

He nearly dropped the tea set.

Not the act itself wasn't the walking itself that caused the shock, but the absence of everything that used to come with it.

No phantom pain screaming where nerves had once been severed and replaced with something colder. Expected the jolt up through ruined nerves, the grinding pull of damaged muscle, the constant, underlying ache that had never fully left him.

His body felt… whole.

Not strong, not yet, not after a week of bed rest, but intact. A little stiff, a little tight in places that hadn’t been used properly in days, but that was nothing. That was normal.

That was fixable.

In his daze, he sat down the tea set and slowly raised his hands and he flexed his fingers.

Then slowly he continued to move his body slowly. Turned his wrist and lifted his arms around, slowly stretching it out and moving into different poses. He did it again and again, and still no pain. 

A breath left him, shaky and uneven.

He slowly walked into a circle, watching his feet as they followed his thought. His muscles protested faintly, they were a bit unused and stiff, but it was the kind of protest that came from disuse, not damage.

He knew the difference.

Force, he knew the difference.

And that-

That nearly broke him.

Anakin pressed his hands flat against the edge of the counter, head bowing as his shoulders drew in tight.

He could walk.

He could stand.

He could move without feeling like his body was tearing itself apart with every motion.

He had forgotten.

Or maybe-

No.

He hadn’t forgotten.

That was the problem.

He remembered exactly what it felt like to not have this.

To wake up in a body that was more machine than man. To move and feel resistance where there should have been fluidity. To exist in something that never quite fit, never quite belonged to him anymore.

To be trapped.

His breath came faster.

Anakin pushed himself upright again, scrubbing a hand over his face quickly.

Get a hold of yourself. You knew this was coming. You asked for this.

Didn’t you?

Another breath.

In.

Out.

He straightened, rolling his shoulders back slightly. There was a faint pull there—tightness, a reminder of a body that had been still too long—but it eased with the movement.

Good.

That was good.

He could work with that.

He turned slightly, glancing back toward the main room.

From here, he could just barely see the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan was still there.

Still asleep.

Still very much real.

Anakin looked away quickly.

Focus.

He reached for the tea, lifting one of the cups and inspecting it like it was suddenly the most important thing in the galaxy. It had gone cold, of course. Useless now.

Normal.

This was normal.

People woke up.

They made tea.

They moved around kitchens.

They didn’t- 

They didn’t stand there trying not to cry because their legs worked.

Anakin let out a quiet, almost humorless breath.

“…Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath.

But it didn’t sound convincing.

He set the cup back down carefully.

His hands lingered on the counter again, but this time not because he needed the support, just because he needed something steady to hold onto for a second longer.

Then he pushed off it.

Straightened.

Rolled his shoulders again.

Better.

He could handle this.

He would handle this.

One step at a time.

Literally.

Anakin moved toward the small storage unit, opening it quietly. Inside were the usual Temple supplies, nothing exciting, nothing indulgent.  That was the way of the jedi. Still, he knew where he Master kept the tea at. Then he poured the cold tea down the drain and started to make a new batch. As he worked, he started to let his mind wander. 

Timeline, timeline, timeline, he needed to get his head around the timeline before he made a single move. He needed to stop wasting time on the little stuff.

He was twelve at the moment, right? Which meant he had seven years before Geonosis. Before the Clone Wars. 

Before his men.

The 501st.

For a long time, too long, he hadn’t let himself think about them. Not really. Not beyond flashes. Not beyond ghosts that came in quiet moments when the armor was too heavy and the silence too loud.

Because thinking about them meant remembering.

And remembering meant-

Failure.

His jaw tightened.

Names, faces, voices, suddenly clear in a way they hadn’t been in years. Not distant. Not dulled by time or buried under layers of rage and survival. Rex. Fives, Echo, Jesse. Tup, Kix, Hardcase, Denal, Dogma. So many many others. His brothers in arms.

Alive.

They had been alive. They had trusted him, followed him into hell without hesitation. And he-

Anakin’s hand tightened around the edge of the counter before he forced it to relax.

No.

Not this time.

They will be alive. Not just another name on a casualty list. Not yet. They will be laughed, argued, and he make sure they can do that again. 

The production of the Clone Army had already begin, he knew. He renumbered reading the reports Obi-Wan had made. It had been the same year he had came to the Temple, which was...something that might not be a coincidence.

Which all meant... what exactly? 

What could he do?

He didn’t have a voice people listened to just because he spoke. He didn’t have legitimacy, or rank, or anything that would let him walk into a room full of Masters and say there’s an army being grown in secret and it will destroy us and that army doesn't want to hurt use. What could he do? Really? He was back in a child's body with no friends or influence. If he walked up to the Council and said Palpatine is a Sith Lord manipulating the Republic, they would-

Anakin huffed under his breath.

They would look at him like he’d finally lost his mind.

He just wasn't like Padmé-

The thought lands sharp and sudden, like a blade drawn too fast.

For a split second, his mind runs, Naboo, a younger version of her, bright-eyed and stubborn and so impossibly good

Padmé was alive. Alive and untouched by everything that would come. 

Wasn't that a laugh?

It finally dawned on him then, just how many people were still alive. Not just his men, his wife, Sith Hells his own mother was- 

Anakin nearly dropped to the cup. 

Mother.

His mother.

She would still be alive.

Tears came into his vision again, but Anakin shook his head. He didn’t need to cry anymore, he had to-

He needed to save her. No, no he has to save her. 

Anakin blinked hard, vision swimming, the world snapping back into focus in pieces, the kettle.

Focus. God he was having a 

He reached out automatically, pulling it off the heat before it could boil over, setting it aside with hands that were only slightly unsteady.

Too close.

He stood there for a moment, breathing.

In.

Out.

In-

Mother.

The word didn’t leave. It stayed lodged in his chest like something alive and desperate.

She was alive.

Not a memory. Not in a sandy grave he had dug himself. Not a body he had arrived too late to save.

Alive.  And somewhere in the galaxy, still believing he would come back.

Anakin’s hands curled slowly against the counter.

“I will,” he whispered. Just... certain. “I will.”

The Force stirred faintly around him, not overwhelming this time, just there, like a quiet acknowledgment. It felt almost like a hug. Anakin closed his eyes for a second, grounding himself in that warmth. It was still too blinding for him to fully rest within it. It felt like a being stuck in a tar pit made of melted candy, far too sweet to breathe in without choking, clinging to every thought and movement until it threatened to pull him under. And that was saying something because Anakin loved sweet food.

One thing at a time.

His men were one thing. A war. A system. Something vast and complicated that needed planning, subtlety, time. The Clone War started because of deep issues with the Republic. Worlds that were left to rot while the Core debated procedure and profit. Corporations that had more more power than entire systems. Senators who cared more about influence than people. Systems that had been rotting long before he had ever stepped foot in the Temple.

Anakin’s jaw tightened as he stared down at his hands.

He couldn’t fix that. Not alone. Certainly not as a Padawan.

There had to be a way, though.

Anakin placed the newly brewed teas on the tray and started work on making breakfast. Anakin may be terrible at cooking, but he could make eggs. Kinda. 

First, and really he should have done this already, he needed to write everything down that he could remember of major events leading up to the the war and in said war. Or just any events that he could recall in general might be the best idea to do. 

As Vader, he had been haunted by his memories. His memories had become the most terrible curse to live his. His punishment, he had supposed. The salt in his burns for all he had failed to save, the what if's of what he could have done to save them.

But now....maybe it was a blessing. With the knowledge of upcoming events and battles, he can save people.

His men. Padme. His mother.

Anakin had just finished with the eggs when he could hear rustling coming from his room. 

It was only when he felt his master’s presence behind him he turned around. Anakin saw Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, who looked disheveled and slightly worried? 

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan asked slowly, as if not understanding what was happening in front of him. “Did you… make breakfast?”

Anakin nodded, looking at the food that was only slightly burnt in front of him. “You were sleeping and I wanted to do something nice.” He almost cringed at his words. He knew he was being out of character. In the past, he had barely set foot in their kitchen.  But it had been such a long time for Anakin to be next to Obi-Wan as a friend rather then foe. “I'm just..." He tailed off.  Anakin paused to think of everything he had wanted to say but never did before. “I know you have it tough, with…everything, but I'm here for you, Master. We're a team." 

I want to make things right this time, for both of us. And for everyone I care about, he thought.

It was in the Clone Wars when Anakin had learned how deep Qui-Gon's death had hurt his master. The deep depression he had gone through alone. Anakin had felt guilty, not realizing how much Obi-Wan had gone through all alone.

“I’m just…”

The words stalled in his throat. Too many endings fought for space after them.

“…restless,” he finished, because it was the safest truth available. He shrugged, "I wanted to do something nice." 

He needed to show that he could be useful. That he cared. That he wasn’t just a burden dropped into Obi-Wan’s quarters with healer orders and Council concern wrapped around him like chains. That he could do something. Obi-Wan stayed in the doorway for a long moment, looking from Anakin to the tray, to the eggs, to the tea, and then back to Anakin again.

There was surprise there, and worry. But beneath it, something else too, something softer, harder to look at.

Anakin shifted under the weight of it.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan's tone made Anakin flinch. He sounded... almost broken. And so, so tired. He opens his mouth to say something but close it and shook his head. Then he smiled again, still tired. "Thank you, Anakin," Obi-Wan murmured as he step forward to join his Padawan. He placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder. “It was not necessary,” Obi-Wan said softly. “But it was very kind.”

Kind.

Anakin almost laughed.

If Obi-Wan knew half of what sat inside him, what he had done, what he had become, he would never use that word.

Something twisted inside of Anakin. Had he made Obi-Wan's depression worse before? He needed to show that he saw him. Not just as Master. Or as the steady presence that had always somehow been there.

But as a person. A person who had lost everything and still gotten up the next day. A person who had been handed a frightened, furious child and expected to know what to do with him while still bleeding from wounds no one could see.

Anakin hadn’t understood that before.

Or maybe he had never let himself.

At nine, at twelve, even later, it had always been so easy to be consumed by his own hurt. His own fear. His own need. Obi-Wan had seemed so composed, so capable, so there, that Anakin had forgotten there had once been a boy beneath all that discipline.

A boy who had lost his Master.

A boy who had been left behind too.

And now, standing in the doorway with sleep still soft in his face and worry plain as day in his eyes, Obi-Wan looked young enough for that grief to still be fresh.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it always would be.

Anakin looked down for a second, suddenly unable to hold that gaze.

“I know it wasn’t necessary,” he said quietly. “I just…”

He trailed off again.

The truth pressed at the back of his teeth.

I want to take care of you too.

I want to fix what I broke.

I want to be better before I even become the version of me that ruins everything.

Instead, he forced out something smaller.

“You do a lot.”

Obi-Wan went still. Only just enough that Anakin felt it.

The hand on his shoulder stayed warm and steady, but the Force around him shifted, like a pond disturbed by one small stone dropped into the center.

Anakin risked a glance up.

Obi-Wan was looking at him strangely now. Not suspiciously, thankfully. Just… carefully.

As if Anakin had said something unexpected enough to require rearranging.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, voice mild in that way it got when he was off-balance and trying not to show it, “someone has to keep you from leaping out of windows and challenging protocol to single combat.”

Anakin snorted despite himself.

The two of them slowly got ready to eat. They didn't say much during that time and it was only until they started to eat Anakin's slightly burnt food did Obi-Wan talked again. 

Obi-Wan turned his cup slowly between his hands before he spoke. Anakin had noticed it immediately.

Of course he did. It was the same sort of caution Obi-Wan used when approaching a frightened animal, or a detonator he wasn’t entirely convinced was inactive.

Which, honestly, felt fair.

The silence had not been uncomfortable before. Light, if anything. Fragile, but manageable. The sort of quiet built out of tea steam and clumsy breakfast and the strange miracle of simply existing in the same room without pain.

“About when you collapsed.”

Anakin went very still.

The Temple kitchen suddenly felt too small again.

He stared at his plate, at the slightly overcooked eggs he no longer had any appetite for, and said nothing.

“The healers found no injury they could explain,” he said quietly. “No illness severe enough to account for… that.”

No one had yet to tell just how bad his collapse, just that he nearly died. The most detailed he had gotten was the seizing. 

“Master Yoda believes you experienced some kind of Force vision,” Obi-Wan continued. “Or something akin to one.” He pause and swallowed. “He did not seem entirely certain.”

The younger men needed more time. He needed to by more time to come up with good excuses. And he just wasn't really to start his lying yet. 

“Can... can we talk about it at Dex's?"

For one awful second, Anakin thought he had pushed too far—that Obi-Wan would hear the dodge for what it was and press harder, or worse, say no and pin him in place with that impossible patience until something cracked open before Anakin was ready.

Instead, Obi-Wan looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Took in the stiffness in Anakin’s shoulders, the way his eyes were fixed too hard on his plate, the careful neutrality that only made the fear beneath it more obvious.

A long moment passed.

Then Obi-Wan exhaled softly through his nose. "That will be fine."

Relief came so fast Anakin nearly sagged with it. He kept his head down, though, staring stubbornly at the eggs as if they were suddenly fascinating.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

Obi-Wan did not answer right away.

When Anakin finally risked a glance up, his master was still watching him with that same measured, thoughtful expression. Still not quite suspicious. But definitely filing this away for later.

Fair.

More than fair.

Obi-Wan set his cup down with quiet care. “Provided,” he added, in the tone of a man who had already seen five possible disasters and was trying to head off at least three of them, “that the healers agree you are fit to leave the Temple.”

Anakin made a face. He knew that Obi-Wan was messing with him now, as the man had already promised him so. Still-

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched faintly. “And that you do not attempt to flee before then.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

That, at least, was mostly true.

Obi-Wan lifted a brow.

Anakin sighed. “I wasn’t planning to today.”

“That is not as reassuring as you seem to think.”

Anakin huffed a quiet breath that was almost a laugh, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders.

A little.

Just enough to breathe again.

Obi-Wan regarded him for another moment, then let the subject go—for now. “Eat,” he said instead, gesturing lightly with his fork. “Your breakfast may not improve if ignored.”

“It’s already burnt.”

“It may yet find new and exciting depths.”

Anakin snorted into his tea.

This... this was worth the do-over. 

Chapter Text

Anakin stabbed the stylus into the dataPad harder than necessary.

The screen blinked up at him, blank and expectant and annoyingly patient, like it had all the time in the galaxy for him to get his thoughts together.

Anakin did not.

He shifted in his seat for what had to be the hundredth time, one leg bouncing under the table, the other hooked awkwardly around the chair leg like that would somehow pin him in place.

It didn’t.

Nothing did.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Focus.”

But saying the word was not helping doing the action. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times-

Clone Wars. Start there. Maybe? Wait no- earlier. Geonosis. No, before that.

He needed a timeline, a proper one.

Anakin straightened slightly, determination flaring.

“Okay. Timeline,” he said, like saying it out loud would force it into existence.

He scrawled across the top of the dataPad- "IMPORTANT EVENTS – DO NOT FORGET"

He stared at it.

Immediately forgot what he was going to write next.

“…Great.”

His foot bounced faster.

Think.

Think.

Think- 

Naboo and Trade Federation. That was first, right? Well, Tatooine was first. At least for him. Not for the galaxy of course. But this list was for him.  So, he scratched out a line, rewrote it, and then scratched it out again.

“This is stupid.”

He leaned back in his chair, then forward again, then sideways like maybe a different angle would knock the thoughts loose.

It didn’t.

Everything was there.

That was the problem.

Too much.

Too many battles, too many names, too many moments stacked on top of each other until none of them would come out in a straight line.

 He fell back in his chair, letting his head fall back and start at the ceiling.

He could do this. He had to do this.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. 

Anakin’s eyes slid shut as his head rested against the back of the chair.

Timeline wasn’t working, not a the moment. 

It felt too... linear. Almost clean in a way and the war had never been clean. It had been chaos stitched together with orders and luck and blood.

So... Don’t start with events, start with people.

That… that he could do.

For him, faces came easier than dates and voices easier than Senate reports.

Anakin leaned forward again slowly, the dataPad still blank except for his messy, abandoned title.

“…Key players,” he muttered.

Yeah.

That worked.

He sat up and quickly wrote down some names. Dooku, Grievous, Ventress, and then, almost as an after thought, he wrote Maul and Savage Opress names too. He tapped the stylus against the edge of the dataPad again, slower now. There was, of course, one other name, the name that was behind everything. Anakin could use either his true name or Sith, though, maybe his true name was  his Sith title.

But his hand stilled.

He... he couldn't write it. Not yet anyway. It felt too big and almost too dangerous to put down casually, even here, even alone.

Anakin exhaled slowly through his nose.

Later.

He’d deal with that later.

Focus on what he could move.

Going down the list he had made, the first one up was Dooku himself- Darth Tyranus. It was still almost embarrassing for how long it two the Jedi to link the two names together. 

Out of all the names on the list, Dooku of Serenno was the one he knew the most about, past and motives wise. He was the fallen Jedi idealist, whose eyes never turn gold. Anakin's own great-grandmaster, though he never he never thought about it often. It was almost easy for him to forget, but that man had been the one to teach Qui-Gon all he knew. 

Dooku had walked away from the Order after his former Padawan's death. But that had been the catalyst of his departure, not the cause. The man had seen something wrong in the Republic, in the Jedi, and instead of trying to fix it- 

He left. 

That throught sat a little... strangly within Akain. 

Anakin could understand why the man just.... left. A part of Anakin, since waking up, wanted to just that. There was so much to do in seven years that Anakin felt staying with the Jedi was wasting time. Wasn't that a ugly thought. But if he was being honest it was so tempting.

Seven years.

That was nothing.

Seven years to prepare a war. Seven years to expose a Sith Lord who had fooled the entire Jedi Order. Seven years to save his mother. Seven years to make sure Padmé never-

His grip tightened.

Seven years to make sure he never became-

Anakin exhaled sharply, forcing the thought to stop before it finished.

Seven years wasn’t time.

It was a countdown.

And the Jedi... Well the Jedi were slow. To the point Anakin wanted to called them lazy. They never reacted until something broke.

They debated and waited. They followed the "proper" procedure. And by the time they acted- Well. It was already too late. As Anakin knew very well. 

He had seen it.

Lived it.

Watched entire systems fall while the Council discussed “balance” and “careful consideration.”

Watched people die because no one wanted to make the wrong move, so they made no move at all.

His fingers pressed harder into the edge of the dataPad.

“They’re not lazy,” he muttered. It was reluctant thought, but he needed to shake away his anger. Since a large part of him still wanted to be angry. But if he wanted this to work, he needed to let go. Easier said then done. “They’re… cautious.” He added after a moment.

Caution had its place, but there was such a thing as too cautious. 

But war didn’t wait for caution.

Neither did Sith nor the slavers on Tatooine. Not like the  Palpatine, who smiled and smiled and moved pieces while everyone else was still deciding if the board mattered.

...and if Anakin did leave, what about his men? Who would lead them? He didn't trust some unknown Jedi to help them.

Anakin leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring down at the words he’d written.

There had been the corruption of it all, the biggest reason for Dooku leaving. The way entire systems had and will if Anakin does nothing, while the Core Worlds debated procedure and politics. The way that the Jedi had been stretched thin, trying to keep the peace in a galaxy that didn't want peaces, had just been an advantage.   

Dooku hadn't been wrong about that. 

“But you were wrong about everything else,” he said quietly.

Because seeing the flaws didn’t justify becoming what Dooku had become. To trying forced the galaxy into what he believed it should be.

It didn’t justify the war. The manipulation. The deaths. The lies.

Just like how Vader's action weren't justified. 

That made Anakin pause for a second, guilt clawing at his throat again, but he did his best to shake it off. Now was not the time for self-pity. 

But it did raise a question that he wasn't sure about.  

Could Dooku be saved? Or, and much more importantly, could Dooku be used against Palpatine?

Anakin’s fingers tapped lightly against the dataPad.

Dooku knew things. About the Sith, the war, and sbout the structure behind it all, much more then Anakin did. If Dooku broke away.... that could unravel everything. But…

Anakin hesitated.

Dooku wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t blind. He had chosen this. Had chosen to follow Sidious.

Which meant-

“He believes in it,” Anakin muttered, thinking allowed. 

Or at least believed enough to keep doing it.

Enough to commit and stay even when it violated his morals. 

That made things… complicated.

Anakin exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair again.

It was something that needed farther through. 

As for next person on the list Grievous, he was a bit more black and white for Anakin to think of. While the brunette drew a bit of a blank with his past, he did have a touch of information. When the Jedi had done a background check on the mecha man, they had learned that he had been a Warlord from Kalee. That all the cybernetics he had grafted onto his body were his way of trying to become stronger then any Jedi. Much like the Mandalorians, he made himself into a weapon specifically to kill Jedi.

Grievous hadn’t started as some grand ideological force of darkness. He hadn’t fallen chasing power for its own sake, or because he believed he could reshape the galaxy into something better.

He had been a warlord.

It was something to think about. 

The lack of past on record could be the same Maul and Savage Opress. But as time went on in the War, there had been some new information that came to life. As well as the fact that Anakin had learned more about the former after he had fell. That was due to his old master loving to talk about his former apprentice and all of his failures. Probably as some sort of manipulation technique or something of the like, but Vader had done his best to zone out at those times or, on the very rare occasion, had been slightly high on pain medication.

Maul had been a unpredicted variable in the later part of the war. Neither side had been prepared for the Zabrak to cling to life sheer determination and rage and hate after being cut in half. It was almost oddly admirable. But Palpatine plan's still weren't that affected by the return of his former apprentice.

The broken man hadn’t broken the plan or even derailed it.

Palpatine had adjusted and folded Maul back into the larger game like he was just another piece that had wandered off the board and been placed back where he was useful.

Force, Anakin was just learning how to play Chekers while Palpatine was playing Dejarik in his sleep.

Savage was even more of a unknown, much like Grievous. All he really knew was that he had been transformed into a monster by the Nightsisters. 

The Nightsisters.... Anakin made a quick side note on the side of the dataPad and moved on to the next name list that he realized that he had already went out of order of. But Ventress was related Nightsisters after.

Anakin paused, the stylus in his hand hovering over the dataPad.

Once she had been training to be a Jedi, then an apprentice to Dooku, and later something else entirely. A wandering force of vengeance and tragedy.

Ventress had never fit cleanly into one box. Not like Grievous, who had been a weapon with a single purpose. Not like Dooku, who had wrapped all of his choices in ideals and elegance until they looked almost noble from a distance. Not even like Maul, who had become something feral and burning and impossible to fully contain. She had always been… sharper than that. More human, maybe. More inconsistent. She could be cruel, yes. Vicious. Petty. She could enjoy making people bleed. But there had always been something underneath it all that made Anakin hesitate when he tried to place her neatly among the monsters.

She had been hurt first. And that mattered. More than the Jedi would probably like, and more than the Sith would ever admit.

Anakin remembered enough, in pieces at first and then more clearly, of what had come out later. Of losses piled on losses. Of hands that kept reaching for her only to close into fists. A life spent being taken, trained, used, discarded. Pulled from one master to another, never really belonging anywhere except in the brief moments when someone wanted something from her.

That kind of life did something to a person.

Anakin knew that too well.

He sat back in the chair, rolling the stylus slowly between his fingers as he thought. Ventress wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t stupid enough, or kind enough, to pretend otherwise. She had killed. She had hunted. She had served evil willingly, at least for a time. But that still didn’t feel like the whole truth. It felt too easy, calling her a villain and leaving it there.

Because if Ventress was just a villain, then what did that make him?

No.

She was more complicated than that.

She was someone the galaxy had chewed up and sharpened into a blade, and every hand that had held that blade had used it until it cut too deep, then dropped it and acted surprised when it kept cutting. If she was beyond redemption so was he. And at this point in time, everything she will do hasn't come to past and a lot of the things done to her haven't came either. 

Each of these players fought for something different in the war. Grievous fought for battle. Dooku fought for ideology. Maul fought for revenge. Ventress fought for survival.

Well, at least he had something, though what it all meant still he was trying to figure out. If he couldn’t control the whole board, maybe he could start learning how the pieces moved. That-

A sharp chime cut through the room.

Anakin jumped.

It wasn't by much, a startled jerk of his shoulders really, but it was enough to snap him clean out of his thoughts. His head whipped toward the door, instincts flaring automatically-

And then pausing.

The Force didn’t… react. Like there was none one there to begin with. 

Anakin frowned slightly, pushing himself to his feet. “Who-?”

Another chime.

Impatient this time.

He hesitated for half a second longer, then crossed the room, fingers brushing the panel. The door slid open with a quiet hiss.

A familiar dome popped immediately into view.

A sharp, indignant beep-warble-screech blasted up at him.

Anakin froze.

“…Artoo?”

The astromech unit rolled forward like he owned the place, wheels clicking over the threshold without waiting for permission. His dome spun rapidly, projector flickering like he had a lot to say and no intention of saying it calmly.

A string of loud, offended whistles followed.

Anakin just stared.

For a second, then two, and then a few more. Everything on his mind the war, the timeline, the Force, all of it just… vanished.

All that existed before was now nothing but the boy and his droid in front of him. 

“…you’r-”

Another sharp beep! cut him off, accusatory.

Artoo bumped directly into his shin. Not hard, but with purpose.

Anakin blinked down at him, something in his chest going tight and light all at once. “Hey-!”

A rapid series of indignant chirps poured out of the droid, escalating quickly into what could only be described as a full rant. His dome spun, one of his little arms snapping out to gesture wildly as if pointing at invisible offenders. Anakin didn’t need translation to understand the tone his droid had.

“…okay, okay-” he said, holding his hands up slightly. “What did I do?”

Artoo let out a long, scandalized trill.

You disappeared. You didn’t come get me. Do you have any idea what I’ve been dealing with?

The droid made a noise that was unmistakably dramatic.

Anakin huffed out a breath that was dangerously close to a laugh. Or a sob. Either could be true. 

More rapid, furious whistles.

Anakin caught fragments of it. Something about the other droids being inefficient. No respect for proper maintenance protocols. And since Anakin was bedridden for a short time, someone had tried to assign R2 to inventory.

Inventory. Artoo emitted a sound of pure offense.

Anakin snorted, this time unable to stop it. He fell to his knees, placing a hand on his droid. “Yeah, that sounds like a nightmare.” He had been trying so hard not to cry anymore.

When was the last time he had seen his mechanical best friend? He actually knew the answer to that.

It had been with Luke.

The thought hit Anakin so hard he went still, one hand still resting on Artoo’s dome as if contact alone could keep him anchored.

He remembered the shock of it even then, through pain and smoke and failing breath, through the ruins of everything he had become. He had seen Artoo with Luke and for one brief, impossible second, the galaxy had folded in on itself.

His droid and his son, together.

As Vader, he had barely known what to do with that.

A part of him had been glad, horribly and quietly glad, that they had found each other. That Artoo had not been left to rust in some forgotten hangar, abandoned like one more remnant of a dead man no one wanted to remember. That Luke had known him. Trusted him. Kept him.

But that gladness had always sat beside guilt.

Anakin’s throat tightened.

Because when he had first fallen, really fallen, he had not thought of Artoo.

Not right away.

Not when everything was burning.

Not when Padmé was gone and rage was all that was left to him. Artoo had become another thing shoved into the dark, another bond severed because remembering him meant remembering Anakin, and Vader had not wanted that. Had not survived well with that.

He had left him behind.

Force, he had left everyone behind.

His hand curled more tightly against the cool metal of Artoo’s dome. Artoo, apparently sensing the shift in mood, let out a quieter series of chirps. Less indignant now. More like trying to search. Anakin barely heard him.

Because another thought had caught him, sharp and wrong and spiraling fast.

He couldn’t feel Artoo in the Force, not now, not at all.

That should have been normal. Should have been obvious. Droids were not alive, not in the way the Jedi counted life. The Force moved through living things, not machinery.

Except-

Except once, he had.

Not the same way he felt Obi-Wan, or Padmé, or anyone made of blood and breath and bone. But there had been something. A shape. A presence. A familiar hum at the edge of his awareness that had felt so distinctly Artoo that Anakin had stopped questioning it years ago. He had never cared what the Jedi thought about droids and personhood and whether metal could count for less just because it was made, not born.

Artoo had always been there. A bright, indignant little star of noise and defiance and impossible loyalty.

So why couldn’t he feel him now?

Had he imagined it before?

Had it only come later, after years together, after enough time that the bond had grown into something even the Force could not ignore?

Or-

Anakin’s breathing hitched.

Or was that something else he had lost?

The thought opened like a pit beneath him.

His chest tightened. The room seemed to narrow. His fingers pressed harder into Artoo’s dome, no longer just affectionate, now clinging without meaning to.

No.

No, no, he wasn’t doing this. Not now. Not over this.

But his thoughts were already running.

What else had changed? What else was gone? What if he couldn’t reach people the same way anymore? What if this body, this life, this second chance came with absences he wouldn’t understand until it was too late-

A sharp BWEET? cut right through him.

Artoo butted hard into his chest.

Not enough to hurt.

Enough to interrupt.

Anakin blinked.

The droid’s dome tilted sharply upward, blue photoreceptor fixed on him. A quick burst of questioning beeps followed, impatient and worried all at once.

Little mechanic?

Another chirp.

You okay?

That-

That did it.

Anakin made a sound that was half laugh, half something much more dangerous, and before he could think better of it, he leaned forward and wrapped both arms around the astromech.

The metal was cool. Solid. Smaller than he remembered and yet somehow exactly the same.

Artoo let out a startled whistle, dome jerking slightly as if he had not been expecting to be tackled into an embrace the second he finished complaining.

Too bad. Anakin held on anyway.

He pressed his face against the curve of the droid’s casing and shut his eyes hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words catching rough in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

For leaving you.

For forgetting you.

For every year I made myself into someone who would have looked at you and thought of weakness instead of home.

Artoo made a confused series of softer chirps, little sounds of protest mixed with concern. One of his arms clicked uncertainly against Anakin’s shoulder, then patted at him in awkward, mechanical little taps.

The gesture nearly broke him worse.

Anakin laughed once, wet and shaky. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured. “I know. Dramatic.”

Artoo emitted a skeptical whistle that was very clearly agreement.

That got a real laugh out of him, small, frayed, but real.

He stayed there a moment longer, arms still around the droid, forehead resting against cool metal as he forced himself to breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

This was fine. The point was that Artoo was here. There was now time and opportunity to build that bond again. That was enough.

Slowly, Anakin pulled back just enough to look at him.

Artoo’s dome swiveled, giving him a sharp little trill that sounded suspiciously like well?

Anakin scrubbed quickly at his face with the heel of his hand. “I’m fine.”

Artoo let out a flat, disbelieving beep.

Anakin snorted. “Okay, not fine.”

Another chirp. Obviously.

“Rude.”

Artoo made a smug little warble.

That, absurdly, helped more than anything else had all morning.

Anakin sat back on his heels, one hand still resting against Artoo’s dome.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

The droid stilled. Then came a softer sound. It wasn't a sarcastic sound that the droid normally had. Just small and warm and understanding.

Anakin swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said, answering the sound as much as the machine. “I know.”

Artoo bumped his head gently into Anakin’s hand, then launched into another series of chirps, less frantic now, but no less opinionated, about incompetent maintenance crews, insulting assignments, and the utter disaster that was leaving him unsupervised among Temple droids who clearly had no appreciation for standards.

Anakin listened. Really listened.

And with every offended beep and self-important warble, the spiral loosened a little more.

It was only then that he felt it. 

And he recognized the feeling at once. 

Something warm and familiar in a way that went past memory and straight into instinct.

His and Obi-Wan's bond. 

It wasn’t wide open. Not even close. Just a crack in a door Anakin hadn’t realized he had been bracing shut with his whole body. A thread of concern slipping through. Sharp at first, then softer, searching.

Anakin?

The voice didn’t come in words, not exactly. It came in feeling. In the shape of Obi-Wan’s attention finding him all at once and turning fully, like sunlight through cloud.

Anakin went completely still.

Artoo chirped at him, offended that he had stopped listening mid-rant, but Anakin barely heard him.

The bond.

Force.

He had closed it. When had he had done it? He had to have closed so naturally that he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

At first after waking, everything had been too much. Too raw, too bright, too dangerous. But there had been another reason. Something learned and worn so deep it had become reflex.

As Vader, the bond had always been shut.

Always.

At any given time, it had been locked down, sealed behind anger and pain and necessity, because leaving anything open was an invitation. A weakness. A wound waiting for fingers to dig into it. Sometimes, rarely, one of them would reach. A brush against the walls. A quiet push of feeling, of memory, of grief.

And the other would pull back, lock himself away.

Again and again and again.

But the bond had never broken. That was the strange, terrible thing.

Not on Mustafar.  Not in all those years of silence or the brief time Obi-Wan had come out of hiding. Not even in Obi-Wan’s death.

It had changed then. Gone dim, muffled, like hearing a voice through deep water. Not gone. Never gone. Just unreachable. A line stretched across death and regret and the impossible distance between what they had been and what they had made of each other.

And now-

Now it was here. Alive and young and there. 

Anakin’s stomach dropped.

No wonder Obi-Wan had been looking at him strangely since he woke. No wonder there had been that searching look, that careful pause, that sense of Obi-Wan trying to place something he could feel but not fully understand.

Because Anakin had been there and not there, present in the room but walled off behind habits built in fire and hatred and survival.

And now, for one ugly, accidental moment, Obi-Wan had felt him.

Really felt him.

Another pulse came down the bond. Stronger this time.

Concern. Alarm. 

Anakin?

Obi-Wan had left for a Council meeting this morning, but he had been relucted. He hadn't said anything allow per say, but it was clear to see he was worried that his ward being on his own at the moment. Anakin had all but shove the man out of the room saying he wasn't made out of glass and didn't need to be babied. His attitude had seemed to put his master at ease for some reason. 

But it seems as if he was proving Obi-Wan wrong at the moment in his panic. 

His first instinct was to slam the bond close tightly once more, but he was just barely able to prevent himself from doing so. Doing that might only make the older man more worried. 

Anakin took a moment to compose himself before allowing the bond to stay open just little crack. Everything is fine, Master. I just... got startled, he sent back, awkwardly, the thought more shape than sentence.

It felt strange.

Not because the bond itself was strange, Force knew it wasn’t, but because this version of it was. The cleaner, younger version of it. Not layered over with years of war and silence and all the things neither of them had said.

For a second there was only the warm pressure of Obi-Wan’s attention, hovering at the edge of him.

Then, very distinctly-

Startled?

Anakin winced.

Right. That had sounded weak. Suspiciously weak.

Artoo gave a curious little chirp, dome turning as if he could somehow hear one half of the exchange and had decided it was his business anyway. Anakin scrubbed quickly at his face with one hand and tried again, keeping the bond cracked open just enough to be reassuring without turning it into a flood. Artoo found me, he sent, a little more firmly this time. I’m fine.

There was a pause and the briefest moment, there was a brush of disbelief.

Your idea of “fine” and mine have historically differed.

Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped Anakin before he could stop it. Was he that bad at this young?

Artoo beeped approvingly, apparently pleased that he’d said something correct.

That small, involuntary laugh must have carried through the bond, because Obi-Wan’s alarm eased a fraction. Artoo came to see you?

The thread of feeling behind that question was so unmistakably fond that Anakin’s chest tightened.

Yeah, he sent back. Then, with a flicker of dry affection he hadn’t planned on letting show, apparently inventory was an unforgivable insult.

That got him the faintest pulse of amusement in return.

And because Anakin was not ready for how much that meant, he looked down at Artoo instead.

The astromech had rolled back a little and was watching him closely now, projector dim, one little arm still half-extended as if he was prepared to bonk him again if he started spiraling.

Anakin reached down and rested his hand on the dome.

“I’m okay,” he told Artoo out loud. Artoo responded with a flat, deeply skeptical whistle. He snorted.

Through the bond came another faint brush of Obi-Wan’s concern, gentler now but still present. Do you need me to return?

The question hit harder than it should have. There was no hesitation or annoyance.  Just that immediate, simple willingness to leave a Council meeting because Anakin had panicked over a droid and accidentally opened a bond he’d been holding shut with his teeth. The warmth of it sat strangely in his ribs almost dangerous in its comfort. It was all so familiar in a way that made him want to run and stay all at once.

His fingers tightened lightly on Artoo’s dome.

The old instinct rose again. Say no, obviously, because needing anything was dangerous and asking for anything was worse and Obi-Wan had already done enough, always enough, too much-

Anakin caught it before it seeped into the bond again. 

No, he sent back, much more more deliberate. I’m alright. Really.

He could feel Obi-Wan weighing that. Not just the words, but the shape of them. The truth under them. The little tremors he still hadn’t fully smoothed out. Anakin braced for more questions. Instead, what came back was-

Very well. A beat. Then, softer, Thank you for answering.

That-

That almost knocked the breath out of him.

Not for calming down.

Not for behaving.

Not for not causing trouble.

"Thank you for answering."

Like Obi-Wan had expected silence. Or maybe it was that Obi-Wan had lived with silence before.

Anakin swallowed hard.

Of course he had.

Mustafar rose between them for the briefest second, not in image, but in scar tissue. A history only one of them had in this moment and that made it feel worse. 

His eyes slipped shut.

I’m here, he sent before he could lose the nerve.

The bond went very still.

Then came a wash of feeling so gentle Anakin almost missed how deep it ran.

Relief.

So you are, Obi-Wan returned.

Artoo let out a chirp that sounded suspiciously judgmental.

Anakin opened his eyes and glared faintly at him. “Don’t start.”

The astromech warbled with all the self-righteous satisfaction of someone who intended to do exactly that.

Anakin huffed out another small laugh and pushed himself up from the floor, slower this time so he didn’t wobble in a way that would embarrass him in front of both his droid and his master simultaneously if the man was here.

The bond remained open.

Just that tiny crack.

A warm thread stretched over distance, neither demanding nor intrusive. Obi-Wan didn’t press through it. Didn’t pry. He simply stayed there, present at the far end of it, letting Anakin know he could be reached.

It almost hurt to know that. 

Artoo rolled after him as he crossed back toward the table, still muttering in indignant beeps about Temple standards and mechanical incompetence. Anakin sat down again, looking at the pad, he made up his mind. Maul and 

Grievous might be lost causes, but Dooku and Ventress weren't.

He had to try and save them from the dark side, from their fates.

Just like how his son did for him.

Dex’s Diner served food that was greasy, unhealthy, and probably offensive to several Jedi teachings.

Anakin loved it.

The smell hit him the second he stepped inside with Obi-Wan, oil and spice and something fried within an inch of its life. The neon signs buzzed overhead, bright against the dimmer corners of the diner, while voices overlapped from every direction. Cutlery clinked. Someone laughed too loudly in a booth near the back. A server shouted an order toward the kitchen. It was crowded, noisy, alive.

Perfect.

Anakin could just barely remember the first time Obi-Wan had brought him here.

It had been only a few months after he’d come to the Temple, back when everything still felt wrong in a way he didn’t have the words for. The silence there had been the worst part some days, not peaceful silence, but the kind that pressed in from all sides, clean and controlled and impossible to hide inside. He had been failing meditation more often than not, frustration coiling tighter in him with every lesson, every correction, every moment he couldn’t make himself fit into what everyone seemed to expect.

After one especially bad attempt, Obi-Wan had brought him here.

Anakin hadn’t understood it at first. Why here, of all places.

Then he had stepped inside and felt it.

The noise. The mess. The press of people. The unpolished warmth of the place.

It had reminded him of the cantinas and common buildings back on Tatooine, not in appearance, exactly, but in feeling. Busy. Chaotic. Full of life loud enough to drown out your thoughts for a little while. It had reminded him of the orphan quarters too, when the younger kids would run through the halls yelling and laughing and no one was getting hit for it. On Tatooine, noise had often meant safety. It meant the adults weren’t angry. It meant no one was holding their breath waiting for the day to turn bad. For the shoe to drop. 

As long as you could hear the children, it was a good day.

If you could hear noise, the chances of living to see the next day were better then most. 

Dex’s still felt like that.

Standing just inside the entrance, Anakin glanced around as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it. The Temple always felt too still, too bright, too careful. Even on good days, it could feel like drowning in polished stone and soft voices and all the things you weren’t supposed to say too loudly. It was too bright, standing right in front of a spotlight.

Here, nobody cared if he was loud.

Here, the chaos felt honest.

The Force here was… different.

Not quieter, or darker or lighter, not louder. If he had to word it, it was just messier.

It didn’t flow in the smooth, carefully guided currents the Temple encouraged, where everything was meant to be felt, acknowledged, and then let go. Here, it tangled. It overlapped. It buzzed with too many lives brushing up against each other all at once. Nothing here was hidden behind meditation or discipline or carefully constructed stillness. People felt things and didn’t apologize for it. The Force reflected that, alive in a way that wasn’t controlled or refined, but wasn’t suffocating either.

It moved like a crowd instead of a current.

And as Obi-Wan stepped in beside him, the door sliding shut behind them, Anakin felt some knot in his chest loosen just a little.

Yeah.

It was nice here.

Not clean. Not calm. Definitely not healthy.

But nice.

For Anakin, that had always been more than enough.

And just as Anakin started to settle into the rhythm of the room, it shattered.

“ANI!”

Before he could even turn, he was off the ground.

Two massive arms, no, four- had him lifted like he weighed nothing, spinning him in a wide, enthusiastic arc.

For half a second, instinct snapped in hard and fast.

Fight or flight.

His body tensed, breath catching-

Then he registered the laugh.

Big. Booming. Familiar.

Anakin broke into a grin mid-spin. “Dex!”

Dexter Jettster barked out a laugh as he set him back on his feet, one of his hands clapping Anakin on the shoulder with enough force to jostle him a step. “Good to see you, kid! Feels like it’s been forever!”

From somewhere behind him, Anakin could practically feel Obi-Wan’s eye roll through the Force.

“You met last week,” Obi-Wan said dryly.

Dex waved that off immediately, all four arms gesturing in broad, dramatic sweeps. “Details! Feels like forever.”

Anakin huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Force, he’d almost forgotten what Dex was like.

That realization hit a little harder than it should have.

He pushed it aside.

Dex was already ushering them toward a booth like he’d decided their presence required immediate and personal supervision. “C’mon, c’mon- sit. What can I get my favorite Jedi today?”

Anakin slid into the booth without hesitation, grabbing the menu more out of habit than necessity. His eyes skimmed it for all of two seconds before lighting up.

“Trash plate,” he said immediately. “Extra cheese.”

“Of course you will,” Obi-Wan murmured, settling in across from him.

Dex let out an approving hum.

“I’ll have a salad,” Obi-Wan added, glancing up. “Something light.”

Anakin looked up slowly, deadpan. “Master.”

Obi-Wan met his gaze, equally composed.

“You get that every time,” Anakin continued. “Live a little. It won’t kill you.”

There was a flicker of something in Obi-Wan’s expression, somewhere between offense and reluctant amusement.

“I did try something else once,” he said.

Anakin snorted. “Yeah. And then you were sick for a day.”

Dex barked out a laugh from beside them. “Kid’s got a point!”

Obi-Wan gave them both a look that might have been stern if it held even a hint of real irritation. It didn’t.

“I have no intention of repeating that experience,” he said calmly.

Anakin just grinned.

Dex jotted something down with exaggerated flair before clapping his hands together. “Alright! Be right back.”

He lumbered off toward the kitchen, still humming to himself.

For a moment, Anakin leaned back in the booth, letting the noise of the diner settle around him again, voices, clatter, movement, life.

His gaze flicked briefly to Obi-Wan then away.

They had come here before. Again and again. Even during the war.

He could see it clearly if he closed his eyes. Ahsoka arguing with Rex over something ridiculous, Cody trying, and failing, to pretend he wasn’t amused, Obi-Wan sighing into his drink while Anakin absolutely encouraged the chaos.

It had been loud.

Messy.

Good.

Anakin’s smile softened, something quieter threading through it.

Force… he couldn’t wait for that again.

Not just in his memories.

The real thing.

All of them, together, like it was supposed to be.

Which meant, he needed to start his plan. XX

Anakin waited until their food arrived to speak again. 

“I had a vision.”

Obi-Wan paused mid-bite, setting his fork down without looking away from Anakin. Just like that, his full attention settled, quiet, steady, and entirely focused.

“Well…” Anakin hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around his utensil. He needed to choose his words carefully. There was a part of him, a small, sharp, and bitter part, that expected this to end up in a Council report. “More than one, actually.”

Obi-Wan didn’t interrupt.

Anakin took that as permission to continue.

“In one of them, I saw a Jedi. A Master, I think. And their Padawan.” He swallowed. “They were in danger. And one of them… didn’t make it.”  His voice dipped, rougher now. “I think it was the Master. Because the Padawan-”

“Anakin.”

The word wasn’t sharp, but it stopped him all the same.

Obi-Wan’s hand had come to rest over his, grounding, warm. His thumb brushed lightly across Anakin’s knuckles.

“You don’t have to continue,” he said gently.

For a moment, Anakin just looked at their hands. For Obi-Wan to talk like this, he must have seem distressed in the Force. 

Then he shook his head slightly. “No. I’m okay. It’s just-”

He drew in a breath, steadying himself.

“They hurt her,” he said, quieter now. “Whoever they were. And she’s going to be terrified. Alone.”

His gaze lifted, locking with Obi-Wan’s.

“She’s going to Fall.”

Silence followed.

Obi-Wan’s expression shifted, concern threading with contemplation as he turned the pieces over in his mind.

“That is… deeply troubling,” he said at last. “Do you know who they are?”

“I did some research-”

Obi-Wan snorted.

Anakin stopped mid-sentence, blinking.

“You,” Obi-Wan said, one brow lifting, eyes bright with amusement, “researched?”

There was something warm in his tone. Light.

Familiar.

Anakin opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped. 

Because the light in Obi-Wan’s eyes caught him off guard.

Obi-Wan's eyes were filled with humor and just pure brightness. They reminded Anakin of the Lir Lake on Alderaan, a beautiful blue that reflied the sky. He had only seen it once when on a diplomatic mission. After all, Aldraan was- 

Was...

The thoughts were cut of by the sound of a scream that wasn’t a sound but a rupture in the Force itself. Millions of voices, in screaming out for just a second until-

Gone.

Anakin went still.

Vader hadn’t cared. Not really. So far detacted he was. Not even when the girl, the princess, unknowing his daughter, had cried out, even when the Force had twisted and shattered around it, he had only felt the echo of his own pain.

Nothing else.

Nothing mattered.

He had stood there and let it happen.

Monster.

He was a monster. 

“-akin?”

The world snapped back into place.

“Anakin!”

He blinked hard, the world snapping back into place in small pieces.

Dex’s.

The noise.

The table.

Obi-Wan.

His Master’s eyes were on him, sharp with concern now.

“How long…” Anakin swallowed, trying to ground himself. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look convinced.

“You seemed rather far away,” he said carefully.

“Just… thinking.” Anakin forced a small shrug, dragging himself back into the present. “Happens.”

There was a pause.

Obi-Wan studied him, really studied him, for a moment longer, like he was trying to decide whether to push.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “Tell me about your research.”

The faint emphasis didn’t go unnoticed.

Anakin huffed a quiet breath, grateful for the shift. “I think the Master was Ky Narec. On Rattatak.”

Obi-Wan stilled.

“Master Narec…” he murmured, one hand lifting to his baby beard as memory clicked into place. “Yes. He was a friend of Qui-Gon’s.”

Anakin nodded, picking at the edge of his tray more than actually eating now.

“What do you know of his mission?” Obi-Wan asked.

That caught him slightly off guard.

“Uh-” Anakin frowned, digging through what he remembered. “He was investigating kidnappings. Pirates taking children from the Core worlds.”

The words came out flatter than he intended.

The bitterness nearly made him throw up. 

Because of course they were.

Core world children mattered.

They always did.

But the Outer Worlds? 

Anakin’s jaw tightened slightly. “They don’t-”

He cut himself off. Too late it seemed. Obi-Wan’s hand closed more firmly over his.

“Anakin,” he said quietly.

The bond flickered, just enough that Anakin felt the concern, the understanding, the quiet reprimand all tangled together.

Anakin stared down at their hands again, realization settling in.

He’d let it slip through.

Of course he had.

“…sorry,” he muttered.

The word felt inadequate.

He poked absently at his now-empty tray, suddenly very interested in not looking up.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Obi-Wan’s grip softened, thumb brushing lightly again, not letting go.

“You are not wrong to be troubled by that,” he said, voice calm but firm. “But you must be careful not to let it harden into something else.”

Anakin huffed quietly. “Yeah. I know.”

Did he?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Obi-Wan didn’t push further.

Instead, after a moment, he asked, “And the Padawan? Did you see her clearly?”

Anakin hesitated. Then nodded, just slightly. “…Yeah. She’s still there. Still alive.”

For now.

The words went unsaid.

Obi-Wan’s expression shifted again, more focused now, more intent.

“Then perhaps,” he said slowly, “this is not a vision of what will happen…” A pause. “…but of what can be changed.”

Anakin looked up at that.

Really looked.

And for just a second, something in his chest loosened.

Not fixed.

Not gone.

But… possible.

“Yeah,” he said, softer now.

Possible.

He could work with that.

Obi-Wan looked down at his now-sleeping Padawan.

Anakin had folded in on himself at the booth, arms crossed on the table, head pillowed atop them like he had simply… run out of energy mid-thought. One moment awake, stubborn and bright and trying too hard to be steady,
the next, gone.

Sleep had taken him quickly. It had almost felt too quickly.

Obi-Wan’s gaze lingered.

There was something fragile in it. Not physically, Anakin had always been more durable than he had any right to be, more then likely a byproduct from his childhood, but something quieter. Something worn thin beneath the surface.

“Little windstorm finally out, huh?”

Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder.

Dex stood behind him, one set of arms crossed while another held a steaming cup. The Besalisk’s expression was lighter than his words, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that missed very little.

Obi-Wan hummed softly, then nodded toward the cup. “Is that for me?”

“Yup.” Dex set it down with a gentle clink. “You look like you need it.”

Obi-Wan exhaled through his nose, wrapping his hands around the warmth of the caf. He didn’t deny it.

There was no point.

Dex followed his gaze back to Anakin, watching the boy for a long moment.

“…Kid looks like he dropped where he sat,” Dex said. “You keep lookin’ at him like he’s gonna shatter if you blink.”

Obi-Wan’s grip tightened slightly around the cup.

There was a pause.

Then Obi-Wan sighed. It might be best to talk to someone who wasn't bound by the Code. Obi-Wan let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. It had been two weeks of measured words and careful reports, of healers and Masters speaking in half-answers and uncertainty. Of being told to observe, to document, to remain calm. 

“…I needed to speak to someone,” he admitted quietly. There wasn't even anyone to really even talk to about this. No one else in his crèche had a Padawan yet. They were still moving through their own training, their own paths, still allowed the space to be uncertain without it costing someone else. When they looked at him now, it wasn’t quite curiosity anymore.

It was… something heavier. They tried to hide it, of course. Jedi were very good at that. But Obi-Wan saw it in the way conversations paused when he entered a room. In the careful way they chose their words around him. In the way their gazes lingered just a second too long on Anakin when the boy passed by.

It looked almost like pity if he allowed himself to look. 

The kind given to someone handed something too large, too soon, and expected to carry it without faltering.

It sat poorly with him. Worse, it made something in his chest pull tight, because a part of him understood it. The other part refused to accept it.

The older Jedi were not much better. They did not pity him, not openly. But there was a distance there. A quiet, measured sort of observation, as though they were waiting to see what would come of this arrangement. Whether he would succeed or fail. Whether this, him, Anakin, all of it, would hold.

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup.

There were questions he could have asked. Masters far more experienced than he was, Jedi who had raised Padawans through far worse than stubborn tempers and restless minds.

He knew that.

But every time the thought surfaced, something in him resisted.

It didn't help that most others could ask their former master for answers.

Obi-Wan couldn't do that. 

He simply… did not wish to stand before them and admit uncertainty. Not when Anakin was already being measured so closely. Not when every misstep felt like it would be weighed, examined, folded into some larger judgment about whether this had ever been a wise decision.

About whether he had been.

So he learned quietly.

Dex grunted. “Yeah, figured. Jedi don’t usually bring their problems out for caf and grease.”

A faint huff of breath escaped Obi-Wan. Not quite amusement but not far off from it. 

It was only then did Obi-Wan start telling his story. 

And it all started on the awful day a few weeks ago now. Though it felt far more recent than that. The memory hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had sharpened.

It had been terrifying. 

They had been sparring.

Anakin had been in a bad mood, not listening to what Obi-Wan was saying. Obi-Wan was ashamed to admit that he wasn’t doing much better. He could admit that much, at least to himself. Anakin, while not meaning to, had been projecting his mood throughout the room. The air had crackled with tension, like the training room was unable to contain the emotional turmoil that was Anakin. But that wasn't an excess for Obi-Wan's behavior. He was an adult for Force-sake. 

But if he thought about to it, the Force had felt wrong around different, almost like the air before a storm finally broke. He still didn't know what to make of that. 

At some during the training Obi-Wan had gotten a good hit in, maybe with a little too much force. Anakin had fallen down. Still, Anakin had rolled his eyes, pushed himself back to his feet, brushing it off like he always did.

Obi-Wan had turned away, then saying something along the lines of Anakin not trying hard enough. Or something of the like. He couldn't remember the exact words anymore

And then-

The Force shifted.

A more sudden shift that he had never felt before in his life. 

A cold flooded the room, not physical, but absolute. It pressed in from all sides, carrying with it something sharp and unfamiliar, fear, confusion, something deeper that Obi-Wan couldn’t name.

It hit him like a blow to the chest.

Obi-Wan turned.

Anakin was still standing where he’d left him.

But something was wrong.

Very, very wrong. 

He had been swaying slightly, like he couldn’t quite hold himself upright. Blood had started to trailed from his nose in a thin, steady line, stark against his tan skin.

Anakin lifted a hand, slowly and uncoordinated, touching it.

He stared at the blood like he didn’t understand what he was seeing.

Then his eyes snapped up.

Obi-Wan wouldn't ever forget it. It was a wide-eyed terrified look, reaching out for him. Quite literary in fact, just not physically. Obi-Wan felt it in the Force, a desperate, instinctive pull toward him. A call for help that bypassed words entirely.

Obi-Wan stepped forward-

But he was too late.

Anakin’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his body gave out beneath him.

Obi-Wan caught him before he hit the ground.

“Anakin-”

He lowered him carefully, hands searching for something, anything, that would explain what was happening.

There was nothing. No visible cause at least.

Only the Force and Anakin.

Even unconscious, the boy was… loud.

Not in sound, but in presence. A surge of emotion so intense it bled into everything around them. Fear. Pain. Something vast and overwhelming that didn’t belong in a child’s body.

It pressed against Obi-Wan’s senses until it was hard to breathe. And then-

His ears rang.

But it was only when he felt something wet slide down his head, did he reach up to touch it. \

Blood.

He barely registered it.

“Someone-!” he called out, voice cutting through the room. “Healer! Now-!”

And then Anakin had started his screaming.

It tore out of him without any warning. But it hadn't been a cry of pain. But like something was deeply raw and terrified.

The sound seemed to fill the entire training room, echoing in a way that felt… wrong. Like it wasn’t just sound, but something carried through the Force itself.

Obi-Wan gathered him closer without thinking, pulling him against his chest.

“It’s alright, Anakin!” he said, though he wasn’t sure if the words reached him. “Anakin, I’m here-”

He reached through their bond, pushing calm, reassurance, anything he could manage.

It didn’t work.

The fear didn’t lessen.

If anything, it spiked.

Anakin’s body tensed in his arms, his hands clutching weakly at Obi-Wan’s robes as the screaming continued, uneven and breaking, like he was fighting something no one else could see.

Obi-Wan tightened his hold, helpless.

“Please-” he murmured, not even sure who he was speaking to anymore. “Anakin-!”

It was a blurr after that. He hadn't heard the sound of footsteps and voices come rushing in to help. He knows that hands had pulled Anakin from him. That their had been questions asked. But all he could recall was the Force still churning, unsettled and wrong.

Until it wasn't anymore.

It had stopped as sudden as it begain.

Anakin’s eyes snapped open.

The shift was abrupt enough to be jarring, even just remembering it.

The screaming stopped.

The pressure in the room eased, not gone, but… less.

Anakin gasped for breath, chest rising and falling too quickly as he looked around, disoriented.

Confused.

Like he had no idea how he had gotten there.

Obi-Wan was at his side immediately.

“Anakin?”

The boy’s gaze found him.

Locked onto him. Recognition flickered, fragile, but there.

“Obi…Wan…?”

His voice was rough, worn thin.

Relief hit Obi-Wan so sharply it almost hurt.

“I’m here,” he said quickly, steadying. “You’re alright-”

“I’m… sorry,” Anakin whispered.

The words were almost instinctive.

What? 

And then, Anakin's grip slackened. His head fell back. And he was gone again.

Unconscious.

Obi-Wan had stayed with him, throughout all of it. Through the long, quiet hours that followed. But even now-

He still didn’t know what had truly happened in that room. And that, whatever it was, Anakin had been at the center of it.

And the boy clearly knew more than he was letting on. He had been so careful since waking, almost too careful. Measured in a way Anakin never was, weighing his words before he spoke, watching Obi-Wan with a quiet awareness that didn’t belong to an twelve-year-old. There were moments where it felt like Anakin was bracing for something that hadn’t happened yet, like he was standing in a room no one else could see. Obi-Wan didn’t know what he had experienced in that moment, just these vision or something else entirely, but he was certain of one thing.

Anakin had not come back from it unchanged.

Obi-Wan glanced at Dex as he finished recounting it, the words settling heavy between them.

Dex’s brow had drawn together, all traces of his usual humor gone as he considered it.

“Gods, Obi-Wan, that’s…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “That’s not normal. Even for you Jedi.” A beat. “And I don’t think that’s on you.”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond immediately.

Dex shifted, one of his arms gesturing faintly. “You said you felt something when he went down?”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to Anakin without meaning to. “I did.”

He paused, searching for words that didn’t quite exist.

“It wasn’t like a vision. Not like anything I’ve encountered before.” His voice lowered. “It was… overwhelming. As though something had reached into him. Not passing through. Not surrounding.” Gripping, he could say. 

His fingers tightened faintly around the now-empty cup.

“Ancient,” he added after a moment. “Powerful. But...” Obi-Wan hesitated.“…it felt like him.”

That was the part he could not explain.

Dex let out a low whistle. “That’s… somethin’.”

He shrugged after a second, trying to ground the moment again. “You said the kid’s special, right? Chosen One and all that?”

Obi-Wan’s expression didn’t change. “Perhaps,” he said quietly. He didn't like talking about that part with anyone. He knew it was going to do something to Anakin's head, for better or worse.

Dex tilted his head. “Then maybe this is part of that. Big power doesn’t stay quiet forever.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer. He only lifted the cup and finished the last of the caf, though it had long since gone lukewarm.

Dex rested a hand on his shoulder then, firm and steady. “He’s a strong kid, Obi,” he said, softer now. “And he’s got you.”

Obi-Wan stilled for just a moment.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

Not the polite, practiced expression he wore so easily for everyone else, but something real. Something tired, but genuine all the same. “Thank you, Dex.”

Dex gave a small nod, satisfied, before turning away to close up the diner, leaving Obi-Wan alone with the quiet hum of the space and the soft, even breathing of his Padawan.

For a moment, Obi-Wan simply sat there.

Thinking.

The situation was… unusual.

That was the simplest way to put it.

And far beyond anything he truly understood.

But Anakin was stable now.

Alive.

As long as whatever had happened did not return, that would be enough.

For now, at least. 

Obi-Wan reached into his robes and set a small stack of credits on the table. Dex would complain later, he always did, but Obi-Wan refused to take without giving something in return.

Then he rose carefully and stepped to Anakin’s side.

Gently, he lifted him.

The boy barely stirred, instinctively leaning into the hold.

Too light.

That almost got a chuckle out the young Jedi. Anakin was still too thin, despite Obi-Wan’s best efforts. Growth spurts came and went, but Anakin never seemed to keep the weight as he should.

Obi-Wan adjusted his grip, tucking him securely against his side, one arm supporting him while the other rested lightly across his back. Anakin’s head settled against his shoulder, breath warm and steady.

The walk back to the Temple was quiet.

Coruscant moved around them in its usual endless rhythm, lights, voices, speeders, but Obi-Wan paid it little mind. His attention remained on the weight in his arms, on the steady rise and fall of Anakin’s chest.

On the simple, fragile fact that he was here.

Obi-Wan glanced down at him.

“Sleep well, Anakin,” he murmured softly. “I’m here.”

The words were quiet but so very certain.

Protecting Anakin may have begun as Qui-Gon’s wish. But somewhere along the way, it had become Obi-Wan’s own goal.

He would guide him. Teach him. Stand beside him. Whatever Anakin was. For whatever he might become.

Even if it meant walking a line the Order warned against. Even if it meant risking more than he should.

Obi-Wan’s hold tightened just slightly, grounding himself in the present.

He would keep him safe.

For as long as he was able.

Even if it cost him everything.

Chapter Text

Anakin had almost forgotten how much he hated the Temple classrooms.

Almost.

Being sent back the next morning reminded him immediately.

The problem wasn’t just the lessons themselves. It was the feeling of being shoved somewhere he had never quite fit and expected to magically know how. The Temple had thousands of rules for emotions, countless lectures on control and serenity and inner balance, but very few people had ever stopped to ask why Anakin struggled in the first place. The Jedi had methods, yes, but only their methods, taught the same way to every initiate regardless of who they were or where they came from.

It wasn’t one-size-fits-all.

And Anakin had spent most of his childhood being treated like failure for not fitting properly into a shape never built for him.

He hadn’t grown up in a crèche. Hadn’t been raised from infancy inside these halls learning how to meditate before he could properly read. He came from Tatooine, from fear and survival and attachment being the only things that kept people alive long enough to see another sunrise. Emotions there weren’t things you quietly released into the Force. They were warnings. Instincts. Reasons to run or fight or hold onto someone tightly before they disappeared.

The Temple had never really known what to do with that.

And neither had he.

Walking into the classroom only brought all those old feelings back faster than he expected.

The initiates looked at him immediately. Some whispered to each other behind their datapads while others stared openly. Most of them were younger than him, but they moved through the room with an ease Anakin still lacked even after years here. They belonged in a way he never had.

It didn’t help that many of them were jealous.

Anakin already had a Master while most initiates their age would eventually be sent to the Service Corps instead of becoming Padawans. Nobody said it aloud, but everyone knew it hung over them. Anakin being chosen so quickly despite arriving late, despite all the trouble he caused, had never made him popular.

He was too old. Too emotional. Too different.

And somehow still too lucky.

Anakin suppressed a sigh and headed toward the back of the room, aiming for the least noticeable seat possible.

Naturally, that was when the instructor noticed him.

“Ah. Young Skywalker.”

Master Fay’s voice carried lightly across the room, smooth and composed in the way senior Jedi often sounded when they were trying not to show annoyance and failing anyway.

“Returned from your unexpected absence, I see,” the quermian said. “Let us hope your recovery does not continue interfering with your studies.”

There it was.

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to ground himself.

Years ago, he would have snapped back immediately. Said something defensive and sharp just to reclaim a little control of the conversation before everyone else could decide who he was for him.

Now he understood that instinct better.

Nobody had really taught him how to handle anger beyond suppressing it. Control it. Release it. Let go.

But anger wasn’t always something he could simply set down.

Sometimes it came from humiliation. Isolation. Fear. Sometimes it came from being a child expected to act perfectly calm while everyone around him quietly treated him like a future disaster waiting to happen.

So instead of lashing out, Anakin just nodded once and sat down.

Silent.

Controlled.

It still took effort not to bare his teeth.

The lesson resumed, Master Fay pacing slowly through the room while speaking about Jedi philosophy and emotional regulation. Every so often her eyes flicked back toward Anakin like she expected him to interrupt at any second.

Honestly, fair.

In his first life, he probably would have.

Back then, he’d disrupted lessons constantly. Argued with instructors. Challenged teachings he didn’t understand. The adults around him had called him difficult without realizing most of the time he was frustrated because he genuinely didn’t know how to do what they were asking him to do.

Meditation had come naturally to some initiates.

For Anakin, sitting still with his thoughts often felt like trapping himself in a room with every fear he’d ever had.

So he stayed quiet now instead.

Even when initiates whispered about him.

Even when one of them muttered Chosen One under their breath with enough sarcasm to curdle milk.

Even when boredom started clawing through his skull because none of this was useful.

Anakin slumped lower in his seat, propping his cheek against one hand while the lecture dragged onward.

Knowledge is power.

The thought came unbidden, carrying the echo of another voice.

For once, Palpatine had been right.

Anakin hated admitting that.

But ignorance had never saved anyone.

The war had not been won by the strongest person in the galaxy. Palpatine had won because he planned better than everyone else. Because while the Jedi debated ethics and procedure, he gathered information and moved pieces years before anyone realized there was even a game being played.

Anakin’s fingers tapped lightly against the desk.

He needed knowledge.

Archives. Holocrons. Records.

Anything on Kamino. Sifo-Dyas. Sith history. Senate alliances. The Trade Federation. The Banking Clan. Mandalorians. The Nightsisters.

And Palpatine.

Even thinking the name made something cold tighten beneath his ribs.

Anakin shoved the feeling down immediately.

Later.

He would deal with that later.

The second Master Fay dismissed the class and assigned homework, Anakin was out of his seat before half the initiates had even packed their datapads away.

He ignored the looks following him out the door. Ignored Master Fay reminding him not to neglect his assigned readings.

For maybe the first time in his life, Anakin Skywalker was voluntarily heading toward the Jedi Archives.

It really was a desperate time, wasn’t it?

The thought lingered in Anakin’s head as he walked through the Temple halls toward the Archives, datapad tucked beneath one arm while his thoughts spiraled in a dozen directions at once. Sith Lords. Clone armies. Corrupt senators. Ancient conspiracies. He was eleven years old and trying to prevent the collapse of an entire galaxy.

Force, he needed help.

And apparently his solution to that problem was voluntarily going to the library.

Obi-Wan would never let him live this down.

The thought almost made him smile, but before it fully could, something brushed against his senses through the Force.

Anakin slowed.

It wasn’t sharp enough to trigger alarm, nor bright enough to stand out clearly in the endless currents of the Temple. It felt more like a distant echo. Soft. Unsteady.

Pain.

Fear.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked around the corridor, but he didn’t immediately see anything unusual. Younglings hurried past in small groups while older Padawans carried datapads and training sabers between lessons. The Temple continued around him like normal.

Yet the feeling remained.

Then came laughter.

Not the good kind.

Not the bright, messy noise of initiates being kids.

This laughter had edges.

Anakin turned the corner.

And stopped.

Four boys, older than him by a year or two, had someone boxed in against the wall. One shoved at the figure’s shoulder while another laughed loudly enough to echo through the hall.

Then Anakin caught sight of blue skin and striped lekku.

Aayla Secura.

His hands curled automatically into fists.

For one ugly second, instinct screamed at him to move. To slam the ringleader into the wall with the Force. To make them afraid enough that they never touched her again.

That had been how he handled things once.

How Vader handled things.

But Vader had taught him other lessons too.

Fear worked best when it arrived quietly.

Anakin drew in a slow breath and stepped forward, pulling the Force close around himself until his presence dimmed into the background. The boys didn’t notice him approach at first. Neither did Aayla.

Then, when he was close enough, Anakin let the mask drop.

The Force rolled outward.

Not violently.

Just enough.

A heavy, looming pressure suddenly settled through the hallway like a thunderstorm moving overhead.

Conversation nearby faltered.

The boys froze.

Aayla looked up first.

Her green eyes widened slightly as they landed on Anakin standing several feet away. His expression softened for just a second and he gave her a quick wink, trying to reassure her.

She only looked more confused.

Then Anakin’s face smoothed back into calm neutrality as he approached the group fully.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked evenly.

The ringleader turned toward him with an immediate glare that didn’t quite hide the nervousness underneath. “W-what do you want, slave boy?”

The words hit hard.

Anakin felt the dark impulse inside him rear up instantly, hot and vicious.

Break his nose.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly.

“I want you to leave her alone.”

The Force hummed quietly around him, pressing against the edges of the corridor like unseen storm clouds.

The boys exchanged uneasy glances.

“She’s none of your business,” another muttered, though he sounded far less certain than before.

“Maybe,” Anakin said calmly. “But you made yourselves mine when you cornered her.”

The ringleader scoffed, trying to recover some courage in front of his friends. He stepped closer and shoved Anakin lightly in the shoulder.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

Anakin didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just smiled.

Not a friendly smile either.

The boy visibly faltered.

Anakin could feel it immediately, the fear beginning to crawl up the other Padawan’s spine as the Force pressed heavier around them. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make instinct whisper danger.

“I think you are full of bantha shit,” the boy snapped loudly, clearly trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He shoved Anakin again, harder this time.

Anakin’s smile widened slightly.

That almost seemed to scare him more.

Then a sharp voice cut cleanly through the hallway.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Everyone jerked toward the sound.

Master Jocasta Nu stood at the far end of the corridor, robes sweeping around her feet as she approached. Her expression was severe enough to make all four boys immediately step back.

The pressure in the hallway vanished as Anakin relaxed his hold on the Force.

“M-Master Nu,” the ringleader stammered, “we were just—”

“Save your explanation,” Jocasta interrupted crisply. “I have no interest in hearing poorly constructed lies before midday.”

The boys wilted instantly.

Her gaze shifted toward Aayla and softened slightly. “Are you injured, Padawan Secura?”

Aayla straightened automatically despite the bruise forming near her forehead. “I am alright, Master Nu,” she said, though her accent curled softly around the words, musical and distinctly Rylothian. “Padawan Skywalker intervened before zey could continue.”

Anakin blinked.

He hadn’t expected her to know his name.

Jocasta’s attention moved toward him then, sharp and thoughtful.

“So you are Anakin Skywalker,” she said. “I had heard rumors. It is refreshing to see at least some of them are exaggerated.”

Anakin snorted quietly before he could stop himself.

Obi-Wan would probably tell him not to laugh at librarians.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he said instead.

Jocasta’s gaze lingered on him for another second before shifting back to Aayla. “You are bleeding.”

Aayla reached up automatically toward the cut on her forehead and winced when her fingers brushed it.

Anakin looked back toward the boys.

They shrank immediately under the glare.

Good.

“Padawan Skywalker,” Jocasta continued, “would you escort Padawan Secura to the Healing Halls?”

Aayla immediately frowned. “Master Nu, zat is not necessary—”

“Padawan Secura,” Jocasta interrupted smoothly, “I am quite familiar with your habit of disappearing before treatment.”

Aayla looked scandalized. “I do not—”

“You absolutely do.”

The Twi’lek muttered something under her breath in Ryl that sounded deeply offended.

Anakin bit back a grin.

“Yes, Master Nu,” he said quickly before Aayla could argue further.

The librarian nodded once before turning toward the boys again, which looked significantly more terrifying than any yelling could have.

Anakin almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

The walk toward the Healing Halls was quiet at first.

Aayla kept her arms crossed tightly while Anakin shoved his hands into his sleeves, trying not to think too hard about how naturally he had slipped into using fear like a weapon.

That should bother him more than it did.

“You did not have to do zat,” Aayla said eventually.

Her accent softened the words, the consonants smoother and warmer than the clipped Coruscanti tones most Temple initiates used.

Anakin shrugged lightly. “Sure I did.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Most people would not step into a fight zey did not start. Especially for someone zey do not know.”

Anakin huffed quietly. “I know what it’s like to be singled out.”

That earned him a longer look.

He continued walking, voice quieter now. “They target you because of your Master, right?”

Aayla’s expression tightened immediately and she looked away.

Right.

He remembered enough.

Quinlan Vos had always been… controversial among more traditional Jedi, and that reputation bled onto his Padawan whether she deserved it or not.

After a moment, Aayla sighed softly. “Not only because of zat.”

Anakin glanced toward her.

“It is because I am Twi’lek too,” she admitted, bitterness slipping faintly beneath her voice. “Some people see blue skin and lekku and zey already think zey know what I am.”

Anakin’s jaw tightened.

Twi’leks were among the most enslaved species in the galaxy. Everyone knew it. Even here in the Temple, some initiates carried the ugliness they learned from the wider Republic into the halls with them.

He remembered hearing the whispers years later too.

Tail-head.

Slave girl.

As if becoming a Jedi somehow still wasn’t enough for certain people to see her as equal.

“Well,” Anakin said finally, “they’re idiots.”

That startled a laugh out of her.

Small, but real.

“You say zat very confidently.”

“I’ve met a lot of idiots.”

“Ah,” she said solemnly. “Zen you are an expert.”

Anakin grinned despite himself. “Exactly.”

By the time they reached the Healing Halls, the tension had eased enough that Aayla no longer looked ready to bolt.

A healer took one glance at the bruise forming near her temple and immediately waved over a medical droid.

Aayla sighed dramatically. “I truly was fine.”

“Mhm,” the healer replied absently. “Hold still.”

As the droid worked on cleaning the cut, Aayla glanced back toward Anakin, who had settled against the nearby wall.

“You know,” she said slowly, “you are not as frightening as everyone says.”

Anakin placed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Wow. That’s devastating.”

Aayla laughed again, brighter this time.

“I am serious,” she insisted. “You have a reputation.”

“Oh, I know.”

“You glare at people like you are planning murder.”

“I am planning murder,” Anakin replied thoughtfully. “Usually in detail.”

Aayla stared at him for half a second before snorting loudly.

“There,” Anakin said, pointing at her. “See? I’m hilarious.”

“You are strange.”

“That too.”

The medical droid finished patching the cut and rolled away with a satisfied chirp.

Aayla touched the bandage lightly before looking back at him again, her expression softer now.

“Still,” she said quietly, “thank you, Anakin.”

Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly at hearing his name spoken so simply. No fear. No expectation. Just sincerity.

He smiled a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “Anytime.”

T

The medical droid finished sealing the cut along Aayla’s forehead with a soft hiss before rolling away to sanitize its tools. A healer stepped over a moment later, giving the injury a quick inspection before nodding in approval.

“You’ll be fine,” she said calmly. “Though I suggest trying not to acquire any additional head injuries today.”

Aayla gave her an innocent smile that immediately suggested she would absolutely acquire another injury somehow.

“I make no promises.”

The healer sighed like she had heard that sentence far too many times before and moved on to another patient.

The moment she was gone, Aayla hopped down from the examination table and smoothed her robes back into place. “I do not think I properly thanked you for stepping in back zere.”

Anakin leaned against the wall beside the door and gave her a mock salute. “Anytime, Padawan Secura.”

Aayla laughed softly, her accent curling warmly around the sound. “Good to know.” One lekku twitched thoughtfully behind her shoulder. “Perhaps we should get food sometime when I am back in ze Temple.”

Anakin brightened immediately. “Sure, I love—”

“ANAKIN!”

“AAYLA!”

Both names echoed down the Healing Hall at the exact same moment.

The two Padawans froze.

Anakin turned first and immediately spotted Obi-Wan striding toward them with controlled urgency, robes sweeping around his ankles. Beside him walked Quinlan Vos, younger than Anakin had ever met beore and carrying the same wild, untamed Force presence that always seemed too large for one person.

Quinlan’s presence had never been calm.

It prowled.

Even standing still, he felt like something coiled and waiting to spring.

“Aayla!” Quinlan reached them first, eyes immediately scanning her face. “You alright, kid?”

Aayla rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yes, Master. It was only some foolish boys.”

“Foolish boys gave you a head wound.”

“It is barely a scratch.”

“It is still on your head,” Quinlan pointed out.

Aayla opened her mouth, clearly preparing to argue further, but Obi-Wan cleared his throat beside Anakin before she could.

Anakin looked up innocently. “What?”

Obi-Wan folded his arms into his sleeves and regarded him with tired patience. “Can you truly not go a single day without involving yourself in some form of chaos?”

There wasn’t much real reprimand in it, mostly concern. Too much concern, honestly.

Anakin rubbed the back of his neck with a crooked grin. “In my defense, the chaos started before I got there.”

Obi-Wan sighed softly, though Anakin caught the faint fondness hidden underneath it. “Convenient how often that seems to happen around you.”

“Maybe the galaxy just likes me.”

“The galaxy,” Obi-Wan said dryly, “appears determined to test my patience specifically.”

Quinlan barked out a laugh from beside Aayla. “Oh, I like this kid.”

Obi-Wan gave him a flat look. “Please do not encourage him.”

“Too late.” Quinlan pointed directly at Obi-Wan. “You were exactly like this at his age.”

“I absolutely was not.”

Aayla snorted loudly enough that even Obi-Wan looked mildly betrayed.

“Yes, you were,” Quinlan continued gleefully. “You just hid it behind manners and tragic sighing.”

“I do not sigh tragically.”

“You are literally doing it right now.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, looking like he regretted every decision that had brought him to this hallway.

Anakin grinned. “So what I’m hearing is that I’m carrying on a proud tradition.”

“You are hearing no such thing.”

“Pretty sure I am.”

Quinlan slung an arm around Aayla’s shoulders with a grin. “See? He’s got spirit.”

“That,” Obi-Wan muttered darkly, “is exactly the problem.”

Anakin laughed before he could stop himself.

Force. It felt normal.

For just a second, standing there listening to Quinlan annoy Obi-Wan while Aayla tried not to laugh again, it almost felt like the future didn’t exist. Like the war will never happened.

Eventually Quinlan looked back down at Aayla, his expression softening slightly beneath the humor. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You want me to threaten some children anyway?”

Aayla smiled sweetly. “A little.”

“Excellent. That’s my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan rubbed at his forehead. “You are an unbelievably poor influence.”

“And yet the Council keeps me around.”

“Against our better judgment.”

Quinlan looked delighted by that answer.

After another moment, Obi-Wan’s attention shifted fully back toward Anakin. “Come along,” he said. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”

Anakin glanced toward Aayla.

She gave him a small smile and dipped her head slightly. “I will see you later, yes?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said easily. “Definitely.”

Then he fell into step beside Obi-Wan as the two Masters headed down the corridor together.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Anakin could feel Obi-Wan studying him every so often through the bond, quiet little flickers of thought and concern brushing against the edges of his awareness. His Master looked calmer than earlier, but there was still a strange uncertainty beneath it now.

Like Obi-Wan was trying to solve a puzzle and kept finding pieces from different boxes mixed together.

Eventually Obi-Wan spoke.

“You handled that situation rather well.”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

“The altercation.” Obi-Wan glanced toward him briefly. “You intervened without escalating matters physically. You de-escalated the conflict instead.”

Anakin shrugged lightly. “Punching them wouldn’t have fixed anything.”

Obi-Wan slowed very slightly at that answer. Not enough for most people to notice. But Anakin knew him too well.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said carefully.

And there it was again, that faint confusion hidden underneath his calm tone. Because this wasn’t how eleven-year-old Anakin usually reacted to conflict. The old Anakin would have exploded first and thought later. Obi-Wan knew that. Had gotten used to expecting it and dealing with the fallout. 

Now, though, Anakin kept saying things that sounded older than they should. Calmer. Thought through in ways Obi-Wan clearly didn’t quite know what to do with yet.

“I also noticed,” Obi-Wan continued slowly, “that you did not allow your temper to get the better of you.”

Barely.

Anakin shoved his hands into his sleeves. “They were just stupid kids trying to impress each other.”

“Hm.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze flicked sideways again, thoughtful now.

“You sound unusually… reflective today.”

Anakin nearly grimaced. Careful. He need to think about his words before he spoke. 

“Almost dying does weird things to people?” he offered weakly.

Obi-Wan actually paused at that.

Then, unexpectedly, he sighed. Not tragically this time. Just tired.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I suppose it might.”

The answer seemed to settle something in him, though not entirely.

Obi-Wan still looked uncertain. 

Force, he was trying so hard. Trying to understand why his Padawan suddenly seemed older around the edges without pushing too hard and scaring him away again.

The guilt from that alone nearly made Anakin sick.

After another stretch of silence, Obi-Wan’s expression shifted back toward seriousness. “I spoke with the Council regarding your vision.”

Anakin stiffened automatically.

“What did they say?”

“They remain skeptical,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Though that is hardly surprising.”

No kidding.

Anakin bit back the bitter response before it could escape.

“But,” Obi-Wan continued, “they have agreed to investigate discreetly.”

That caught his attention immediately. “Really?”

Obi-Wan nodded once. “Master Plo Koon has been assigned to the matter.”

Anakin stopped walking for half a second.

Relief hit him so fast it almost hurt.

Plo Koon. Good. If anyone could approach this carefully and compassionately, it was him.

Obi-Wan noticed the reaction instantly. “You seem pleased by the choice.”

“I trust him,” Anakin admitted honestly.

Something softened faintly in Obi-Wan’s expression at that.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “So do I.”

The tension eased after that.

Then Obi-Wan glanced toward him again, a small smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth.

“Now,” he said, “assuming you do not have plans to terrify additional Padawans today, I thought perhaps we could spar this afternoon.”

The Archives immediately flashed through Anakin’s mind.

Research. Holocrons. Information. Then another thought followed right after.

Obi-Wan asking to spend time with him. Not because he had to but because he wanted to.

Anakin smiled before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “I’d like that.”

Obi-Wan looked oddly relieved by the immediate answer, though he tried to hide it behind another one of those careful Jedi expressions.

But oh, he was terrible at hiding things from Anakin.

“Good,” Obi-Wan said softly.

And together, they continued down the Temple halls.

Chapter Text

Anakin probably spent less time in the library than in any other room in the Temple.

At least, that had been true once.

Back then, the Archives had represented everything he disliked about being a Jedi. Endless shelves of information. Scholars debating ancient history. Researchers spending entire afternoons chasing questions that seemed to have no practical purpose. If Anakin had free time, he would rather spend it in a hangar, a training room, or a cockpit.

Now he found himself sitting among the shelves almost every day.

It was ironic, really.

For most of his life, he had thought action was the answer to everything. If something was broken, you fixed it. If someone was in danger, you helped them. If there was a problem, you moved. Standing still had always felt unbearable.

But the future wasn't something he could fix with a hydrospanner.

The future required planning.

And planning required information.

The holoscreen floating in front of him displayed reports on trade routes, Senate committees, taxation disputes, and political alliances. The words blurred together after a while. Anakin forced himself to keep reading anyway.

He hated politics.

That wasn't entirely fair. He understood why politics mattered. The Clone Wars hadn't appeared out of nowhere. Entire systems had been neglected for decades. Corporations had accumulated enough power to rival governments. The Republic had been cracking long before that first battle on Geonosis.

He understood that now.

The problem was that understanding something and being good at it were very different things.

Politics felt like trying to repair an engine without opening the casing. Everything happened indirectly. People rarely said what they meant. Every statement seemed to have three different meanings depending on who was listening.

Anakin had spent years commanding armies.

He would rather coordinate a planetary assault than sit through a Senate debate.

Which brought him back to the same conclusion he kept reaching.

Padmé.

The thought settled heavily in his chest.

Not because it was unexpected but because it was unavoidable.

If he wanted to change anything substantial, he needed people who understood the Republic better than he ever would. He needed people with influence, intelligence, and enough courage to stand against the current when everyone else was being swept along by it.

There were very few people in the galaxy who fit that description.

Padmé was one of them. Maybe the best of them. Who was he kidding? She was the best of the best. 

Anakin leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes.

That should have made the decision easy.

It didn't.

Because Padmé wasn't just a potential ally.

She wasn't simply a senator or a politician or a useful connection.

She was Padmé.

The name alone brought a flood of emotions that refused to separate neatly from one another.

Affection.

Admiration.

Relief.

Grief.

Love.

Guilt.

So much guilt.

The guilt never really left anymore. It lurked beneath everything like a shadow waiting just beyond the edge of the light. Sometimes it was quiet enough that he could almost forget it was there.

Then he would think about Padmé.

Or Obi-Wan.

Or his mother.

Or the troopers.

And it would rise again.

The dark side had always promised simplicity.

That was the trap.

People liked to imagine it as rage or violence or lightning pouring from someone's fingertips, but that had never been the dangerous part. The dangerous part was how easy it made everything feel.

Someone hurts you? Hate them.

Someone stands in your way? Remove them.

Someone might leave you? Make sure they can't.

Every fear became someone else's fault. Every wound became a justification.

Even now, with all the memories of what it had cost him, Anakin could still feel it lurking in the corners of his thoughts. It came when he thought about Watto.  About slavers. About Palpatine. About the people who would eventually torture his mother to death.

The anger came easily, so very, very easily.

Some days he felt like he was carrying around a sleeping predator inside his chest. It wasn't gone. It would probably never be gone if he had to guess. It was simply waiting for him to stop paying pretend that he was okay and look at it.

Maybe that was another reason he had avoided contacting Padmé.

Because seeing her would make everything real.

The future would stop being reports and plans and lists scribbled onto datapads. 

She would become a person again instead of a memory. A living, breathing person. And Anakin wasn't entirely certain what would happen when that occurred.

Would he see the former seventeen-year-old Queen of Naboo?

The Senator who challenged entire governments without blinking? The woman he married? The woman who died? The mother of Luke and Leia?

All of them were Padmé but none of them were the Padmé who existed right now.

That was the part his mind kept stumbling over.

She was alive.

Alive and untouched by everything that was coming.

She hadn't watched the Republic collapse. She hadn't lived through the war. She hadn't cried on Mustafar. She hadn't looked at him with heartbreak in her eyes.

For her, none of those things had happened.

Only Anakin carried those memories.

The realization made his throat tighten.

Because part of him desperately wanted to see her. And another part was terrified to.

Terrified that seeing her would hurt. Terrified that it wouldn't.

Terrified that after all these years, after everything he had become and everything he had lost, he would still look at her and feel exactly the same.

His gaze dropped to the LetterPad resting in his lap.

The device was small. Unremarkable.

It felt heavier than any lightsaber.

He had spent credits on it the night before, slipping out of the Temple to purchase it. Old habits from Tatooine had left him surprisingly good at hiding money. In his first life, he had hoarded every credit he could find because poverty had taught him that resources disappeared quickly.

Now he was beginning to realize he would need far more than credits.

He would need allies. Information, influence, trust. But the screen remained blank.

His thumb hovered over the activation button.

Nothing happened.

Because he still didn't know what he was supposed to say.

How did someone begin a conversation like this?

Hello Padmé. I remember your death.

Hello Padmé. We fall in love and got married.

Hello Padmé. I destroy everything.

Hello Padmé. I need your help saving the galaxy.

Anakin let out a short, humorless laugh and dropped his head into one hand.

The worst part was that none of those statements felt more absurd than the truth.

He stared at the empty screen for a long moment.

Then longer.

The library remained quiet around him. Jedi moved between shelves. Archivists worked at distant terminals. Somewhere nearby, a datapad chirped softly as someone completed a search request.

Normal sounds.

A normal day.

Meanwhile, Anakin Skywalker was trying to figure out how to save the Republic, stop a galactic war, rescue his mother, expose a Sith Lord, prevent his own fall to the dark side, and somehow find the courage to send a single message.

The Force help him.

Facing an army seemed easier.

Anakin stared at the name sitting near the top of his notes, the stylus turning slowly between his fingers.

Out of everyone on his list, Dooku remained one of the hardest to place. Palpatine was easy. The Sith Lord was a monster hiding behind a smile. Grievous was a weapon. Maul was a wound that refused to heal. Ventress was a survivor sharpened into a blade.

Dooku was something else entirely.

That was what made him dangerous and useful at the same time.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the glowing letters of the Count's name. Most Jedi saw, or will see at least, Dooku as a fallen Master. A traitor. A warning about what happened when pride overcame wisdom. Most citizens of the Republic saw him as a political extremist leading a dangerous movement. After the fall of the Republic, his name was forgotten like so many other. But none description felt complete. Not anymore.

Once, Anakin had hated Dooku. Then he had killed him. After that, he had spent decades serving the same master Dooku had.

Funny how perspective changed things, isn't it?

Vader had learned things Anakin Skywalker never could have. Not because Palpatine had ever been honest. Sidious rarely explained anything directly. He manipulated. He revealed pieces of the truth when it suited him. He let people think they were discovering things on their own. But over the years Vader had listened. He had watched. And eventually he had begun to understand the man whose head had rolled across the deck of the Invisible Hand.

Dooku had not joined Sidious because he wanted power.

That was the lie everyone told themselves because it was easier. The truth was much much uglier.

Dooku had looked at the Republic and seen exactly what was wrong with it. Corruption. Greed. Senators who treated suffering like numbers on a report. Entire systems abandoned because they were too poor or too distant to matter. Corporations with more influence than governments. A galaxy that rewarded selfishness while punishing compassion.

The tragedy was that he had been right.

Anakin hated admitting that, even to himself

The Republic had been broken long before Palpatine arrived. The Jedi knew it too. They weren't blind. But where the Order saw flaws that they thought needed patience and reform to fix, Dooku had eventually stopped believing the system could be saved at all.

His fingers tightened slightly around the stylus.

That thought sat uncomfortably inside him because he understood it far too well.

There were moments now, like now sitting alone among the Archives with reports spread before him, when he could almost still feel the same temptation Dooku must have felt. The urge to stop fighting for a system that seemed determined to destroy itself. The urge to walk away. The urge to tear everything down and rebuild something better with his own hands.

It was a seductive thought.

One the dark side loved.

Anakin knew that now.

That was another thing people liked to imagine the dark side as anger or violence.  But those were only the symptoms. The real danger was how reasonable it could sound. It took your frustrations and gave them direction. It took your fears and turned them into certainty. It whispered that everyone else was too weak to do what needed to be done. That compromise was cowardice. That patience was surrender. That if you simply took control, everything could finally be fixed.

Dooku had listened.

So had Anakin.

The only difference was that Dooku had reached that point decades earlier.

His gaze drifted toward the LetterPad resting beside his datapad.

In a strange way, Dooku and Padmé occupied similar places in his plans.

Both possessed influence he lacked.

Both understood parts of the galaxy he never would.

Both had the ability to alter the future in ways he could not accomplish alone.

But the reasons he wanted to contact them were completely different.

Padmé represented hope.

When Anakin thought about reaching out to her, despite all the guilt and pain tangled around her memory, he felt like he was reaching toward the best parts of himself. The parts that still believed people could be saved. That the Republic could become something better. That compassion mattered.

Dooku represented answers. He represented understanding that very few other could. It had also been hard for him to connect to others, but now it felt like an ocean of distance. To have someone stand next to him....

Because for all their differences, Anakin understood Dooku now in a way he never had during the war.

Maybe better than Obi-Wan did. 

Obi-Wan still saw Qui-Gon's old Master. Yoda saw a fallen Jedi. The Republic saw an enemy.

Anakin saw a man who had looked into the darkness of the galaxy and eventually decided it was impossible to fight without becoming part of it. A man who had convinced himself that his compromises were temporary. That it was necessary and wholly justified.

Vader knew exactly how that story ended.

The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Could Dooku be saved?

The question had been circling in his head for days.

Anakin stared at the Count's name.

What was Dooku afraid of? Trurly?

Failure?

Irrelevance?

Watching people suffer while accomplishing nothing?

Or was it something deeper than that?

Anakin thought of Qui-Gon. Of a younger Obi-Wan. Of the Jedi Order Dooku had left behind.

Maybe Dooku's greatest fear wasn't corruption.

Maybe it was helplessness.

The fear that all his power, all his wisdom, all his influence would never be enough to change anything. The fear of spending his entire life watching people suffer while being unable to stop it.

Anakin went still.

Because he understood that fear too.

Force help him, he understood it perfectly.

He thought of his mother, still trapped in the Outer Rim. He thought of Padmé. Of the clones growing in secret on Kamino. Of Obi-Wan sitting in Council meetings completely unaware of what was coming. He thought of entire worlds doomed to burn if he failed.

Every day he woke up carrying knowledge that could save millions.

Every day he felt like it wasn't enough.

For a moment he imagined actually speaking to Dooku.

Not as enemies.

Not as Jedi and Sith.

Just two men who had seen the cracks in the Republic.

What would he even say?

Hello, Count Dooku.

In twelve years we're going to try to kill each other several times.

You cut off my arm.

I cut off your head.

Also, your Sith Master plans to murder you.

The thought almost made him laugh.

Almost.

Instead he stared at the name a little longer.

The truth was that Dooku frightened him in a way Palpatine never had.

Palpatine was evil. Plain and simple.

Dooku wasn't.

Dooku was what happened when a good man convinced himself that terrible things were acceptable if the goal was important enough.

That was far more dangerous.

Because Anakin could look at Dooku and see pieces of himself staring back.

Not the man he had become.

The man he could become again.

And maybe that was the real reason he kept returning to the Count's name.

Not because Dooku could help stop the war.

Not because Dooku knew things about Sidious.

Not even because turning him would cripple the Separatists before they truly existed.

It was because every time Anakin studied Dooku, he felt like he was studying a reflection of his own future.

A warning from a different path.

A man who had stood at a crossroads, looked at a broken galaxy, and chosen the wrong answer for all the right reasons.

If Anakin wanted to avoid becoming Vader again, understanding Palpatine was important.

But understanding Dooku might be just as necessary. After all, Palpatine had made him a monster, just like him. 

He was just about to call it a day when a soft cough interrupted his thoughts.

Anakin looked up from the datapad.

Master Nu stood a few feet away, hands folded neatly into her sleeves, watching him with an expression that hovered somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"I must say, Padawan Skywalker," she said, glancing at the collection of reports and notes spread across the table, "from what I've heard, I never expected to see you voluntarily spend this much time in the Archives."

Anakin forced a sheepish grin onto his face. "Desperate times, Master."

hat earned a small chuckle. She stepped closer, eyes briefly scanning the subjects displayed across his screens. Trade routes. Senate voting records. Corporate holdings. Outer Rim shipping manifests.

Not exactly standard reading material for an eleven-year-old Padawan.

"Looking into politics?" she asked. "That's quite a departure from podracing statistics and starfighter schematics that you are known for."

Anakin felt himself tense. Only slightly. Most people wouldn't have noticed. Master Nu probably did. The Jedi noticed everything when it came to him.

Every success. Every mistake. Every emotion. Every deviation from what they expected him to be.

It was exhausting.

"My Master suggested I broaden my studies," Anakin said carefully. "He thinks understanding the Republic might help me understand what's happening outside the Temple."

Not technically a lie, Obi-Wan was always trying to get him into the politics, it just wasn't the whole truth.

Master Nu hummed softly.

Anakin couldn't tell if she believed him. Sometimes that was the problem with Jedi Masters. They were either incredibly easy to fool or impossible to fool, and there was never any way to know which one until it was too late.

"Well," she said after a moment, "it's a sensible recommendation. Most Jedi spend years learning how to solve problems." Her gaze drifted toward one of the Senate reports. "Far fewer spend time learning why those problems exist in the first place."

Anakin blinked. That wasn't quite the answer he'd expected.

Master Nu's attention shifted back to him.

"Everyone searches for different things when they come here, Padawan. Answers. History. Validation. Sometimes they're searching for something they don't even realize they're looking for yet." For a brief moment, her eyes softened. "The important thing is learning which questions to ask."

Anakin looked away before she could study him too closely. Because that hit a little too close to home.

He wasn't searching for information anymore. Not really. He was searching for a way to save people.

To save himself.

To save a future no one else even knew existed.

And no archive in the galaxy had a section labeled How to Stop a Sith Lord That Is Ahead of Everyone from Destroying Everything.

Master Nu seemed to take his silence as contemplation.

"Just remember," she continued, "knowledge by itself rarely changes anything. People do."

Anakin's fingers tightened slightly around his stylus.

Dooku.

Padmé.

Obi-Wan.

Palpatine.

Every path he kept circling eventually led back to people.

Master Nu inclined her head.

"If you need assistance locating anything, let me know."

Anakin nodded politely.

"Thank you, Master."

She gave him one last thoughtful look before continuing down the aisle.

Anakin watched her go.

Only after she disappeared behind a row of shelves did he finally exhale.

He didn't dislike Master Nu. He just... didn't just her. Didn't trust anyone now really. 

He quickly turned his focus back to the LetterPad in his hand, thinking, thinking, thinking, before sighing and picking up the stylus. Padmé first. Then Dooku.

Keep it simple and formal.

Lady Amidala,

I hope you're doing well. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Anakin Skywalker, the boy from Tatooine who won the Boonta Eve Podrace.

I heard that your term as Queen recently ended. Congratulations. I imagine you've been very busy, and I hope things are going well for you on Naboo.

I'm sorry to write to you asking for something instead of just saying hello, but I don't know who else to ask. I've been training at the Jedi Temple for the last few years. Being a Jedi means I don't own any money, and there are many rules about possessions and attachments. Normally, I would try to solve this problem myself, but I can't.

My mother is still a slave on Tatooine. I know there are many people in the galaxy who need help, and I know this may not seem important compared to all the responsibilities you have. But she is all the family I have left, and I worry about her every day.

If it is possible, I am asking if you could help buy her freedom. Her name is Shmi Skywalker. She was owned by Watto when I left Tatooine. If there is any way to help my friends Kitster Banai and Wald as well, I would be grateful, but my mother is the most important. They were good friends to me when I had very few.

I know this is a great deal to ask. I would not ask if I had any other choice. I keep telling myself that one day, when I am older and stronger, I can return and help them myself. But I am afraid that by the time I can, it may be too late. So I am asking for your help now.

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter, even if nothing comes of it.

May the Force be with you, 

Anakin Skywalker

Short. Non-threatening. Enough to get her attention without raising suspicion.

He pressed 'send' before he could second-guess himself. He sighed when it was a weight lifted from his shoulder. Then he opened a second message- this one even harder to frame. He didn’t know exactly where Dooku stood at this point. Disillusioned with the Jedi, yes, but not yet fully Palpatine’s creature, he thinks. He had a chance, if he was careful.

It took a few moments of starting at the letterPad before Anakin finally started to write:

Master Dooku,

I hope you will forgive the intrusion. My name is Anakin Skywalker, Padawan to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Though we have never met, I feel as though I know a little of you already. Master Qui-Gon Jinn was the Jedi who brought me to the Temple, and both he and others spoke highly of you. Master Qui-Gon especially seemed to respect your wisdom, even after your departure from the Order.

The reason I am writing is because I find myself with questions that I do not know how to answer.

Since arriving at the Temple, I have been taught much about the Jedi, the Republic, and our place within the galaxy. Yet the more I learn, the more I find myself uncertain. There are things I see that do not seem to match what I have been taught. Problems that everyone acknowledges, but few seem willing to discuss openly.

Perhaps that is simply because I am young and lack understanding.

But if that is true, then I would like to understand.

I know you left the Order years ago, and I know many Jedi disagree with your reasons for doing so. Even so, I cannot help but wonder what you saw that led you to make such a choice. Was it truly impossible to change things from within? Did you lose faith in the Order, or did you simply see a path others refused to acknowledge?

I apologize if these questions are too personal. I do not mean any disrespect.

I am not seeking conflict, nor am I looking for someone to tell me what to think. I only wish to hear another perspective, particularly from someone Master Qui-Gon respected so greatly.

If you are willing, I would be grateful for any advice or insight you could offer.

May the Force be with you.

Padawan Anakin Skywalker

He hesitated a moment longer after typing it. It was a risk- reaching out like this could easily backfire if Dooku chose to report him, to either Jedi or his Master. But Anakin was gambling that the Count’s frustration with the Council and the Republic’s decay would outweigh his loyalty. And that his curiosity would stop him from telling Sidious. If he could just get Dooku to listen, really listen, then maybe he could prevent everything that was coming. Or at least help make things a little more right.

He sent the message.

Another weight fell from his chest, but unease pooled in his gut, replacing it. It was done now. No turning back.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, staring up at the towering shelves of the Archives. Somewhere among all this dusty knowledge was the future he was trying to reshape, a thousand small decisions, any one of which could tip the balance.

He just had to hope he was making the right ones.

7567 never meant to get into fights.

It just kept happening.

He wasn't looking for trouble. Most days he was trying very hard to avoid it. He followed orders. He kept his head down. He did his drills, cleaned his armor, and tried not to draw attention to himself.

But trouble always seemed to find him anyway.

Today had been no different.

He was supposed to be at the shooting range working through extra marksmanship drills. Instead, he'd found himself dragging a sneering alpha-class cadet off a younger shiny. Words had been exchanged. Someone had thrown the first punch.

After that, things got messy.

Now he sat stiffly on the edge of a medbay cot while a medic smeared bacta gel across his swollen knuckles. His right eyebrow had split open during the fight, and the sting of disinfectant made his eyes water. Across the room, the younger cadet sat with an ice pack pressed against one eye, staring determinedly at the floor.

"You're lucky it's just medbay time and not disciplinary drills," the medic grumbled as he slapped a bandage over 7567's brow. "Again."

7567 grunted.

The punishment wasn't what bothered him.

It was the looks.

The instructors looked at him like he was a problem waiting to happen. Some of the other cadets did too. They saw the bruises, the fights, the reports. They didn't see why.

He didn't want a reputation.

Didn't want to be known for anything.

He just couldn't stand there and watch.

The medbay doors hissed open.

7567 immediately felt his shoulders tense.

A familiar figure stepped through the doorway, broad-shouldered and calm in a way that somehow made everyone else seem louder. Most cadets knew him as CC-2224.

The instructors called him Cody.

The people closest to him called him Kote.

Kote's batch had a reputation all their own. The CCs were older than most of the cadets still training. Cody, Fox, Bly, Wolffe, Gree, Ponds, the lot of them had been turning heads since they were decanted. Command candidates. The natural leaders. The ones the trainers expected great things from.

7567 couldn't imagine ever fitting into a group like that.

Kote walked over and stopped in front of him.

He crossed his arms and...

Said nothing. 

The silence stretched long enough for 7567 to become painfully aware of every bruise on his body.

"You done?" Kote finally asked.

His voice wasn't angry.

Just tired.

7567 swallowed.

"Yes, sir."

Kote sighed.

"You keep this up and you're going to get real good at visiting medbay."

The medic snorted in agreement before wandering off.

Kote crouched down until they were eye level. "But that's not what you're here for."

7567 looked away.

His jaw tightened.

Sorry felt weak. I couldn't help it sounded worse.

So he stayed quiet.

Kote studied him for a moment. "You stepped in because somebody smaller was getting pushed around."

7567 nodded.

"You weren't wrong."

That made him blink.

Kote continued before he could say anything.

"But you're going about it the wrong way."

The words landed harder than any punch from earlier.

"You think you're protecting your brothers?"

7567 hesitated.

"Yes."

"Then start thinking farther ahead."

Kote leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

"You throw yourself into every fight, eventually somebody bigger decides you're worth making an example of."

7567 didn't answer.

Because he knew that part was true.

The alpha cadets already watched him differently now.

"So then what?" Kote asked quietly. "You get hurt. Maybe worse than hurt. What happens to the cadet you were protecting?"

7567 glanced across the room.

The younger clone still sat clutching the ice pack.

His stomach twisted.

Kote followed his gaze.

"You're one man, vod'ika." A hand settled on his knee. "You've got good instincts. Better than most. That's why you're still standing."

7567 stared at the floor.

"But instincts aren't enough." Kote squeezed his knee once. "If you want to protect people, you need to stay in the fight longer than five minutes."

A reluctant laugh escaped 7567's nose.

Kote smiled faintly.

"There he is."

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then 7567 muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

"I just don't like bullies."

Kote's expression softened.

"Yeah."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the far side of the medbay.

Another cadet was sitting there waiting for a routine examination.

CT-7567 followed Kote's gaze and spotted him immediately. 

Some of the trainers still whispered that there was something wrong with him. A defect. A mistake in the growth process. All because his hair came out blond instead of black.

It was stupid.

But Kamino wasn't always kind to clones who stood out.

Kote looked back at him. "No," he said quietly. "Neither do I."

For a second 7567 wondered if Kote was talking about the alpha from earlier.

Or every bully on Kamino.

Maybe both.

Kote stood and offered him a hand.

"C'mon."

7567 took it.

"Kote?"

"Hm?"

"Am I really that bad?"

Kote barked out a short laugh.

"No."

7567 frowned.

"Then why does everybody act like I am?"

Something flickered across Kote's face.

Something older than either of them should've looked.

"Because it's easier to blame the clone who throws the punch than the one who gave him a reason."

7567 stared.

Kote ruffled the top of his head before he could react.

"Get some sleep, vod'ika."

7567 groaned and swatted his hand away.

Kote laughed outright this time.

Together they left the medbay and stepped into Kamino's endless white hallways. The rain hammered against the transparisteel walls somewhere far outside, a constant rhythm that every clone knew by heart.

For the first time all day, the knot in 7567's chest loosened.

Maybe tomorrow he'd stay out of trouble.

And if he was lucky, maybe he'd dream of his Star-Figure tonight.

The void felt almost a comfort to Anakin now. It was like floating in an ocean, with the black  Anakin now. It was like floating in an ocean, with the black stretching endlessly around him- no up, no down, no weight, no sound. Just stillness.

He felt like a ghost, drifting without purpose. Without form.

The pain was still there, somewhere. A dull, far-off thing, muted by the vastness around him. It didn't press against him like it used to. It simply existed, distant and inevitable, like the stars he couldn't see. Anakin wasn’t sure how long he floated like that. Minutes. Hours. A lifetime. Time had no meaning here. Only the endless black and the faint thrum of something deep inside him, something tethering him to the world he could no longer touch.

Of course, that was when he felt it. 

Something else with him, almost like a ripple.

It moved through the void like a current through still water, subtle but undeniable. Anakin would have blinked in confusion if he were to have a body. At the moment, it felt as if he were stretching out into the void itself. But as he focused on the ripple seemed to sharpen, becoming more than a feeling. It was a presence. Warm, in a way that the void wasn’t. Not blinding, not overwhelming. Just there, brushing against him. 

It helped him to feel more solid as well. To come more together and not just be a thought adrift in endless nothing. It was almost like an an anchor to hold him together.

He closed off his sense for a moment to reached out and to try and touched it. Cupped into his hands. It felt like a tiny blue sun, pulsing gently against his palms. Warm, steady, alive.

The moment he made contact, the void around him seemed to change. Pinpricks of the light of stars came into focus as Anakin could start to feel himself now. A body, fragile and aching, but real. Breath he hadn’t known he’d lost shuddered through him.

And for the blue sun, it didn’t burn. It cradled him. Like how a master might guide a youngling's first swings of a lightsaber or how a mother might hold her child close, shielding them from the storm. Or how a lover kissed the tears away from a broken face.

It pulsed in his hands again, and Anakin became aware that it was curious about him. Anakin's brow furrowed slightly as he watched the blue light. It was... familiar, now that he was aware of it. 

It was something he’d known before, something that had always been there, just out of reach. He hadn’t felt it in years, not since the chaos of the war, not since everything had fractured into what it had become. But now, in this endless dark, it was here again.

And feelings it brought?

Loyalty and stubbornness. A determination so absolute it bordered on insanity, much like his own. The certainty that no matter how impossible the situation became, this presence would simply grit its teeth and keep moving forward anyway.

Anakin's chest tightened unexpectedly.

For a moment, he was standing on the bridge of a The Resolute again.

For a moment, he could hear a voice saying, With all due respect, sir, that's a terrible idea.

For a moment, he remembered laughter.

A helmet tucked beneath an arm.

Blue markings.

An unwavering presence at his side.

The memory vanished before he could fully grasp it.

The blue light pulsed harder.

His heart stilled in his chest.

The blue light seemed to recognize his hesitation. It pulsed again, gently this time, as if coaxing him forward. The light itself shifted in his hands, becoming more tangible. A shape emerged from it. Anakin tried to focus on it, but-

"Anakin."

The voice seemed impossibly far away.

For a moment, Anakin remained suspended between dream and reality, caught somewhere between endless stars and the quiet halls of the Jedi Temple.

"Anakin."

A hand settled on his shoulder.

Warm.

Real.

The stars vanished.

Anakin jerked awake.

His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he nearly stumbled backward, heart hammering against his ribs. The Archives rushed back into focus around him—towering shelves, glowing holoterminals, the familiar silence broken only by distant footsteps.

And Obi-Wan.

His Master stood directly in front of him, both hands resting firmly on his shoulders. Concern radiated through their bond so strongly that Anakin could almost taste it.

"Easy," Obi-Wan said gently.

Anakin blinked several times, trying to orient himself. The dream lingered stubbornly at the edges of his mind. He could still feel it.

The warmth.

The presence.

The sense of belonging.

It clung to him like starlight.

"Master?" he managed.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed further.

"There you are."

Anakin swallowed.

"Sorry."

Obi-Wan sighed.

The sound carried more relief than frustration.

"You fell asleep."

Anakin glanced around. The holograms he'd been studying were still active. Notes and reports were scattered across the terminal. The LetterPad sat abandoned beside them.

Force.

How long had he been out?

"You've been here most of the afternoon," Obi-Wan continued. "When I returned from my meeting, Master Nu informed me that you'd scarcely moved since arriving."

That sounded about right.

Anakin rubbed at his eyes.

"I didn't mean to."

"I know."

Obi-Wan's hands remained on his shoulders for another moment before finally dropping away. The concern, however, didn't leave.

"You were dreaming."

It wasn't a question.

Anakin hesitated.

"A little."

"A little?" Obi-Wan repeated dryly.

Anakin winced.

Apparently he'd been more obvious than he'd thought.

His Master studied him quietly.

"You looked distressed."

That wasn't entirely true.

Or maybe it was.

The dream hadn't been frightening.

Quite the opposite.

That was what unsettled him.

The comfort of it.

The certainty.

The feeling that someone had been reaching toward him across an impossible distance.

"I'm okay," Anakin said.

Obi-Wan gave him a look.

The one that clearly translated to you are many things right now, but okay is not one of them.

Anakin looked away first.

Coward.

The thought came unbidden.

He ignored it.

After a moment, Obi-Wan sighed.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to spar this afternoon."

Anakin immediately latched onto the subject change.

A sparring match sounded wonderful.

Simple.

Physical.

Something he understood.

Something that didn't involve dreams or visions or memories of futures that no longer existed.

"Yes."

The answer came a little too quickly.

Obi-Wan noticed.

Of course he noticed.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I thought you might say that."

Anakin stood, stretching stiff muscles.

"I need the practice."

"You always say that."

"I always need it."

Obi-Wan actually laughed.

The sound eased something tight in Anakin's chest.

"Come along then."

Together they started toward the exit.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was, even now, even with Anakin hiding so much from his master. 

Still...

Anakin found himself staring down at his right hand as they walked. Opening and closing his hands as though he expected to find something there. As though he had carried something back from the dream.

The feelings from the dream remained. That same faint, distant, but unmistakable feeling.

Now that he was awake and thinking clearly, he knew why it had felt so familiar.

Why it had pulled at him.

Why it had hurt to let it go.

Because he knew that presence. Not by sight nor by voice. Maybe not even by the Force. But by years of trust.

By the loyalty bound by countless battles fought shoulder to shoulder. 

He had known that presence. Now that he had time to think and not be adrift in that void, he knew who it was. It might have been a very long time since he had felt it, but Anakin could always pick it out of a thousand different sensations. 

Rex.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks settled into something resembling a routine.

It had been... manageable.

Not peaceful. Not easy. Certainly not normal. But manageable.

Anakin trained, attended lessons, sparred whenever he could, and meditated whenever Obi-Wan managed to corner him long enough to insist. He still felt restless most days. There was always the nagging sensation that he should be doing more, moving faster, fixing something before it broke. Seven years sounded like a long time until he started counting everything that needed to be done within it.

But there was nothing he could do except wait.

Wait for replies.

Wait for opportunities.

Wait for the future to catch up with him.

His sleep had been mostly dreamless, which he still couldn't decide was a blessing or a disappointment. At the very least, it meant there were no nightmares. No burning worlds. No screams. No mask. No memories that left him waking with his heart racing and the taste of ash in his mouth.

Yet a small part of him found himself disappointed every time he woke.

Because of the Blue Sun.

He knew now, with a certainty that settled somewhere deep in his bones, that the presence he'd felt belonged to Rex. Not the captain he remembered, scarred and stubborn and impossibly loyal. He was just... Rex. And at this point, Rex didn't have his name, still going but his numbers the Kaminoans have given him. 

But to Anakin, at the moment, the Blue Sun wasn't a mystery wasn't who it had been but to why.

Why had he seen him? Why had the Force connected them across half a galaxy and years of time? Why Rex of all people?

No matter how many times he turned the questions over in his mind, no answers came.

What remained was the feeling. The warmth of it, how steady and unwavering it is. Not a blazing heat of anger or passion nor the consuming fire of grief. Just... warmth. That alone made it stand out.

Because if Anakin was being honest with himself, everything had felt cold for a very long time, ever since Tatooine.

The cold faded sometimes. Around Padmé. Around Obi-Wan. Later, around Ahsoka. During the rare moments when life felt simple and he wasn't fighting so hard to hold himself together. But it always returned eventually. Settling into his bones. Waiting quietly in the corners of his thoughts.

By the end of his life, he had stopped fighting it.

Sometimes he had even welcomed it.

Cold was easier than pain.

The warmth from the dream had been different and frustrating. Because he couldn't understand it. And he couldn't ask anyone about it. Couldn't ask his mysterious parent in the Force what it meant. Couldn't ask Rex because Rex wasn't Rex yet nor was there any way to talk to him.

So, like he always did when frustration started building faster than he could contain it, Anakin went to the training halls.

Obi-Wan was trapped in yet another Council meeting, but that hardly mattered. Anakin had grown accustomed to occupying himself.

Besides, he was still waiting for replies.

Every day that passed without a response from either Padmé or Dooku tightened something unpleasant in his chest. Padmé worried him less. She had always cared too much to simply ignore someone asking for help.

Dooku was another matter entirely.

Anakin still had no clear idea where the Count stood at this point in history. For all he knew, Dooku had already returned to Sidious. For all he knew, the letter was currently sitting in the hands of a future Sith Lord who was deciding whether a curious Padawan was useful or dangerous.

Neither possibility made him particularly comfortable.

By the time he arrived at the sparring rooms, his nerves were wound tight enough that he was looking forward to hitting something.

He still didn't have a lightsaber of his own, but training staffs were more than sufficient.

He planned to spend the afternoon working through the advanced Soresu sequences Obi-Wan had been forcing on him lately. According to Obi-Wan, they were "excellent defensive exercises" and "important for developing patience."

According to Anakin, they were slow, repetitive torture.

Still, they gave him something to focus on besides politics, visions, and future catastrophes.

He was halfway through stretching when he heard someone call his name.

"Anakin!"

He turned.

Aayla Secura stood near one of the practice circles, waving him over. Beside her stood two other Padawans he vaguely recognized but couldn't immediately place.

For a moment, Anakin simply stared.

Then Aayla smiled. Not because she wanted something, just because she was happy to see him.

The realization caught him off guard.

He walked over before he could think too hard about it.

"Ah, Anakin," Aayla greeted brightly, her Ryloth accent softening the words. "I did not expect to see you here so early."

Anakin shrugged. "Needed to hit something."

One of the younger Padawans, a short-haired human girl, snorted. “Relatable.”

Aayla laughed softly and gave her a playful look but didn’t scold her. "Oui, I suppose that is fair." She turned back to Anakin. "We were about to run a few drills. Would you like to join us?"

Anakin hesitated. His first instinct was no. Training alone was easier. Simpler. Fewer opportunities to embarrass himself or say the wrong thing. Fewer people to accidentally get attached to.

That last thought made him grimace. The fact that he was even thinking it probably meant Obi-Wan would be pleased.

Force help him.

Still...

The last few weeks had been lonely.

And Aayla was easy to be around. She didn't treat him like a problem to solve. She didn't watch him waiting for him to fail. She just... talked to him.

So after a brief pause, he nodded. "Sure." He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Why not?"

She smiled brightly. "Passi!" She gestured to the other two. "This is Bultar Swan-" The human girl nodded. "-and this here is Stass Allie-" The Tholothian offered a small, polite smile. "-my friends."

The words landed oddly in Anakin's chest.

Friends.

He'd had them before, eventually.

Rex. Ahsoka. Cody. Fives. Hundreds of his troopers. But not now and not here.

The Temple had never really been that place for him.

He had arrived too old, too angry, too different. The other younglings and Padawans saw him as an outsider, too old, too different, too angry. And he had never trusted them enough to try to change that. Most of the time, it was just easier to keep to himself, to train harder, be better, prove himself. The adults saw him as a responsibility, and he had never really known what to do to change that. 

Very few people had ever simply seen Anakin.

Maybe that was why he found himself smiling back.

Plus, he reasoned, he was trying to be better now.  

Anakin nodded, spinning the training stick in his hands. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bultar gave him a nod, her short hair bouncing slightly as she moved. “Heard you were fast,” 

Stass just offered a quiet smile. “We won’t go easy on you.”

Anakin huffed a breath through his nose, almost a laugh. “Good. I hate when people do.”

The next hour passed faster than he expected.

Anakin was... having fun? It was strange. Anakin wasn’t used to having fun during training. Usually, it was about pushing himself to the limits, proving that he was better, faster, stronger. But here, it was just him, Aayla, Bultar, and Stass, working together, laughing, and sparring. They didn’t treat him like a weapon or a project or some kind of ticking time bomb. They were just… friends. And that feeling, while foreign, was almost enough to make him forget about everything else. For the first time in a long time, Anakin felt like he could breathe without that constant, gnawing tension in his chest.

Could he have had this in his past life?

He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed, really laughed, in training. He'd been so focused on proving himself that even moments of success felt hollow. But here, with Aayla, Bultar, and Stass, it wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about sharing an experience, like friends. Could he have been a part of something like this, where sparring wasn’t a means to an end, but just a way to pass the time, to enjoy the company of others? He shook the thought away before it could take root.

No. That wasn’t his life. His life was built on survival. No one wanted to be around him. Always too intense or too different. It wasn't until Anakin was a knight that others started to come around him.

They ended up talking about their Masters. It started after the last sparring match when everyone more or less collapsed onto the floor to recover.

Bultar dropped onto her back with a groan, one arm thrown over her eyes. "Master Plo is obsessed with drills," she declared dramatically. "I swear I spend more time practicing forms than actually using them."

Stass sat down beside her, much more gracefully. "Master Adi is similar. Every lesson starts with posture correction."

Bultar turned her head. "Every lesson?"

"Every lesson."

"That's terrible."

"It builds discipline."

"It builds paranoia."

Aayla laughed, stretching her legs out in front of her. "At least your Masters keep both feet on the ground. Master Vos once gave me an entire lecture about trusting the Force, then dropped me in a swamp."

Bultar sat upright immediately. "A real swamp?"

Stass covered a smile with a hand. "Was that when your boots smelled terrible a few weeks ago?"

"They still smell terrible," Aayla admitted with a sigh.

The three girls dissolved into laughter.

Anakin found himself smiling despite not entirely understanding why. There wasn't really a point to the conversation. Nobody was discussing strategy or politics or galactic crises. They were just talking. It felt... nice.

Bultar eventually looked over at him. "What about Master Kenobi?"

Anakin blinked. "What about him?"

She shrugged. "What's he like?"

The question caught him off guard more than it should have. Most people didn't ask what Obi-Wan was like, at least not now. They asked what he'd done. What mission he was on. What he thought about some ruling or Council decision. Nobody ever really asked about Obi-Wan himself.

Anakin rolled the training stick under his palm on the ground. "He's..." He paused. "He's patient." Three skeptical looks immediately met him. Anakin laughed despite himself. "Okay, mostly patient."

"That sounds more believable," Bultar said.

Aayla grinned. "And?"

Anakin leaned back slightly. "He likes schedules. And meditation. A lot of meditation."

"Ah," Aayla nodded knowingly. "One of those Masters."

More giggles followed that.

"He makes you meditate every day?" Bultar asked.

"Twice if he thinks I'm being difficult."

Stass raised an eyebrow. "And are you?"

Anakin opened his mouth. Paused. "...that's not the point."

That earned another round of laughter.

Aayla shook her head. "At least your Master is actually in the Temple. Mine disappeared into the lower levels three days ago chasing some investigation."

"Again?" Stass asked.

Aayla sighed dramatically. "Again."

Anakin titled his head, "Master Vos seems to disappear a lot."

"He says he follows the Force." Bultar snorted. "I think he just wanders until something interesting happens." "The annoying part is that it works," Aayla admitted. "He'll vanish for two days and then come back, after putting a smuggling operation."

"The annoying part is that it works," Aayla admitted. "He disappears for two days and then comes back after uncovering a smuggling ring or finding someone the Temple has been looking for for months."

"Sounds stressful."

Aayla shrugged. "I am used to it now. Mostly."

Anakin listened to them talk and found himself strangely fascinated.

They complained about their Masters. Not maliciously. Not angrily.

The way family complained.

The way people did when they knew they were cared for.

It felt so normal.

For a moment, he found himself wondering what it would have been like if he'd had this before. Friends his own age. People he could simply talk to without every conversation becoming an argument or a competition.

The thought hurt more than he expected.

Not because he was upset, but because he liked it.

And because a part of him immediately wanted more of it.

Which was dangerous.

Attachments.

The word surfaced automatically, carrying years of Jedi warnings behind it.

Anakin shoved the thought away.

These were friends.

Or at least they could be.

Surely that wasn't a crime.

The doors to the training hall slid open.

Anakin barely paid attention at first.

Then he felt the familiar presence in the Force.

Obi-Wan.

His Master stepped into the room, robes still neat despite what looked like a long morning. A datapad was tucked beneath one arm, and there was a faint crease between his brows that suggested he had just come from some meeting or another.

His gaze swept across the room.

Then immediately found Anakin.

Of course it did.

Anakin tried not to smile.

"Master."

Obi-Wan approached, eyebrows lifting slightly as he took in the group gathered on the floor.

"Well," he said mildly. "This is a pleasant surprise."

Aayla grinned.

"We were talking about our Masters."

Obi-Wan sighed.

"Should I be concerned?"

"Probably."

"Wonderful."

The answer earned several laughs.

Even Obi-Wan looked faintly amused.

"Master Kenobi," Stass greeted politely.

"Padawans."

He inclined his head to each of them before his attention settled on Aayla.

"I trust Master Vos hasn't abandoned you in any dangerous locations recently."

Aayla gasped dramatically.

"Master Kenobi, I am wounded. He only does that occasionally."

"How reassuring."

Bultar laughed loudly while Stass hid another smile behind her hand.

Obi-Wan's expression softened despite himself before he looked back toward Anakin.

"I was actually looking for you."

Anakin blinked in surprise, and in slight worry, but Obi-Wan didn't feel upset or angry so it couldn't be anything too bad. He nodded and stood. As he moved, he noticed that Obi-Wan glanced briefly at the training sticks scattered around the floor and the flushed faces around him.

Something shifted in his expression, like quiet surprise.

For a moment Anakin suddenly realized what he was seeing.

Obi-Wan wasn't looking at a problem or a difficult Padawan. He was looking at Anakin sitting with other children his age, laughing and talking as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

And judging by the faint surprise in his eyes, it wasn't something Obi-Wan got to witness very often.

Aayla seemed to notice something as well as she nudged Anakin lightly with her fist on the ground. "We will be here later, if you wish to train with us again." Her accent wrapped softly around the words.

Anakin looked at her, caught off guard by how casual the invitation sounded. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "I'd like that."

Aayla's smile widened.

"Good."

With that Master and Padawan made their way out of the training room.

Once they were alone in the halls, Anakin looked up at his master. "Does this have something to do with the Council meeting?"

Obi-Wan nodded, "Yes, about your vision. Master Plo Koon was able to find Knight Narec, and his Padawan." He seemed trouble at that, "The Council had no idea he had taken in one. Narec said he had been trying to get into contact with us, but the defenses on Rattatak blocked any communications. He’d been cut off for years.”

Anakin frowned. “Was he able to get them?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Master Plo only made brief contact before the comms cut out. He had to leave the system before his ship was almost destroyed.” Obi-Wan sighed. “The planet is brutal and violent. Knight Narec went there to help settle a conflict. He ended up staying when he found a Force-sensitive child. A girl. Apparently, he couldn’t leave her there.” He paused. “Her name is Asajj.”

Anakin took a deep breath, trying not to let anything show. His plan was working. The name rang through his mind, but he quickly buried the thought.. This was it. The first step on the path he had worked so hard to find, the chance to rewrite the future that had cost him everything. He had found a chance to save someone.

“It seems she’s strong with the Force,” Obi-Wan went on, watching Anakin carefully. “If not a little unstable. Understandably so, considering the conditions she grew up in. Narec has trained her, and he has done his best to shelter her from the vilonce on the planet. Though he seemed almost... worried that the Council would reject her… or worse, fear her.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. “Why? Because she’s angry?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, and that alone told Anakin everything he needed to know. He wasn't that surprised “Because some believe she is. She has a connection to the dark side, even if she doesn’t understand it.”

Anakin scoffed, looking down at the ground as they walked. “So, another Jedi with too many emotions is a problem. Got it.”

“That’s not what I said,” Obi-Wan replied gently, but firm. “The Council is… divided. Some think she should be brought here, trained properly. Others worry she’s too far gone.”

“And you?” Anakin challenged, turning to face him fully. “What do you think?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer right away. He looked at his young Padawan and sighed. “I think she deserves a chance. But she would be dangerous, Anakin. She’s been surviving on a battlefield since she was a child. Her first instinct is violence.”

“So was mine,” Anakin said quietly.

Obi-Wan winced, but didn’t deny it. “Yes. Which is why I’m telling you. Because if the Council decides to send someone to retrieve her, I’m going to volunteer.”

Anakin blinked. His heart started to beat fast. “You want me to go with you.” It wasn't a question.

“I want you to see her. Meet her. I think… you might understand each other.”

Anakin didn’t reply at first.

“I don’t have a lightsaber yet”

Obi-Wan smiled. And it was Anakin's favorite Obi-Wan smile. The one that look mischievous. "That is why the Council had agreed that it is time for you to receive your lightsaber, Anakin."

Anakin's eyes widened, "Wait, what? Are you serious?" In his past life, he wasn't allowed until he was fifteen until he had been able to compete the changed.  

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression softening. "Yes. Before we leave for Rattatak, we will take a detour to Ilum with Huyang." 

Anakin blinked a few times. In his past life, he’d waited years for that rite of passage, fought for it, earned it the hard way. But now… now it was happening sooner. Because the Council trusted him? No, it wasn't that, he knew. Was it because they needed him? Yeah, that made the most sense to him.

His heart pounded, but Anakin forced a smile, "Then we better start packing."

Of course, when Obi-Wan and Anakin made it back to his room to pack, his letterPad had received a notification back. 

Aayla didn’t know what to think of Anakin Skywalker.

She had heard stories of him, sure, who hadn’t? He was whispered around the Temple well enough. How the whispers said how he was brought in at a late age into the Order and that was only allowed as he was thought to be the Chosen One. Most Knights gave him a wide berth, Masters judged him, and some other whispered their doubts in low voices in the corners of the Temple. Aayla never joined those conversations, she hated gossip, but she had overheard her friends talk about him.

They said he had a temper. That he was reckless, emotional, and too attached to his Master and his Mother. The latter was something none of them really had a connection too. The whispers said how  the Council only kept him because they feared what he might become if they didn’t keep him.

But now, Aayla thought those whispers were unfair.

When they first met, she had no idea what to really think. He had helped her, but the way he did it had surprised her.

Anakin hadn't just jumped into the fray. He hadn't lashed out or thrown his fists, which was to be suspected of his reputation. He had controlled the situation with calm and terrifying focus. That wasn’t what she expected from someone with a reputation for being impulsive. It felt almost… dark but not evil. 

He had used fear, yes. But he wasn’t cruel.

Aayla had grown used to navigating the subtle hierarchies within the Temple. She had learned early on that being Twi’lek, being different in general, meant that others would find excuses to test her. To doubt her. To think less of her because of her race. She pushed herself to never show weakness and got into more fights than she would ever admit. Which was what she was expecting to happen when those older boys had cornered her in the hallway.

Then came Skywalker.

She still remembered the way the Force had shifted, cold like a shadow rolling in. She had seen how the others reacted, it hadn’t reached her like it had the other.. And when she saw him walking toward them, calm and unreadable, something in her had gone still.

He didn't need to raise his voice. The Force had spoken for him.

Once they had left and everything had gone down, Anakin talked with her.

He didn’t ask if she was okay, because as much as she hated it, she hadn’t been okay. He didn’t offer some well-meaning Jedi platitude about patience or serenity. He just looked at her, really looked, and all but said, “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

That was it. No lecture, no assumption she couldn’t handle herself.

It had stunned her more than any confrontation.

Anakin Skywalker was unlike anyone she had ever met.

There was a brightness to him, but it wasn’t the calm, measured light the Jedi were trained to cultivate. His light was wild. Untamed. Like a sun on the verge of flaring at any given moment. 

Then there had been the training session.

When she had called out to Anakin to join her and her friends, she had done so as a friend. And maybe because of the look in his eyes, like he hadn’t slept, like he was one bad moment away from snapping. She knew that look. She’d seen it in the mirror before. But when he came over and trained with them, they had used training sticks with him and not their sabers, he did something that shocked her again. He didn’t posture or try to dominate the group. He didn’t hold himself apart with pride or superiority. He, a twelve-year-old boy, was able to keep up with him. And put up a good fight too. 

By the end, when they all collapsed onto the floor, breathless and laughing, Aayla saw a version of Anakin Skywalker that wasn’t made of whispered warnings or speculation.

He was just a boy. Like the rest of them. And for the first time, she saw him not as the Chosen One, but as a kid who laughed, who hurt, who needed a friend.

As she sat into her room, waiting for her Master to come home, she couldn’t help but think that it would be nice to have another friend.

In his first life, Anakin had snuck out of the Temple more times than he could count. Well past curfew and Temple grounds. He didn’t do it often, but he learned to bypass security systems, fake identity codes, and even slice holocams if he had to. 

It wasn't that he wanted to be disobedient. 

He just wanted to breathe.

So he snucked past curfew and past security checkpoints. Past the walls the Jedi had built around themselves.

At first it had been because he was homesick. Then because he was angry. Then because he simply couldn't stand feeling trapped.

The reasons changed.

The habit never did.

Over the years he had learned how to bypass security systems, fake identity signatures, avoid patrol routes, and even slice holocams when he absolutely had to. Obi-Wan had eventually figured out most of it, of course. Obi-Wan always figured it out eventually.

Anakin used to tell himself it was because his Master was nosy. Now he knew better. Obi-Wan had just been worried.

The realization still sat strangely in his chest.

The Temple was quiet when Anakin slipped from his room. He eased the window open and climbed onto the narrow ledge outside. The cool night air hit his face immediately.

Cold.

That was still strange.

For so long he had burned. Ever since Mustafar there had always been heat. Endless, suffocating heat that lived beneath his skin. The memory of lava and fire and feeling of melting flesh. The agony of a body that never stopped hurting.

Even years later, encased in black armor, some part of him had always felt like he was still burning alive.

Now the cold had returned, but with it there was still a little fire there within. But it no longer consumed everything.

Some days he almost missed it. At least pain was familiar.

Anakin pushed the thought away and started moving.

The climb down was easy. He found the old maintenance ladder hidden behind one of the Temple annexes and descended quickly. Rust groaned beneath his hands, but the ladder held.

It always had.

At least some things never changed.

He crossed maintenance corridors, slipped through forgotten service tunnels, and emerged near the Temple perimeter without being spotted once.

He snuck out through the window in his room and dropped down onto the ledge. Getting out was easy, but making sure he got back to Obi-Wan before he awoke. Obi-Wan would notice if he was gone too long. He always did. Even when Anakin thought he'd covered his tracks perfectly, Obi-Wan had a sixth sense for when his padawan had done something reckless.

He crouched low and quickly made his way across the narrow ledge. Then he found the ladder, which was rusted from rain and Temple humidity making it look half-forgotten behind one of the older annexes. It groaned under his weight as he climbed, but he still went down.  He knew it held his weight. 

Anakin knew every shortcut, every maintenance shaft, every forgotten nook the architects never meant padawans to find.

Once he made his way on the ground, he carefully made his way through the narrow maintenance tunnel that led beneath the Temple walls. The overhead lights had long since stopped working, but Anakin didn’t need them.

He emerged behind a stack of unused crates near the Temple's perimeter. The guard droids had their predictable rotation patterns, and he’d mapped them out years ago. He waited in the shadow of the wall, crouched low and still, counting silently.

Three… two… one.

He sprinted across the open space, barely a blur, and slid behind a column as the droid passed, its sensors none the wiser.

By the time he reached the upper levels of Coruscant, he had disappeared into the crowd completely.

The city was quieter at night. Coruscant could never silent. But the endless roar softened into something more manageable. Speeders drifted through the traffic lanes overhead. Late-night workers moved between buildings. Restaurants glowed behind transparisteel windows. Anakin did this a few times before he reached the tall buildings that stood on the top of Coruscant. He pulled his hood up and started to make his way down the busy street. He blended in with the late-night traffic of speeder bikes and pedestrians. Coruscant never slept, not truly, but this hour brought a quieter hum. It was more bearable this way.  While there were some parts of planet city he liked, like Dax's, but most of it was overwhelming.

Most people found comfort in the constant life around them.

Anakin never had.

The Force wrapped around the planet like a living ocean. Trillions of minds. Trillions of emotions. Trillions of heartbeats.

Fear.

Hope.

Anger.

Love.

Grief.

Those and so many more emotions pressing against him constantly.

As a child, he had barely been able to leave the Temple without developing a splitting headache. Obi-Wan had spent years teaching him shielding techniques, meditation exercises, grounding methods- anything that might help.

Some of it had.

Most of it hadn't.

Not completely.

Anakin had simply learned to endure it.

Now, however, he possessed decades of experience his younger body shouldn't have had. The shields came easier, they were far from perfect, but enough that he could walk through the city without feeling like he was drowning.

Eventually the crowds thinned. 

The Serenno Embassy stood ahead, elegant and understated compared to the excess surrounding it.

Beside it rested a small park and Anakin slowed as he entered it.

It was pretty.

Serenno trees lined carefully maintained pathways. Flowers bloomed beneath softly glowing lamps. Water trickled from a fountain near the center, creating a gentle rhythm that somehow managed to drown out the distant sounds of the city.

For a moment, it didn't feel like Coruscant at all.

It felt older. Calmer. Aristocratic.

Very Dooku.

Anakin sat on one of the benches and looked down at the folded letter tucked inside his sleeve.

He knew the words almost by memory now. The response had arrived three days after he sent his message. If Anakin remembered correctly, Dooku worked with the senator of his homeworld for a while until the began. 

From the Office of Count Dooku
Serenno Embassy, Coruscant

Padawan Skywalker,

Your letter was unexpected.

Few Padawans would choose to contact a former Jedi whom the Order now regards with suspicion. Fewer still would do so with such honesty. Whatever else may be said of you, it seems courage is not among your shortcomings.

I remember Qui-Gon speaking highly of independent thought. It was a quality he valued greatly, though not always one appreciated within the Temple. If you were his student, even briefly, I imagine some of those lessons remained with you.

You write of questions.

That is hardly a crime, despite what some might imply. The Jedi encourage knowledge, yet often become uncomfortable when knowledge leads to conclusions they did not anticipate. Curiosity is not the enemy of wisdom, Padawan. Nor is doubt.

The galaxy is changing. The Republic changes with it. The Order does as well, whether it wishes to admit it or not. A thoughtful Jedi should seek understanding rather than accept easy answers simply because they are familiar.

You requested guidance, not instruction.

That distinction interests me.

If you truly wish to speak, then I am willing to listen. Come alone to the location and time listed below. I ask this not out of secrecy, but because some conversations are best held between two people rather than a committee.

Bring your questions. I suspect you have more than a few.

— Count Yan Dooku of Serenno

Count Dooku. Darth Tyranus. Future Separatist leader. Future architect of a galactic war.

And once, long before any of that, a Jedi Master.

Anakin stared at the embassy building.

Out of everyone involved in the coming disaster, Dooku remained one of the most difficult to understand.

Palpatine was easy. Palpatine was evil. Complicated evil, intelligent evil, patient evil- but evil nonetheless. Evil was just.. evil, no deeper understand to reach. 

Dooku wasn't.

That was the problem.

The older Anakin became, the harder it had become to dismiss Dooku as simply another villain.

Because Dooku had seen real problems. The corruption, The Senate, The suffering of the Outer Rim, all the failures of the Republic, the weaknesses inside the Jedi Order itself.

Dooku hadn't imagined those things- He had been right. He had simply chosen the worst possible solution to try and solve it. And that made him dangerous.

Far more dangerous than Grievous had ever been.

Anakin understood that now in a way his younger self never could.

Because he had made similar choices.

He had seen real problems, real suffering and failures, and in trying to fix them, he had become Vader.

The thought settled heavily in his chest.

Could Dooku still be saved?

Could he be turned against Sidious before everything fell apart? Or was Anakin about to walk willingly into the first trap of many?

The fountain continued its quiet trickling.

The Force remained calm around him. Almost waiting.

Anakin rested his elbows on his knees and stared out across the park.

He didn't trust Dooku. Not remotely, years and years of battles and bad blood rested between them, even if the older man wasn't aware of it. But he trusted Palpatine even less.

And right now, Dooku might be one of the few people in the entire galaxy capable of helping him change the future.

That alone made the risk worth taking.

After several minutes of waiting, Anakin felt a subtle shift in the Force.

Not a disturbance, but a presence.

It settled against his awareness like the edge of a blade resting lightly against skin. It was very controlled. Hidden beneath layers and layers of discipline.

Anakin didn't look up immediately. He already knew who it was.

When he finally raised his eyes, Count Dooku was approaching along the stone path. The older man looked almost exactly as Anakin remembered, if not a bit younger. Tall and elegant, every movement measured and deliberate. His cape swept behind him, catching the evening breeze, while his hands rested comfortably behind his back.

He looked like a noble... or a Jedi.

And that, Anakin thought bitterly, had always been part of the problem.

Dooku stopped a few paces away and studied him openly. His expression revealed little, but Anakin could feel the scrutiny behind it. The older man was observing everything. His posture. His breathing. His clothing. The way he held himself.

Funny enough he looked at Anakin how the Council looked at him. With a evaluating or judging looking trying figure him out.

"You are younger than I expected," Dooku said at last.

Anakin raised an eyebrow. "You expected someone older?"

"I expected someone more reckless."

The corner of Anakin's mouth twitched. "That's usually what people tell me at the get-go."

A flicker of amusement crossed Dooku's face. "Then perhaps their assessments are not entirely inaccurate."

Without waiting for permission, Dooku sat on the opposite end of the bench. Not beside him, just far enough to be polite or to remain cautious.

Anakin noticed.

Of course he did.

Dooku had always understood distance. Physical distance. Emotional distance. Political distance.

The Count settled comfortably and looked toward the fountain. "You wrote that you were seeking answers."

"I did."

"And you believed a former Jedi Master could provide them?"

Anakin shrugged. "You left."

Dooku's gaze shifted back to him. "An interesting answer."

"You saw something wrong."

"I saw many things wrong."

The words came smoothly. Almost... too smoothly.

Years ago Anakin would have accepted them without question. Now he heard the rehearsed quality beneath them. The careful truth.

Not a lie.

But not the whole truth either.

Dooku continued, his voice calm and measured. "The Republic is failing. The Senate is consumed by corruption. Entire worlds suffer while politicians debate procedure. The Jedi claim neutrality while serving as guardians of a government that increasingly deserves neither loyalty nor protection."

Anakin hated that part.

Because Dooku wasn't wrong, not entirely.

"You still believe that," Anakin said quietly.

Dooku regarded him for a moment. "Do you?"

Anakin looked away toward the trees and the city beyond them. Toward a future only he remembered. "Sometimes."

The honesty surprised both of them.

Dooku's eyes narrowed slightly.

"That is not the answer I expected."

"No?"

"No."

For several seconds neither spoke. The fountain trickled softly behind them.

Finally Dooku folded his hands over his lap, "You said in your letter that you were lost."

Anakin laughed once.

The sound held no humor. "I think that's putting it mildly."

"Then explain, because it seems as if you already know where your going."

Anakin stared at the water.

How was he supposed to explain this?

How was he supposed to explain years of war? Mustafar. The suit. Luke. The Emperor. The deaths. The endless guilt. The darkness still lurking inside him every single day, waiting for weakness, waiting for anger, waiting for an excuse.

He settled for the truth. "Something terrible is coming." Dooku remained silent as he continued. "And I think nobody sees it."

"Not even the Jedi?"

"Especially the Jedi."

The older man's expression became thoughtful. "Go on."

Anakin looked directly at him. "You left because you saw problems nobody else wanted to acknowledge."

Dooku inclined his head slightly. "A fair assessment."

"But you made the mistake of believing you were the only one who could fix them."

The Count went completely still. Most people would never have noticed it but Anakin did.

Because he'd seen that exact reaction before. Across battlefields. Across negotiation tables. Across countless conversations.

A clean hit.

For the first time since arriving, Dooku looked genuinely interested.

"You speak with remarkable certainty for someone your age."

Anakin met his gaze evenly. "I've had a lot to think about."

Dooku studied him long enough that the silence became uncomfortable.

Then longer still.

Anakin refused to look away.

Finally the Count spoke.

"Who are you, Padawan Skywalker?"

Not who do you think you are.

Not what do you want.

Who are you.

A dangerous question.

Anakin felt the darkness stir instinctively. Old habits. Old fears. Old lies. For a brief moment he considered giving one.

Then he remembered why he had come.

"If I told you the truth," Anakin said quietly, "you wouldn't believe me."

To his surprise, Dooku smiled. It wasn't a kindly one but genuinely.

"My boy," he said softly, "after everything I have seen in this galaxy, you may be surprised by what I am willing to believe."  

Anakin hesitated.

Then he spoke carefully.

“The Jedi say to trust the Force, but only in the ways they approve of. They speak of compassion but warn against love. They say to feel but not to attach. It’s like being asked to walk while chained.”

Dooku nodded slowly.

“And you feel those chains.”

“Yes.” His voice cracked slightly. “I feel everything.”

For a moment, Dooku said nothing. He seemed deep in thought. Then he asked, “How long have you known?”

Anakin frowned. “Known what?”

“That you were different.”

Anakin didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the cracked fountain. “Always, I think.”

Dooku nodded as though that confirmed something. “I suspected as much. The Jedi...” He paused. “Have never handled differences well.”

“They don't like change,” Anakin murmured. “Or questions.”

That made Dooku's gaze sharpen, though not unkindly. “Indeed. And you have many.”

“Too many.”

He finally turned to meet the older man's eyes. “But that's not why I asked you to meet.”

Dooku arched an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“I don't want to waste time.”

The Count regarded him curiously. “An admirable sentiment.”

“Time is the one thing I have too much of and too little of.”

That drew a flicker of genuine interest from Dooku. A minute shift in posture most people would never have noticed.

Anakin did.

“Go on,” Dooku said.

Anakin took a breath. “I've know what is going to happen. To the Republic. To the Jedi. To the galaxy.” His voice lowered. “And I don't want it to happen again.”

For a moment, Dooku didn't respond.

The fountain's gentle trickling filled the silence.

Then the older man's eyes narrowed. Not in suspicion, but in calculation.

“You speak as though from experience.”

Anakin met his gaze and, for once, didn't retreat from the truth. “I've lived it.”

The words hung between them.

“I know what the Jedi will do. I know what Palpatine will become. And I know that if I don't change things, none of us survive it.”

Dooku's expression became unreadable. His silence stretched. Then, softly- “You know of Sidious.”

Anakin laughed bitterly. “Better than anyone.”

The words tasted like ash.

“He trained me after I...” He swallowed. “After I fell.”

He couldn't bring himself to say the name.

Vader.

Not yet.

That was a pain he wasn't ready for yet

Dooku leaned back slowly. For the first time since arriving, genuine conflict showed through the Count's carefully maintained composure.

“You believe I would help you stop him,” Dooku said. “That I would betray the path I once chose.”

“I think,” Anakin replied, his voice steadier than it had any right to be, “you already regret the path you took.”

That landed.

The Count's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. A tiny reaction, but real.

“I don't trust you,” Anakin admitted. “But I think you were right about some things. About the Council. About their blindness.” He paused. “And I know you cared about Master Qui-Gon more than you ever let on.”

Dooku looked away. Toward the trees. To the fading light filtering through their branches.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “He was the only thing that kept me from leaving sooner.”

Anakin nodded. “He was the only one who really saw me, too.”

Another silence settled between them. This one felt different. Less hostile and more honest.

Finally Dooku spoke.

“If I am to believe you, then you are offering me a different future.”

“I'm offering a chance to stop the worst one.” Anakin leaned forward. “And if you're smart, and you are,  help me.”

Dooku studied him for a long time.

Then, finally-

“You are either mad... or the most dangerous child I have ever met.”

A grim smile tugged at Anakin's mouth. “Why not both?”

To his surprise, Dooku almost smiled back. “Perhaps.”

Anakin extended his hands.

“But I can prove it.”

The Count looked down at them.  He didn't move immediately. “You would allow me into your mind?” he asked. His tone was impossible to read.

Anakin held his gaze. “If that's what it takes.” He sighed, hoped his honestly was shining though. “I don't want to fight you. I want to stop the war before it begins.”

Something close to disbelief flickered behind Dooku's mask.

“You would trust me with such power?”

“No.”

The answer surprised them both.

Then Anakin continued. “But I trust what you were.”

Dooku's eyes narrowed slightly.

“And what was that?”

“Someone Qui-Gon believed in.”

For a moment neither moved.

Then, with surprising gentleness, Dooku reached forward and placed his hands over Anakin's.

The contact sent a ripple through the Force.

Anakin closed his eyes.

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

The familiar sensation washed over him as the physical world loosened its grip and the stars of his little void unfolded around him.

The World Between Worlds.

Anakin opened his eyes.

And froze.

Normally, this place was empty. Endless black space. Scattered stars. Silence that stretched forever.

Not this time.

Clouds drifted beneath his feet. Kinda. They glowed with shades of emerald and turquoise, streaks of silver flowing through them like rivers of starlight. Tiny stars flickered within their depths, as though entire galaxies had been folded into their mist. They stretched endlessly in every direction, blending into the darkness of space until Anakin couldn't tell where the clouds ended and the stars began.

It looked less like a place and more like the inside of a living nebula.

Anakin slowly turned.

Dooku stood a short distance away.

The older man wasn't looking at him. He was staring at everything else.

Anakin had never seen that expression on Count Dooku's face before. Astonishment. Pure, unguarded astonishment.

The Count looked almost young. His eyes moved across the glowing clouds, the distant stars, the impossible colors shifting through the darkness. He turned slowly, taking it all in. For once there was no aristocratic confidence, no carefully maintained dignity.

Just wonder.

Anakin found himself studying him. People looked different here.

Not physically, but almost as something deeper was being reflected. 

The first time Anakin had entered this place, he'd realized he could see pieces of what people truly were.

He had never found the words to explain it. In this realm, he felt like a hole torn into space. A star collapsing inward and burning outward at the same time.

Dooku looked like a sun.

Old.

Golden.

Steady.

But as Anakin looked closer, he saw fractures running through that light. Almost like hairline cracks. The sort that formed when something had carried too much weight for too long.

"This..." Dooku whispered. His voice sounded small, almost afraid to disturb the silence. "This is the World Between Worlds?"

Anakin shrugged. "I think so." 

That earned a brief glance. "You think so?"

Anakin rubbed the back of his neck. "It's complicated."

Before Dooku could ask what that meant, another voice spoke.

"There are many reflections within the World Between Worlds."

Both of them turned.

Anakin immediately smiled.

"The Force."

The being stood atop the glowing clouds as though it had always been there.

Its form shifted constantly.

Colors flowed across its body like liquid light. Gold became blue. Blue became green. Green dissolved into galaxies and stars before reforming again.

It looked different every time Anakin saw it.

And somehow exactly the same.

Beside him, Dooku went completely still.

The Count's breath caught.

Anakin could actually feel the shock ripple through him.

Not fear, but pure reverence. The kind that shook a person to their core.

"The Force..." Dooku breathed.  It wasn't a statement, it sounded almost like a prayer.

The being tilted its head. A smile touched its face. "You once listened to me, Count." Its voice echoed softly through the stars. "Long ago."

Dooku stared. Anakin wasn't sure the older man had blinked since turning around.

"You heard my whispers in the wind. In the currents of the Force. In the silence between your thoughts." The Force took a slow step forward. "Before fear taught you to stop listening."

Something in Dooku broke. Not all at once, but a tiny crack spreading through a dam and continued to spread. His shoulders lowered as his jaw trembled.

And then, to Anakin's complete shock, Dooku stepped forward.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Before slowly lowering himself to his knees.

Not because he was commanded to.

Not because he was defeated.

Because he didn't seem capable of standing anymore.

The Count of Serenno looked up at the Force as though he were seeing the stars for the first time.

"I..." His voice failed him.

He swallowed.

Tried again.

"I have lost my way."

The words sounded torn from somewhere deep inside him.

The Force approached.

Its colors softened. Gold. Green. Warm sunlight filtering through leaves.

A hand reached down and rested gently against Dooku's shoulder.

Anakin felt the moment the contact happened.

The Force surged around them, almost like a soft tide.

Dooku inhaled sharply as his eyes widened.

Anakin wondered what he was seeing.

What future?

What truth?

What grief?

Whatever it was, tears appeared in the corners of the older man's eyes.

"You are not beyond redemption," the Force said softly. "Very few beings ever truly are."

Dooku bowed his head.

"You are never beyond choosing another path." The stars around them brightened. "The illusion of power is that it convinces you there is no turning back."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Dooku looked up.

Lost and hopeful and terrified, all at once, wrapped up tight together. 

"What do I do?"

The Force smiled.

It always smiled like it knew something beautiful that nobody else had figured out yet.

"You choose."

That was all.

No grand revelation.

No prophecy.

No command.

Just those two words.

The Force stepped backward.

Its form dissolving into drifting starlight.

"You have always possessed that power."

And then it was gone.

The nebula clouds drifted quietly around them.

The stars burned softly overhead.

Dooku remained kneeling.

Staring into the place where the Force had vanished.

Anakin didn't interrupt him.

For once, there was nothing to say.

Because he could feel what Dooku was feeling.

A lifetime of certainty crumbling.

A lifetime of choices suddenly laid bare.

And beneath all of it-

Hope.

Small.

Fragile.

But real.

Dooku remained on his knees, staring into the place where the Force had vanished.

The nebula-like clouds stirred gently around them, as if moved by breath alone. Light shifted through them in slow pulses, like the beat of a distant heart.

Anakin watched him quietly.

He could feel the older man's conflict through the Force. It churned beneath Dooku's calm exterior like a storm-hidden ocean. Dooku had always been composed. Controlled. Every word measured, every emotion locked neatly behind walls built over decades.

Here, there were no walls.

No masks.

No titles.

Just truth.

"I thought I had to become something terrible to stop something worse," Dooku said at last.

The words sounded exhausted.

Anakin wondered what the Force had shown him. The future, probably. His future. The Empire. Palpatine.

The fire waiting at the end of the road.

"But in doing so," Dooku continued softly, "I only fed the very fire I meant to put out."

Anakin moved closer and crouched beside him.

"That was the same choice I almost made."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Maybe they were more true than he wanted them to be.

"Maybe..." He looked down at his hands. "Maybe I still could. But now you don't have to make that choice alone."

Dooku slowly turned toward him.

For a moment, he simply stared.

Anakin almost asked what was wrong before he remembered where they were.

People looked different here.

Dooku looked like an aging sun wrapped in gold and silver light. Ancient. Wise. Wounded.

And apparently Anakin looked different too.

The Count's eyes widened slightly.

In their brief bond, Anakin felt what Dooku was seeing.

A firestorm.

A star being born and dying at the same time.

White-blue fire wrapped around a darkness so vast it seemed to bend the stars themselves. Solar flares erupted from him like wings. Galaxies spun within the inferno. The light was beautiful.

The darkness beneath it was terrifying.

Potential.

Creation and destruction.

Life and death.

All existing together inside one impossible being.

Anakin looked away first.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know what all of that meant.

"I once told Qui-Gon that the Council was blind," Dooku murmured.

His gaze remained fixed on Anakin.

"But I never considered that I was as well."

The Count's expression tightened.

"Blinded by pride. By pain."

Anakin gave a small, sad smile.

"You're not the only one."

That earned the faintest huff of amusement from Dooku.

The two of them sat quietly among the stars.

Anakin had a hundred questions.

Just two people trying to find their way.

Eventually Anakin felt it.

The connection tugged.

The physical world calling Dooku back.

The Count's presence began to pull away, like a ship drifting from shore.

The clouds around them started to dissolve into starlight.

The nebula faded.

The darkness beyond grew wider.

Dooku noticed it too.

He rose slowly to his feet.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Dooku looked at him.

Not as a weapon.

Not as a rival.

Not as a possible pawn.

Just Anakin.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Anakin blinked.

The words caught him completely off guard.

Then he smiled.

"Yeah."

The stars began to blur.

The void started to fall away.

And a heartbeat later, Anakin found himself being pulled back toward the park bench, toward the physical world, carrying with him the strange feeling that tonight had changed far more than either of them yet understood.

It took a moment for the lights of Coruscant came back into view. 

The older man leaned back, exhaling deeply. His face looked somehow… lighter. Younger.

He looked at Anakin, his eyes looking more thoughtful than Anakin had ever seen. “You’ve given me much to consider.”

Anakin nodded, “You don’t have to decide everything tonight. Just… keep an open mind.”

The older man gave a disbelieving laugh, “Thanks to you, I have met the living embodiment of the Force! Something many would do anything to do.” Dooku looked down at his hands, “...you are braver than I gave you credit for, Skywalker. Braver, perhaps, than I ever was.”

A silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t heavy this time.

Finally, Dooku stood. “I will think about this. Truly. I have much to learn... and to unlearn.”

Anakin stood with him, and for a moment, Anakin really didn't know what to say. “May the Force be with you,” He said softly, in the end.

Dooku’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “And with you, young one. More than ever.”

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the city lights.

Anakin sat back down on the bench, feeling the weight of the stars still pressing gently on his shoulders. Something had changed tonight.

Something, hopefully, for the better.

Chapter Text

So- hahaha... its been a while, huh? 

I don't really like leaving notes in my fics but I thought a little one was necessary. This work isn't be abandoned, but it been a while since I re-read this and I didn't really like my style back then? SO- if you go back and re-read the chapters you might noticed that I rewrite/edited them! Nothing too major to the plot has changed, I just wanted to update it. I don't like adding notes as it seems like a chapter is being post when it isn't but as the updates have added around 15k more words to the fics so I think can count as a new chapter lol. 

Mostly its been a much of minor changes or added stuff to not make it everything so rushed through. I wanted to show that Anakin is struggling™️with everything. He is not having a fun time lol. There haven't been many or at all major changes to the fic. I also, thankfully, found my old outline and updated it up, thank goodness. I've also added a character I have forgotten about- that I can't believe I forgot about.   

And even more good news! The next chapter will be posted in a few days! At most it will be a week, but its nice to write for this story again. I'll probably delete this chapter when the next one is posted.

I also wanted to say thank you all so much for the support that this fic has gotten over time. It really does mean the world and every comment makes me grin from ear to ear. Questions and constructive criticism are also appreciated. I can't wait to show more of the plot I have planned out and when Anakin and Rex actually met again and the slow burn can start to burn lol. I have a few surprises for you all :) 

Chapter Text

Anakin was finally going on his first mission since coming back.

Honestly, he couldn't wait.

The Temple had started feeling suffocating weeks ago. Between the healers, the Council, the endless concerns about his health, and everyone wanting him to rest, Anakin felt like he was going to climb the walls if he stayed much longer.

He still wasn't entirely sure how he'd survived his first life.

Maybe he'd simply gotten used to being constantly busy.

Or maybe he was just bad at sitting still.

Either way, getting off Coruscant sounded amazing.

There was only one catch.

Anakin knelt beside his bed, trying to convince his belongings to fit into a single bag.

The Jedi didn't exactly encourage possessions, which meant there wasn't much room for arguing when Obi-Wan informed him he was only bringing one pack.

Unfortunately, Anakin had several things he considered absolutely necessary.

The bag disagreed.

R2-D2, meanwhile, sat nearby making a series of smug beeps as he watched the struggle unfold.

"Don't start."

Bweep.

"You are not helping."

The astromech rotated his dome slightly.

Bwoop.

Anakin pointed accusingly at him. "You don't even have to pack."

R2 immediately responded with a sharp whistle that somehow sounded deeply offended.

"Okay, okay. You have your tools. Still doesn't count."

The droid let out a triumphant chirp as if he had just won the argument.

After several minutes of rearranging everything for the fourth time, Anakin finally managed to force the flap shut.

"Ha!"

The bag immediately bulged threateningly.

Anakin narrowed his eyes.

The bag stared back.

Neither trusted the other.

R2 emitted a doubtful warble.

"Traitor."

The astromech chirped innocently.

Before Anakin could start another round of negotiations, his comm chirped. He grabbed it from the bedside table, knowing who it was already. "Yeah, Master?"

"The shuttle is ready. Meet me in the hangar when you're finished."

Anakin glanced around his room.

There wasn't really anything left to do.

"Be there in a minute."

"Good."

The comm clicked off.

Anakin slung the bag over his shoulder.

R2 immediately rolled toward the door.

Anakin blinked.

"Where are you going?"

The astromech let out an incredulous whistle.

Anakin stared at him.

"...You're coming?"

A very firm bweeoop.

"Master said one bag."

Another whistle.

"You are not a bag."

R2's response said that this was Obi-Wan's problem, not his.

Anakin snorted.

"Fair enough."

Together they headed for the door.

Halfway there, Anakin caught sight of himself in the mirror.

He paused.

It still felt strange.

Twelve years old.

No scars.

No mechanical arm.

No burns.

No tired eyes staring back at him.

Just a kid.

For a moment he stood there.

R2 rolled forward a little before stopping.

A soft questioning beep echoed through the room.

Anakin looked down.

The astromech's dome was tilted toward him. For just a second, Anakin felt something tighten in his chest but he pushed it away. 

Anakin reached down and rested a hand against the cool metal of R2's dome.

"I'm okay."

A gentle chirp answered him.

Still weird.

He shook his head and opened the door.

Only to nearly walk straight into Aayla, who had her hand raised to knock.

The two of them blinked at each other.

Then Aayla laughed.

"Well, zat saves me a few seconds."

"Hey, Aayla."

"Hey." Her lekku swayed lightly. "I heard you're finally getting your first mission."

"Yep."

"And your lightsaber."

That immediately made him grin wider.

"And my lightsaber."

Aayla laughed softly.

"I thought zat part might be more important."

"It is more important."

"At least you're honest."

Anakin shrugged.

"No point pretending."

R2 chirped loudly beside them.

Aayla glanced down.

"Oh, and R2 is apparently coming as well."

The astromech let out a proud whistle.

Anakin sighed dramatically.

"Apparently."

For a moment there was a brief silence.

Not awkward exactly, just the kind that happened when people didn't know each other very well yet. Or when one didn't know the other well and the other had been sent back in time and was acting like they had just met.

His social skills had not improved, he realized.

Aayla broke it first.

"So... excited?"

Anakin shifted the bag on his shoulder.

"Yeah."

Then he thought about it.

What other things should normal kids feel?

"Also nervous."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Really?"

"Why does everyone seem surprised by that?"

"Because you don't usually seem nervous."

Anakin snorted.

"Trust me. It happens."

Like the weight of the galaxy, but that was mostly a him thing.

"Good."

That caught him off guard.

"Good?"

She shrugged.

"Means you care."

Anakin considered that.

"Guess that's fair."

Together they started down the corridor, R2 rolling alongside them.

The conversation came easier while they were walking.

Aayla mentioned a recent assignment she'd returned from. Not the mission itself, just the endless rain and a governor who apparently collected decorative spoons.

"Spoons?" Anakin asked. Of all things? While he had his own little things he liked to collect, at least before his... Fall. But- "Spoon?"

"Why?"

"I did not ask."

"You should've asked."

"I was afraid he would answer."

That got a laugh out of him.

R2 added a sympathetic whistle.

Aayla looked down at him.

"You agree?"

The astromech beeped.

"See?" Anakin said. "Even R2 thinks that's suspicious."

The conversation drifted after that.

From food, training, ships, mostly small things.

"...and then the cafeteria somehow burned the bread," Anakin said.

Aayla frowned thoughtfully.

"How?"

"I don't know."

"No, really."

"I don't know!"

"There are cooking droids."

"Exactly."

She looked genuinely puzzled.

"Maybe they were trying something new."

"They were trying to commit a crime."

Aayla laughed.

"Zat is a very strong opinion about bread."

"Good bread is important."

R2 immediately whistled his agreement.

Anakin pointed at him.

"See? Someone understands."

"I will remember zat."

By the time they reached the hangar, Anakin found himself smiling.

It was... nice to just talk to someone.

It was still odd to just have conversations after everything.

But she was easy to talk to.

And after everyone watching him and every move he made, easy felt nice.

The hangar doors slid open with a hiss.

Inside, Obi-Wan was waiting beside a small shuttle.

"There you are," Obi-Wan said.

"Told you I'd only be a minute."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

Then his gaze shifted to R2.

The astromech chirped brightly.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

"Anakin."

"I didn't do anything."

"Why is the astromech here?"

R2 immediately let out an indignant whistle.

Aayla looked suspiciously amused.

"Because," Anakin said with complete seriousness, "apparently he's coming with us."

Another whistle.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Aayla glanced between them, a smile tugged at her lips. "Good luck, Anakin."

He smiled at her. "Thanks."

"May the Force be with you."

"You too."

She gave a small wave before stepping back.

Anakin returned it, then headed toward Obi-Wan, R2 rolling happily after them toward the waiting shuttle.

The shuttle lifted smoothly from the Temple hangar and climbed into the endless traffic lanes of Coruscant. Anakin settled into his seat beside Obi-Wan and watched the cityscape fall away through the viewport, while R2-D2 locked himself into place nearby with a pleased little chirp. Towers stretched in every direction, disappearing into haze and distance until eventually even Coruscant's impossible skyline gave way to darkness and stars. It felt good. Really good. For the first time since waking up in this second life, he was actually leaving. Not for a Council meeting. Not for another medical examination. Not for another conversation about his recovery. An actual mission. A real assignment. The anticipation buzzed beneath his skin.

R2 gave a quiet warble from beside him.

Anakin glanced down.

"What?"

The astromech turned his dome toward the viewport, then back toward Anakin.

Anakin smiled faintly. "Yeah. I know."

Artoo chirped once, softer this time.

Anakin reached down and brushed his fingers over the top of the droid's dome. It was grounding in a way he hadn't expected. Familiar metal. Familiar beeps. Familiar stubborn presence refusing to leave him alone even across time itself.

As the shuttle climbed toward orbit, his thoughts drifted toward the other part of this journey.

Huyang.

A smile tugged at his lips.

The old droid had no idea who he really was.

In this timeline, they had never met.

Well, technically they had met once already, but only briefly when Huyang had arrived with the ship. The droid had been busy preparing equipment and hadn't paid much attention to him beyond a polite greeting. Their real introduction was supposed to happen today.

Which was strange.

Because for Anakin, Huyang was one of the oldest friends he had ever had.

His mind wandered back to the first time they had met in his previous life. He had been younger then, freshly chosen by Obi-Wan, still carrying the excitement of finally becoming a Padawan. More importantly, he had just completed his lightsaber.

He could still remember stepping aboard the ancient vessel and seeing the old architect droid for the first time.

At the time, Huyang had seemed impossibly old.

Actually, he still seemed impossibly old.

The droid had immediately launched into a lecture about lightsaber construction, Jedi traditions, proper maintenance procedures, and approximately three hundred other topics nobody had asked about. Anakin remembered being convinced within the first ten minutes that Huyang enjoyed hearing himself talk.

Years later he had learned that assessment was completely accurate.

The funny thing was that Huyang genuinely cared. Beneath all the lectures, corrections, and endless historical tangents, the old droid cared deeply about every Jedi who stepped aboard his ship. He remembered names. He remembered lightsaber designs. He remembered mistakes students had made decades earlier. Sometimes centuries earlier.

Anakin wasn't entirely sure whether that was impressive or terrifying.

Probably both.

The shuttle continued toward orbit while stars slowly multiplied beyond the viewport.

Across from him, Obi-Wan was reading something on a datapad.

Artoo rolled closer to the forward console and let out a curious beep.

Obi-Wan glanced up.

"No," he said automatically.

R2 whistled.

"You may not access the shuttle's navigation records."

Another beep.

"Nor may you improve them."

Anakin coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.

Artoo turned his dome toward him, clearly expecting support.

Anakin lifted both hands. "Don't look at me. I'm not fighting Master Obi-Wan before we even get there."

Artoo made a rude little sound.

Obi-Wan's eyebrow rose. "I understood that tone."

The astromech chirped innocently.

Anakin grinned and looked out the viewport again, but after a moment, another thought tugged at him.

"Did Huyang say anything?"

Obi-Wan looked up. "About what?"

"Me."

A faint smile appeared on Obi-Wan's face. "He seems quite eager to meet you."

Anakin laughed.

That sounded exactly right.

"Huyang was informed that you'll be receiving your lightsaber during this assignment," Obi-Wan continued. "Apparently he has several opinions regarding the matter."

"Several?"

"Possibly dozens."

"That sounds more accurate."

Obi-Wan gave him a curious look.

Anakin quickly looked back toward the viewport.

Careful.

Artoo beeped quietly, and Anakin had the sudden, terrible feeling that if the astromech could narrow his eyes, he would have.

The stars stretched endlessly ahead of them.

Somewhere out there waited an ancient ship and an ancient droid who had already spent thousands of years helping Jedi build lightsabers.

And who was currently very excited to meet Anakin Skywalker for the first time.

Again.

The thought made him smile.

He wondered how long it would take before Huyang started correcting him.

Probably less than five minutes.

By the time they approached Huyang's vessel, Artoo had apparently decided that sitting still was beneath him. He rolled toward the cockpit with a determined little trill.

"Where are you going?" Anakin asked.

R2 beeped back without stopping.

Anakin blinked.

"The cockpit?"

Another chirp and it made Anakin roll his eyes. "You're just bored."

R2 did not deny it.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Please do not alter anything vital."

The astromech gave a bright, deeply unconvincing whistle and disappeared through the cockpit doors.

Anakin watched him go.

"That was not a promise."

"No," Obi-Wan said dryly. "It was not."

The answer turned out to be four minutes.

Anakin knew because he counted.

The shuttle docked smoothly with Huyang's vessel, and the moment the hatch opened, a familiar voice echoed through the corridor beyond.

"Ah! There you are."

Anakin's grin appeared instantly.

Huyang stood waiting just outside the docking ring, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The ancient droid looked exactly the same, which wasn't surprising. If you asked the old guy, he'd looked exactly the same for twenty-five thousand years.

"Knight Kenobi. Young Skywalker."

Obi-Wan offered a respectful nod.

"Huyang."

The droid's photoreceptors immediately focused on Anakin.

For a second, Anakin wondered if Huyang somehow knew. If the old droid would look at him and immediately realize something was different.

But Huyang merely tilted his head.

"Hm."

There it was.

The first correction was coming.

Anakin could feel it.

"Hm?" Anakin repeated.

Huyang gestured toward him.

"You're slouching."

Anakin barked out a laugh.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly.

"Huyang," he warned.

"What?" the droid asked innocently. "The boy is slouching."

"He has been aboard your ship for approximately seven seconds."

"And already developing poor posture."

Anakin laughed harder.

Yep.

Definitely Huyang.

The droid stared at him.

"Most students become annoyed when I point out their flaws."

Anakin straightened immediately, shoulders snapping back with exaggerated precision. "How's that?"

Huyang looked him up and down. "Artificial. You're doing it to be contrary."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

Anakin grinned.

Obi-Wan sighed, already sounding tired.

Somewhere behind them, from the direction of the cockpit, R2 let out a distant questioning whistle.

Huyang's head turned slightly.

"Is that an astromech?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said.

"Does it belong to the shuttle?"

"No," Anakin said at the same time Obi-Wan said, "Unfortunately, no."

Anakin shot him a look.

Obi-Wan looked entirely unrepentant.

Another series of beeps echoed faintly from the cockpit.

Huyang paused.

"That astromech is currently interfacing with my ship."

Obi-Wan turned sharply. "Anakin."

"I didn't tell him to do that!"

Huyang was silent for a moment.

Then he said, "Hm."

Anakin pointed at him. "That was a different hm."

"It was."

"Is it a bad hm?"

"That depends on whether he deletes anything."

From the cockpit, R2 gave a scandalized whistle. One that said, like a lying lair- he would never.

Huyang stared toward the cockpit.

"I have known many astromechs. That is never true."

Obi-Wan looked as though he was already regretting several life choices.

Huyang turned and began leading them deeper into the vessel.

"As Knight Kenobi has informed me, your circumstances are unusual."

"That's one word for it," Anakin said.

"Your Gathering was delayed."

He shrugged. "A little."

"A little," Huyang repeated flatly. "Young Skywalker, your Gathering should have occurred several years ago."

"Okay, maybe more than a little."

"Significantly more than a little." The droid stopped walking and turned toward them. "Fortunately, there are alternatives."

Anakin blinked. "Alternatives?"

"Older traditions."

That got his attention.

In his first life, there hadn't been alternatives. He had simply been taken to Ilum alone after everyone realized he'd missed the normal process.

"What kind of older traditions?" Anakin asked.

Huyang's head tilted slightly. "One of the ones that has not been performed in approximately two hundred years."

Anakin's eyes widened. "What?"

"Before the modern Gathering became standardized, there were several methods by which Jedi younglings sought their kyber crystals. Most fell out of use as the Order became..." The droid paused. "More structured."

Obi-Wan shifted slightly at that.

Huyang continued anyway.

"Some might say stagnant."

Obi-Wan looked uncomfortable immediately.

Anakin noticed.

Obi-Wan believed in the Council. Believed in the Order. Even when he questioned decisions, he still trusted the institution itself.

Anakin's stomach tightened for a moment.

Because Huyang wasn't entirely wrong.

He'd seen where stagnation led.

But this wasn't the time.

He pushed the thought aside.

"So what's the ritual?" he asked quickly.

Huyang's attention returned to him.

"You will be completing The Trial of Echoes."

Anakin frowned.

"I've never heard of that."

"Few have. It predates the current Gathering by several millennia."

That only made him more interested.

"And what do I do?"

Huyang's photoreceptors brightened.

"You listen."

Anakin groaned immediately.

From somewhere distant in the cockpit, R2 let out a sympathetic little beep.

Anakin pointed vaguely in that direction without looking away from Huyang.

"See? Even he understands how terrible that sounds."

Huyang clasped his hands behind his back. "Then perhaps the astromech is wiser than you."

Anakin stared at him.

Obi-Wan looked down, clearly fighting a smile.

Anakin sighed.

"I missed you," he muttered under his breath.

Huyang's head tilted.

"Did you say something?"

Anakin froze for half a second, then quickly shook his head.

"Nope."

"Hm."

Ilum was truly a beautiful world.

Anakin had forgotten that.

Or maybe he had simply spent too many years remembering it as the place where the beginning of so many Jedi journeys began.

It could be said there were other points in time where the "true" start was, but Ilum was where one got one got their* lightsabers,* which were so much more then just some "laser sword" then most people thought. 

He had been younger than had been Ahsoka, but older then some Padawan's later in the war. He had been so impatient and eager to prove himself. He remembered racing ahead of the other initiates whenever he thought the instructors weren't looking. He remembered the cold that seemed determined to seep through every layer of clothing.

Most of all, he remembered the moment he found his crystal. His first one at least. Anakin had always had a different connection to kyber than most Jedi.

He hadn't understood it as a child. He had assumed everyone's experience was similar.

Later, he learned otherwise.

Finding a crystal had been easy for him. Bonding with it had been even easier. The crystal had sung to him through the Force almost immediately, bright and eager and warm. Over the years, he discovered that connection wasn't limited to a single crystal either. While most Jedi formed an especially deep bond with their own kyber, Anakin found he could hear and understand others with unusual clarity.

Masters had called it a rare gift.

Some had called it strange.

Anakin had never cared much what they called it.

What mattered was that kyber seemed to recognize him.

It was one reason he had never panicked as much as he probably should have whenever he lost his lightsaber. And he had lost it a lot.

Obi-Wan certainly never let him forget that.

More than once, a misplaced weapon had somehow found its way back to him. Sometimes through luck. Sometimes through the efforts of friends. Sometimes through circumstances that felt suspiciously like the Force nudging events into place.

His crystal always seemed to return. 

The closest he had ever come to losing it forever had been on Geonosis.

The first lightsaber he had built survived years of use, abuse if you asked Obi-Wan, only to be destroyed in the droid factories during the battle. He still remembered watching the machinery crush and tear apart the hilt.

For a few terrible moments, he had thought it was gone. Then later the crystal had been recovered from the wreckage, it untouched despite everything around it being reduced to scrap.

He had rebuilt the saber afterward. as if it had never truly left him at all. 

The shuttle settled onto a broad shelf of ice overlooking a frozen lake that stretched for kilometers in every direction. The surface gleamed beneath the pale sunlight, smooth as polished glass except where ancient cracks spiderwebbed beneath the ice.

Beyond it stood the temple.

It was smaller than the Gathering Temple, but it looked older.

The Gathering Temple had always felt welcoming in its own austere Jedi way, even if it was grandiose.  It had been built for children taking their first steps toward becoming Jedi. There had been instructors, chambers prepared for initiates, and pathways worn smooth by generations of younglings.

This place felt different.

It felt like a monument, if he had to word it. 

The structure rose directly from the ice-covered cliffside, carved from pale stone that had weathered centuries of storms. Massive pillars framed the entrance, their surfaces etched with symbols so old that even Anakin doubted he could identify all of them.

The Force lingered here heavily.

The ramp lowered with a hiss.

Huyang remained exactly where he was as two walked out of the ship, his hands behind his back  as he talked as the two left. Artoo was still in the cockpit. "The Trial of Echoes was once considered a respected path to obtaining a kyber crystal. While it was not common, even in its time, but certain Jedi Masters believed it offered valuable insight into a student's relationship with the Force."

"What kind of insight?" Obi-Wan asked, curious.

Huyang's photoreceptors flickered. "If I explained that, it would rather defeat the purpose."

Anakin groaned. It's always some secret-learning-Jedi thing, wasn't it?

He looked away for a moment. There would be no way for him to get his original crystal, no? This was a whole different place. Maybe for the better, seeing the bloodshed he caused with it before Obi-Wan took it. But... it had been something to realized his own son was welding his own blade. 

Of course, there was one thought he had been trying very hard to ignore. The lightsaber Luke had used had not been his last. No, the weapon Obi-Wan had taken from Mustafar had been Anakin Skywalker's blade. The one Vader had carried afterward had been something else entirely.

It had not been made the way a Jedi's lightsaber was made.

It had been stolen.

Anakin's hand curled slightly at his side before he noticed and forced his fingers to loosen. He could still remember that green blade. Curved hilt. Fine construction. Elegant. Older in style than most lightsabers he had seen during the war, but well-balanced and precise in a way that spoke of its owner. Jedi Master Kirak Infil'a had lived apart from the Order by then, bound to the Barash Vow and removed from the war, from the Temple, from all of it. He had not been one of the Jedi who had fought Anakin. He had not been at the Temple. He had not raised a blade against the clones. He had simply existed, powerful and distant and alive, and that had been enough for Sidious to send Vader after him.

A Jedi to kill.

A crystal to claim.

A Sith did not receive a kyber crystal through trust. They took one.

The memory rose with horrible clarity. Al'doleem. The river moon. The fight. The weight of that new body, unfamiliar and agonizing, every movement a reminder that he had been remade into something heavy and broken and wrong. He had hated everything then. The suit. The pain. The weakness. Obi-Wan. Sidious. Padmé. Himself. Especially himself.

Kirak Infil'a had been strong.

Stronger than Vader had expected.

For a moment, he had nearly lost.

For a moment, some small part of him had almost wanted to.

But the Dark Side had never allowed peace. Not real peace. It only sharpened pain until pain became purpose, and purpose became violence, and violence became the only language left. So Vader had killed him. Not cleanly. Not honorably. Not like a Jedi facing another warrior. He had used what he could. He had endangered innocents. He had forced the Master into a choice, and when Kirak chose to save lives, Vader struck.

Anakin's stomach twisted.

He remembered taking the lightsaber afterward.

Remembered the weight of it in his hand.

Remembered thinking it was his now, because that was what Sith did. They claimed. They conquered. They took broken things and called it strength.

Then Mustafar.

Always Mustafar.

The world of fire and black stone, where everything ended and somehow continued anyway. Sidious had sent him there with the crystal, to a place soaked in darkness, a place where the Force felt like an open wound. Vader had knelt there with Kirak Infil'a's kyber in his hand and poured everything into it.

Rage.

Grief.

Hatred.

Loss.

The impossible, bottomless horror of waking into a universe where Padmé was dead and his children were gone and every choice he had made had led him to nothing but ash.

The crystal had resisted.

That was the part that haunted him most.

Kyber was alive in the Force. Not like a person, not exactly, but alive enough to sing. Alive enough to choose. Alive enough to hurt.

And he had made it hurt.

He had forced his will into it until the green light bent, cracked, screamed, and bled red. Oh how he remembered how it screamed. 

Anakin swallowed hard, staring at the ancient temple ahead of him while the cold wind slid under his robes. Somewhere inside that place, a crystal waited for him. Not stolen. Not broken. Not tortured into obedience. A crystal that would answer only if he listened.

His throat felt tight.

He didn't deserve that.

The thought came suddenly and sharply.

He didn't deserve to be chosen again.

Not after what he had done. Not after the blade he had corrupted. Not after the blood he had spilled with it. The lightsaber Vader had built from Kirak Infil'a's crystal had been more than a weapon. It had been proof. Proof that Anakin Skywalker had fallen so far he could take something living and sacred and make it bleed for him.

Beside him, Obi-Wan shifted slightly, unaware of the storm tearing through Anakin's chest.

Huyang continued speaking, calm and ancient and unbothered by memories he could never know.

"The Trial of Echoes does not reward impatience," the droid said. "Nor does it reward certainty. A crystal found through this path is not claimed by reaching for it first. It is found by recognizing what answers."

Anakin almost laughed.

It would have sounded awful, so he didn't.

Recognizing what answers.

He wondered if anything should answer him at all.

Force, he was a monster. 

He pushed the thought away before anyone noticed. This wasn't the time for self-pity. 

Huyang was still speaking.

"...you will enter alone."

Anakin blinked.

"Alone?"

"Yes."

He glanced toward Obi-Wan.

His former instinct was to protest, not because he was afraid but because he'd spent years working beside Obi-Wan. And then seeking him out and trying to destroy him. 

There was something strange about separating from him now.

But then he remembered he was supposed to be twelve.

A twelve-year-old Jedi Padawan would probably expect to enter alone. Jedi tests and all that.

Obi-Wan nodded slightly, though he also looked slightly against the idea. "I'll be waiting inside."

Anakin stared up at Obi-Wan for a long moment, before turning his head and nodding.

With that, the Master and Padawan walked until they reached the doors of the temple.

Up close, the structure felt even larger. The massive stone entrance towered above them, weathered by centuries of wind and ice. Symbols had been carved into the pillars on either side, their edges softened by time until they seemed less like writing and more like part of the stone itself. Anakin found himself slowing despite his eagerness. The Force gathered here differently than anywhere else he had been on Ilum. The Gathering Temple had always felt alive with anticipation, filled with the excitement and nervousness of younglings taking one of the first steps of their Jedi journeys. This place felt quieter.

Older.

The two stood outside the door for a moment before looking at each, sharing a look that meant a hounders words. The two then looked back at the door and reached out at the same time, using the Force to push open the great doors.

The doors slowly scraped open and darkness waited beyond.

For a brief moment Anakin found himself staring at the threshold. The cold wind tugged at his coat and hair. Somewhere deep inside the temple, a crystal waited. He thinks so, anyways. 

That was the point. The Trial of Echoes wasn't about finding a crystal, from what he could understand from Huyang.

It was about whether one chose him. Which was…ha… a thought sat heavily in his chest.

Because part of him still couldn't shake the feeling that it shouldn't. Not after everything, not after all the things he had done wearing a black mask and a red blade.

But the Force had given him another chance. He knew that. Every day since waking up in his twelve-year-old body had been proof of it.

But that didn't shake his feelings. 

Beside him, Obi-Wan seemed to sense something. Not enough to know the truth, perhaps, but enough to notice when Anakin withdrew into himself.

"Anakin."

His voice was gentle.

Anakin looked up.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Obi-Wan studied him with that familiar expression. Concern, patience, and something else he could never fully read and was too scared to reach into the Force and see.

There was also one more thing in that expression- Trust.

The realization hurt more than it should have.

Obi-Wan trusted him, and at the moment, simply because he was Anakin.

The same trust he had shattered.

The same trust he had thrown away.

"You're thinking too much."

Anakin barked out a laugh despite himself. "That's rich coming from you."

A smile tugged at Obi-Wan's mouth. Its all enough for Anakin to shake himself out of his head and finally step into the room.  

A smile tugged at Obi-Wan's mouth. That alone was enough to pull Anakin out of the spiral he had been falling into. Not completely, the guilt never truly left anymore, but it retreated enough for him to breathe around it.

Enough for him to remember where he was and to take the next step forward.

The temple swallowed him immediately.

The air inside felt different from the frozen winds outside. Still cold, but softer somehow. Ancient like these things normally felt. The stone beneath his boots had been worn smooth by thousands of years of footsteps that no longer walked here. 

The great chamber beyond the entrance opened into a vast circular room. Massive pillars disappeared into darkness overhead. Pale crystals embedded high in the walls cast a dim blue light across the floor, creating long shadows between the columns. But oddly, the room was nearly empty, no decorations or statues anywhere in sight.

Only silence.But it wasn’t an empty silence, it was almost like a… listening silence.

Anakin stopped.

The Force hummed through the chamber. Around the pillars, through the stone. Through him.

Beside him, Obi-Wan slowly turned in a circle, taking everything in.

"It's older than I expected."

Anakin snorted and mumbled. "That's one way to describe it."

Obi-Wan followed his gaze upward.

The room's ceiling vanished into darkness so complete it almost looked like open space, but there was one exception. High above the center of the chamber, a circular opening had been carved directly into the stone. Pale sunlight spilled through it in a single brilliant shaft, illuminating the center of the floor below.

Dust drifted lazily through the beam.

The light seemed almost solid.

As if the room itself had been built around that one point.

Obi-Wan studied it for a moment before looking around the rest of the chamber.

"That seems important."

Anakin snorted.

"That's usually how mysterious ancient temples work."

A small smile appeared on Obi-Wan's face.

"You're becoming rather cynical for a twelve-year-old."

"If I tell you it's your fault, will you believe me?"

"No."

"Worth a shot."

Obi-Wan's smile widened slightly.

The familiar exchange settled something restless inside Anakin. Not completely, but enough.

Enough that he could almost pretend things were normal.

Almost.

The two walked further into the chamber. The closer they came to the circle of light, the stronger the Force seemed to become. Not overwhelming. Not oppressive.

Present.

The feeling reminded Anakin of standing inside the Jedi Archives late at night when almost nobody else was there. Knowledge lingered in places. Memory lingered in places.

This temple felt like memory given physical form.

When they reached the center of the room, Obi-Wan stopped.

The shaft of sunlight fell directly across him, turning the edges of his robes gold.

For a moment something in Anakin's chest tightened unexpectedly.

The image felt familiar.

Not because he remembered this.

Because Obi-Wan had always looked like this in his memories.

Standing calmly in the middle of chaos.

Like a beacon.

A fixed point.

The man Anakin had spent years trying to become.

And years trying to destroy.

Obi-Wan looked around one final time before lowering himself smoothly into a meditation position beneath the light.

The Force shifted around him immediately.

Settling.

Quieting.

As though the room approved.

"I suppose this is where I wait."

Anakin glanced toward the dark passages branching away from the central chamber.

"Looks like it."

Obi-Wan folded his hands into his lap.

"You'll be fine."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Perhaps because it's true."

Anakin rolled his eyes. And opened his mouth to shoot something back, but Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

The conversation was apparently over. Typical.

Anakin stared at him for a second.

Then another.

Obi-Wan didn't move.

Anakin narrowed his eyes..

"Master."

No response.

"Master."

Nothing.

"...Master."

One eye opened.

Anakin grinned.

The eye closed again.

"Go."

"Fine."

He turned away before Obi-Wan could catch the smile threatening to form on his face.

The corridors extending away from the main chamber were narrow compared to the massive entrance hall. Ancient stone walls curved inward slightly, forcing him to walk single file. The pale blue crystals embedded throughout the temple became less frequent the deeper he went, leaving stretches of corridor lit only by faint reflected light from distant chambers.

His footsteps echoed softly. As the Force hummed around him. Eventually the corridor widened into a smaller chamber.

Anakin stepped inside.

The room was completely empty.

Like nothing-nothing. No crystals or altar, or even carvings. Just a circular stone room with smooth walls and a floor worn by time.

Anakin blinked as he continued to spin around the room, trying to see if anything changed. He reached out through the Force, but there was still nothing.

"...Really?" His voice echoed in the small room. Anakin crossed his arms. "This is the trial?"

Nothing.

He glanced back toward the entrance.

Obi-Wan was still visible down the corridor, little more than a distant figure sitting beneath the shaft of sunlight.

Their  bond between them stretched comfortably through the Force that he let himself tug on slightly to help ground him and not lose his temper. It was still a constant presence he barely thought about anymore, even after everything.

Anakin leaned against the wall.

Then waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened.

After another minute he finally called down the corridor. "So how long do you think I'm supposed to stand here?"

Obi-Wan's voice drifted back. "I imagine the temple will reveal that when it's ready."

Anakin groaned. "That's not helpful."

"It wasn't intended to be."

"Master!"

A faint chuckle echoed through the hall.

Anakin rolled his eyes.

Great.

The ancient temple was being mysterious. Obi-Wan was being Obi-Wan. And Huyang was probably somewhere outside enjoying all of this. And water was wet. 

He was about to make another complaint when something shifted. A deep grinding sound rumbled through the stone. Anakin immediately straightened as the walls trembled.

Dust drifted from the ceiling.

"What-"

The entrance behind him slammed shut, sounding almost like thunder.

The entire chamber shook.

"Master!"

Anakin spun.

The doorway from where he come, sealed shut. Now only smooth stone remained where the corridor had been seconds earlier.

On instinct he reached through the Force toward Obi-Wan. The familiar bond was still there, still impossible to break. But something stood between them now. Almost like a barrier that dulled the connection dulled abruptly as though thick ice had formed around it.

Nothing short of death had ever managed that, and even then he had felt his old Master hanting him once 

Panic flared before he could stop it. It was brief but so sharp. For one terrible moment he was seventeen again, kneeling on a gunship as Obi-Wan disappeared into a mission he might not return from.

Then twenty-one.

Then twenty-two.

Then burning on Mustafar while the bond between them twisted into agony.

The memories struck fast and vicious.

Anakin clenched his jaw.

Forced himself to breathe.

The bond was still there.

Still alive.

Still his.

Still Obi-Wan.

Slowly the panic faded.

Then another sound echoed through the chamber. Stone moving once again. Anakin turned to see that directly across from the sealed entrance, a crack appeared in the wall and a hidden doorway slowly emerged from the stone.

Cold air drifted through the widening opening. The Force surged through it, like letting go of a held breath.

Anakin stared.

The darkness beyond the new doorway seemed deeper than it should have been.

Not empty like the chamber had been, but there was now a calling to him. Something waiting for him to come closer. 

For the first time since entering the temple, he felt it clearly.

Not exactly a crystal he thought. But almost like an- 

An  echo.

A presence brushing against the edges of his awareness. Something curious and interested.

Silence followed.

Anakin took a slow breath.

Then another.

The muffled warmth of Obi-Wan's bond remained at the edge of his senses.

He squared his shoulders.

"Well," he muttered to himself. "This can't possibly go horribly wrong."

The Force, predictably, offered no opinion.

Anakin stepped through the doorway and continued deeper into the mountain.

CT-7567 had never known what it was like to have batchmates.

Most clones grew up surrounded by brothers they had been decanted alongside. They trained together, learned together, failed together, and succeeded together. Even when they argued, even when they fought, they belonged somewhere. There was always a group waiting for them in the barracks at the end of the day.

7567 had never had that.

His original batch had been small. Smaller than most. The Kaminoans had noted abnormalities early in development. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing that rendered them useless. But defects nonetheless. One cadet had six fingers on his left hand. Another had unusually dense bones that caused problems during accelerated growth. One had a lazy eye. Another had hearing that tested outside acceptable parameters. Tiny mutations. Small deviations from the template.

Most of them never made it past evaluation.

The ones deemed too inefficient were quietly removed from the training program. Nobody talked about where they went. One day a bunk would be occupied. The next day it wouldn't.

By the time 7567 was old enough to understand what was happening, he was the only one left from his original batch.

Not because he was exceptional, just useful enough.

The blond hair earned him strange looks from instructors and cadets alike. It wasn't enough to scrap him. It wasn't didn't even significantly affect performance. But it was visible, and visible flaws tended to make people uncomfortable on Kamino.

Eventually the Kaminoans transferred him to Barrack 60-M- the defect barracks.

Officially it wasn't called that, but unofficially everyone knew that was it.

Nearly a hundred cadets slept there. Every single one carried some minor mutation that made them different from the standard template but not different enough to be discarded. One clone had mismatched eyes. Another's skin was slightly darker than regulation growth projections predicted. A few were unusually tall. Others were unusually short. One cadet could barely smell anything. Another could hear frequencies nobody else seemed able to detect.

The room should have felt like home.

Instead it felt temporary.

Because everyone knew some of those bunks would eventually empty too.

7567 learned very quickly that nobody in Barracks Twelve wanted to get attached.

Brothers disappeared.

Brothers got reassigned.

Brothers failed evaluations.

The safest thing was not to care too much.

Unfortunately, 7567 had always been terrible at that.

He remembered names.

He noticed when someone was missing at breakfast.

He remembered which cadet liked sitting near the viewport during worst of storms and which one always stole extra dessert packets.

He cared.

And caring hurt.

So he started wandering.

When training ended and most cadets returned to their barracks, 7567 often found excuses to stay elsewhere. Extra drills. Cleaning assignments. Equipment maintenance. Anything to avoid staring at another empty bunk.

That was how he first met Kote.

CC-2224 was older by nearly a year, which felt like a lifetime when you were a cadet. The command candidates occupied a completely different world. They moved through training with a confidence that seemed effortless. Instructors listened when they spoke. Other cadets followed them naturally.

Kote especially.

He wasn't the loudest. That was probably Fox.

Wasn't the most intimidating either. Wolffe and Bly had that covered.

But people listened when Kote talked.

7567 first ran into him while hiding in an observation corridor after a particularly bad evaluation. He'd been sitting alone against a wall, staring out at the endless ocean and trying very hard not to think about another cadet who had vanished that morning, wishing to catch a look at the stars. Even if it was just one lone one.

Then Cody had came. Cody- Kote to his batchmates and to him only- had came over to sit beside him.

7567 glanced at the older cadet, then back toward the rain-streaked viewport.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

Finally Kote held out half of a ration bar.

"You're staring pretty hard for someone looking at clouds."

7567 accepted the ration automatically. "Not clouds."

Kote followed his gaze. "Ocean, then?"

"The stars."

Kote blinked. "There aren't any stars."

"I know."

"Then how are you looking at them?"

7567 shrugged. "I'm waiting."

"For the storm to stop?"

"For a break in the clouds."

Kote considered that for a moment.

"You know there are easier places to see stars."

"There are?"

"Training records room has a star chart projector."

7567 turned to stare at him.

"The records room?"

"Mm."

"Why does the records room have a star chart projector?"

"No idea."

"Have you seen it?"

"Once."

"What did it look like?"

Kote smiled slightly.

"Like stars."

7567 groaned.

"That's not helpful."

"Wasn't trying to be."

For a second there was silence again.

Then Kote nudged his shoulder.

"You waiting for a specific one?"

7567 hesitated.

"No."

"Just any star?"

"Just one."

Kote looked out at the endless gray storm.

"Good luck."

Something about the sincerity of it made 7567 laugh.

"That's it?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know. Something inspiring."

Kote thought for a moment.

"May the clouds eventually move."

"That's terrible."

"I know."

It was such a stupid conversation that 7567 laughed despite himself.

That had apparently been enough.

After that, Kote kept showing up.

Not every day.

Just often enough.

Sometimes it was during meals. Sometimes after training. Sometimes during weapons maintenance. The older clone never pushed. Never pried. He simply made room.

Then one day Kote introduced him to the rest of the CCs.

And oh, how the CCs took to him in under their wings. 

They all treated him like he'd always belonged there. Fox stole him from his own barracks whenever he thought 7567 looked too lonely. Bly taught him tricks for getting through inspections without being caught. Ponds always saved him a seat at meals. Gree quietly corrected his mistakes during training before instructors could notice them. Even Wolffe, who acted annoyed whenever 7567 appeared, somehow always knew if he was injured or upset. And Kote- Kote made sure there was always room beside him. For a cadet who had spent most of his life watching brothers disappear, being claimed by six command candidates felt almost unreal.

For the first time in his life, 7567 found himself with full of brothers and not feeling like an outsider. And slowly, without anyone ever discussing it, he became part of their orbit.

At first, he didn't quite know how to be a brother back. When Fox shoved half his dessert onto 7567's tray, his instinct was to refuse it. When Bly invited him to sit with them, he expected to be asked to leave eventually. He hoarded favors, kept his problems to himself, and always sat near the edge of the group so he could slip away unnoticed. But the CCs were stubborn. They dragged him into conversations, into arguments, into ridiculous competitions over who could finish maintenance fastest. Little by little, 7567 learned that being a brother wasn't just accepting help, it was giving it too. He started saving seats for others, covering for mistakes, sharing rations, and checking on brothers after difficult evaluations. Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, he stopped waiting for them to disappear and started acting like he belonged.

The corridor stretched far longer than it should have.

Anakin had noticed that several minutes ago, but the deeper he walked, the less certain he became of anything. The temple wasn't this large. It couldn't be. The mountain itself wasn't large enough to contain the endless passages winding through darkness and ice. Yet every turn seemed to reveal another corridor, another chamber, another stretch of ancient stone disappearing into shadows.

The Force felt strange here, almost dreamlike. The deeper he traveled, the more he could feel the kyber crystals surrounding him. They weren't close. Most were still distant, hidden behind layers of stone and ice somewhere deeper within the mountain, but he could sense them nonetheless. Hundreds. Thousands. Tiny points of light scattered through the Force like stars across the night sky.

Normally that connection would have comforted him. Instead, it only made him feel exposed.

Kyber was alive really. Not alive the way people were, but alive enough. Alive enough to sing, choose, and to scream.

His stomach twisted.

Did they know? The thought came uninvited. Did they remember? About the way he had forced his will into something sacred until it broke beneath his hands and bled red? Anakin shoved the thought away before it could take root.

The corridor curved sharply and the air grew colder.

Ice began to appear along the walls, over the stone. Thick sheets of translucent blue stretched from floor to ceiling, catching what little light existed and reflecting it back in distorted shapes. More than once he caught movement from the corner of his eye. A figure disappearing around a bend. A shadow where there shouldn't be one. Every time he turned to look though, nothing was there.

The Force hummed around him.

Eventually the corridor opened into a wider chamber.

Anakin stepped inside and froze.

Someone stood at the far end of the room. But for a brief second, relief washed through him. "Master?"

Obi-Wan stood with his back to him, motionless before a wall of blue ice.

Something immediately felt wrong. The bond between them still existed, but it still felt distant. Muted. Like trying to hear someone through thick walls, meaning they were still far from each other. And the figure standing before him...

It wasn't his Obi-Wan. It couldn't be.

"Obi-Wan?"

Slowly, Obi-Wan turned.

This wasn't the young Jedi Knight meditating above. This was an older Obi-Wan. A war-weary, tired, grieving Obi-Wan. This was the Obi-Wan that...

"You were the Chosen One!"

The words crashed through the chamber like thunder. Anakin physically flinched as Obi-Wan fully looked at him now, yelling. The blue ice around them immediately began to glow red. "It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them!" Cracks raced through the frozen walls.

This was the Obi-Wan on Mustafar while fire reflected in blue eyes as he watched his former Padwana burn.

"Bring balance to the Force!" His voice broke as he stepped forward. "Not leave it in darkness!" The red glow spread further. Until it looked less like ice and more like veins of blood trapped beneath glass. The words echoed again and again around the chamber.

Then another voice appeared, faint at first, distant. But he knew those words. "I HATE YOU!" Anakin froze as the world seemed to stop.

His heart skipped a beat.

No.

No.

He knew that voice, because it belonged to him.

The scream echoed again, louder, and much more rawer in emotion. "I HATE YOU!" The sound bounced through the chamber until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"You were my brother, Anakin." The grief in Obi-Wan voice cut deeper than any blade. "I loved you."

Something inside Anakin shattered, as he stumbled backward. "No." His voice sounded small, weak as he always was. "This isn't real."

Obi-Wan simply stared at him.

The disappointment in those eyes was unbearable. Anakin took another step backward. Then another, looking around for a way out. And then immediately wished he hadn't.

The reflection in the red ice staring back wasn't twelve years old, it wasn't even close.

It was him.

The version of him from the end of the war. Twenty-two and with golden eyes. A face worn down by exhaustion, fear, and years of violence of war. The face of a man moments away from becoming suited Darth Vader. The reflection stared at him, judging and accusing at the same time.

Anakin jerked away from it. "No." 

The reflection didn't disappear. "You did this."

The voice was his own, yet not it was not from his voice.

Anakin shook his head violently. "No."

"You chose this."

"No!"

"You murdered children." His breathing hitched as he covered his ears, trying to block out the noise.  The chamber seemed to close around him. "You slaughtered Jedi!"

"Stop."

"You betrayed everyone who ever loved you."

"Stop!"

"You destroyed everything."

"I said stop!"

The words tore from his throat.

The chamber shook violently.

Ice cracked and the red light flashed.

And suddenly Anakin wasn't standing anymore, he had been slowly back up and tripped on a loose rock behind him. He hit the frozen floor hard but the impact barely registered.

Because the memories were already there.

The Temple. His men. The screams.

Padmé.

Always Padmé.

Anakin's hands clenched against the ice.

"I was trying to save her."

The words came out broken.

Desperate.

Nobody answered.

But the words kept coming.

"I was trying to save her." His voice cracked. "I kept.... seeing her die." The confession echoed through the chamber. "I saw it over and over and over again."

His shoulders shook.

"I couldn't lose her." The tears came before he realized they were there. "I couldn't. I already lost my mother." The words barely made it out. "I wasn't going to lose Padmé too."

The room remained silent.

Listening.

Anakin laughed.

A horrible sound.

Half sob.

Half bitterness.

"I just wanted to save her." His voice was shaking now. "I just wanted to save the people I loved."

Ahsoka.

Obi-Wan.

His troopers.

Rex.

Padmé.

His mother.

All of them. All the people he had spent his life trying to protect. All the people he loved. 

His breathing grew ragged as the chamber fell silent.

Then another sound filled the darkness.

Slow.

Mechanical.

Heavy.

Hsssshhhhhh.

Khhhhhhhhhh.

Anakin froze.

Every muscle in his body locked.

No.

Not that.

Not here.

Not now.

Hsssshhhhhh.

Khhhhhhhhhh.

The sound echoed through the chamber.

The sound of machinery.

The sound of pain.

The sound of a prison.

The sound that had haunted his nightmares since he woke up in this second life.

A new voice spoke.

Deep.

Cold.

Familiar.

"But they all died."

Anakin's blood turned to ice.

The breathing continued behind him.

Hsssshhhhhh.

Khhhhhhhhhh.

"You failed your mother."

The voice came from behind him.

"You failed Padmé."

Anakin couldn't move.

"Doomed your men."

Why was this happening now?

"You drove Ahsoka away."

Each word landed like a hammer.

"You betrayed Obi-Wan."

The breathing grew louder.

"You murdered the Order."

Anakin slowly turned. 

His stomach dropped.

Standing at the edge of the chamber was Darth Vader, smoke bellowing out from behind him and too dense to see behind the Sith. Towering over everything around him. The red glow from the ice reflected off polished armor.bThe respirator hissed, the sound filled the entire room.

Hsssshhhhhh.

Khhhhhhhhhh.

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

Then Vader tilted his head slightly.

The gesture was horrifyingly familiar.

Because Anakin used to do it too.

"You wanted to save them." The mechanical voice was almost mocking. "But look what you have brought." A pause. "They of them died."

And for the first time since entering the temple, Anakin couldn't find a single argument. 

So he did the only thing he could.

He ran. 

Padmé hated to admit it, but she was bored.

Not unhappy. Not even dissatisfied. Just... restless.

For four years, her life had been dictated by schedules, meetings, negotiations, and responsibilities. She had been elected Queen at fourteen and had served two full terms, spending nearly a quarter of her life carrying the needs of an entire planet on her shoulders. Every morning there had been problems waiting to be solved, people needing help, crises demanding decisions. Now, suddenly, there was nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

Her term had officially ended only a few weeks ago, and she was currently enjoying what her mother insisted was a "proper break." The word still felt strange. Padmé had never been particularly good at resting. Everyone knew she would likely become Naboo's next Senator once the appointment process was finalized. Even she knew it. This was less a retirement and more an intermission.

Still, her mother had been adamant.

"No politics for at least a month."

Padmé had argued, but her mother had won.

The result was that she found herself standing beside her bedroom window in the Lake Country estate, staring out over the courtyard below with absolutely nothing she needed to do.

The sight was beautiful. Naboo always was. Sunlight danced across the nearby waters, turning the lake into a field of sparkling diamonds. Flowering vines climbed marble columns, and servants hurried between tables as preparations continued for yet another celebration.

Her eighteenth birthday.

Padmé sighed.

Below, Sola was enthusiastically directing workers while Captain Typho stood nearby looking as though he had somehow been drafted into the operation against his will. Decorations were being hung. Musicians were arriving. More flowers were appearing by the minute.

Too much fuss.

Far too much fuss.

She loved her family, truly she did, but they seemed determined to make up for every birthday she had spent working as Queen.

A smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

When she had returned home after her term ended, the entire family had practically ambushed her with a celebration. Sola had nearly tackled her. Her mother had cried. Even her father had looked suspiciously emotional before covering it with a firm clap on the shoulder.

"Good job, kid."

That had been all he'd said.

For some reason, it had meant more than all the speeches and ceremonies combined.

Padmé's smile faded slightly as she turned away from the window.

She missed it.

Not the formal dinners or the endless paperwork.

But she missed helping.

Every day for four years she had woken up knowing there was someone she could help. Every decision mattered. Every meeting had purpose. There had always been another problem to solve, another family to assist, another community that needed support.

Now she woke up each morning with nowhere she needed to be.

No one expected anything from her.

The realization should have felt liberating.

Instead it left her feeling strangely empty.

Her fingers drifted unconsciously to the necklace around her neck. The japor snippet.

The little carved charm rested against her fingertips, smooth from years of handling. She often found herself reaching for it when she was thinking. The gesture had become second nature.

Anakin Skywalker.

The thought came as naturally as breathing.

She wondered what had happened to him.

The Jedi had accepted him after Naboo. She knew that much. Beyond that, she knew almost nothing. The galaxy was vast, and people disappeared into it all the time.

Still, she found herself wondering.

How old would he be now?

Twelve? Nearly thirteen?

Probably taller.

Definitely still stubborn.

The memory made her laugh softly.

A knock sounded at her door before she could dwell on it further.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened to reveal one of the household maids carrying a datapad. Padmé thought her name was Rasia. She was still relearning everyone's names after spending so many years away from home.

"Lady Amidala," the maid said. "A message has arrived for you."

Padmé blinked in surprise.

"A message?"

That alone was unusual. Most official communications went through several channels before reaching her.

"Who is it from?"

Rasia shook her head.

"There was no sender listed, my lady. Only your name."

She glanced down at the screen.

"And a title."

Padmé raised an eyebrow.

"What title?"

The maid hesitated.

"'Padmé Amidala, Angel of Naboo.'"

Everything inside her seemed to stop.

Her hand immediately closed around the japor snippet.

Angel of Naboo.

Nobody called her that, nobody except-

Her eyes widened.

Ani.

She was crossing the room before she consciously realized she had moved.

The datapad was in her hands almost instantly.

"Thank you, Rasia," Padmé said quickly. "That will be all."

The maid curtsied and quietly departed.

The second the door closed, Padmé sat down heavily on the edge of her bed and activated the message.

A holographic screen flickered to life.

The first line confirmed her suspicion.

I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Anakin Skywalker...

Padmé smiled immediately, as if she could ever forget.

She read on, her smile lingering through the opening paragraphs. He sounded older somehow. More thoughtful. More careful with his words. There was a formality to the letter she didn't remember from the enthusiastic nine-year-old she'd met on Tatooine.

Then she reached the reason he had written.

The smile vanished.

Her eyes moved across the words once.

Then againThen a third time. My mother is still a slave on Tatooine-The sentence seemed to burn itself into her mind.

Padmé lowered the datapad into her lap and stared at nothing.

Suddenly she was back in Mos Espa. She could practically feel the heat of the desert. She remembered the cramped little home, the smell of cooking food, and Shmi Skywalker's warm smile as she welcomed strangers inside despite having almost nothing herself.

She remembered a woman who had willingly let her son leave because she believed he deserved a chance at something better.

And after all these years, she was still there.

Still enslaved, while Anakin sat on Coruscant worrying about her every day.

Padmé continued reading.

With every paragraph her chest tightened.

He apologized for asking.

Apologized.

As though freedom for his mother was too much to request. Like she was doing him a favor by merely reading the letter.

The thought made her angry in a way she hadn't expected. The fact that a child felt he needed to justify wanting his mother free, it was wrong on so many levels.

Why were the Jedi no helping? She knew they had rules of no attachment, but sure getting one's own mother out of slavery would helped to ease his worries and help to put him at rest?

When she finally reached the end of the message, Padmé sat silently for several moments.

Then she stood and returned to the window.

The lake stretched endlessly before her, glittering beneath the afternoon sun.

Beautiful and the fish and animals free to go wherever they wanted.

Had Shmi ever seen an ocean? She doubted it. Had Anakin? Maybe, now that he was with the Jedi. But she wasn’t sure. She had the feeling he hadn’t left the Temple since he started his training.

Her fingers tightened around the japor snippet.

You once told me that the problem with the galaxy was that nobody helped each other enough.

Padmé closed her eyes. After years apart, he was asking for help because he trusted her.

Not Queen Amidala or some politician.

Her.

A slow smile spread across her face.

For the first time in weeks, the restlessness disappeared.

She had a purpose again.

Something that mattered.

Someone she could help.

Padmé opened her eyes and looked toward the door.

There would be inquiries to make. Information to gather. Agents to hire. And if Watto still owned Shmi Skywalker, then that problem would soon solve itself.

After all, Padmé Amidala might no longer be Queen.

But she was still Padmé Amidala.

And she intended to keep the promise she had made years ago on a dusty desert world.

"I won't let you down, Ani," she whispered softly.

Then she left her room with purpose in her step for the first time since returning home.

Wherever little Ani was, Padme hoped he was okay.

Anakin was, in fact, not okay in the slightest.

The realization came somewhere between one heartbeat and the next as he turned and ran. The chamber vanished behind him, but Vader's breathing followed. It echoed through the frozen corridors no matter how many turns he took, no matter how fast his boots pounded against ancient stone. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. From behind him. From ahead of him. From inside his own chest, where panic clawed and twisted and begged him to keep moving.

Hsssshhhhhh.

Khhhhhhhhhh

The red ice was stretching from floor to ceiling now, in uneven sheets that caught his reflection and warped it as he passed. Sometimes he saw himself as he was now, twelve and trembling and far too small for the memories trapped inside his skull. Sometimes he saw strangers. Sometimes he saw black armor in the corner of his vision. Sometimes he saw things he wished he hadn't.

It felt as if the ghosts of his past were chasing him.

But, slowly, after corridor after corridor and breath after breath, Anakin came to one conclusion. 

He couldn't keep running.

The moment he thought that, the corridor opened. Anakin stumbled to a stop.

There at the someone was standing there. Someone he new very well. With orange skin, blue and white montrals, and a pair of crossed lightsabers at her hips.

Ahsoka.

But not the teenager who had marched beside him through half the war. Not the child who had followed him onto battlefields she should never have seen.

This was older Ahsoka.

The woman she became. The one he had seen briefly at the end.

The one who had survived.

She wasn't reaching for her sabers as she looked at Anakin. She was only standing there, watching him with the eyes of the woman she would one day become. For a moment neither of them spoke, and then she looked at him and said, softly, "Master."

The title nearly shattered him.

"Ahsoka," Anakin said, and his voice cracked on her name.

The silence between them stretched until it felt like another trial all on its own. Ahsoka's expression did not twist with rage. She didn’t scream at him nor accuse him of anything he had done as Vader. She only looked at him with a sadness that felt far worse than anger ever could have. "You let me go," she said at last.

Anakin swallowed. "I know."

"You said you understood."

"I thought I did."

Ahsoka tilted her head. "Did you?"

Anakin opened his mouth, but no answer came. The truth sat heavy and ugly in his throat, and for once he did not force it away. "No," he admitted quietly. "I understood why you were leaving. I understood that the Order had hurt you. I understood that you had every right to walk away." His hands curled at his sides. "But I never understood how to let you go."

Something in Ahsoka's expression softened, just slightly, and that almost hurt more. Anakin took a shaky breath and forced himself to continue. "I was proud of you," he said. "I don't think I ever said it enough. I was proud of you every day. You were brave, and stubborn, and kind, and you kept choosing people even when the galaxy kept trying to turn you into a soldier." His throat tightened. "You were better than I was."

Ahsoka's mouth curved into a sad little smile. Then she faded like mist in pale morning light, leaving Anakin standing alone in the corridor again.

 For a moment he couldn't move. 

Then the temple shifted, the path stretched onward, and Anakin forced himself to walk.

The next figure waiting for him wore battered blue-and-white armor. It wasn’t hard to know who he was. Rex stood ahead of him, older than Anakin remembered ever being, grey hair in his normal buzz sytled and a new bushy beard, lined around the eyes, tired in a way no person should have ever had to be. But he was still standing. Still Rex. Still steady. The sight alone nearly brought tears to Anakin's eyes.

"Captain," Anakin said.

Rex smiled faintly. "General."

The title felt wrong now. Like something belonging to another lifetime and he didn’t deserve now. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Rex crossed his arms and looked away, toward nothing at all. "You know what gets me?"

Anakin swallowed. "What?"

"You trusted us with your life," Rex said. His voice was calm, not accusing, and that made every word land harder. "We trusted you with ours. We followed you into places no sane man would've gone. We jumped from ships, charged droid lines, held impossible positions, and every time, we thought if General Skywalker was there, then somehow we'd make it through."

Anakin's eyes burned. "Rex..."

"Then everything happened."

Order Sixty-Six.

Neither of them said it. Neither needed to.

Anakin closed his eyes, and the memory of Fives came rushing back so sharply it nearly took his breath. Fives frantic, desperate, wild-eyed with terror and certainty, trying to warn them all while everyone around him treated him like he was broken. "I should've figured it out," Anakin said.

Rex laughed once, tired and humorless. "We all should've."

"No." Anakin shook his head. "No, not all of us. You were soldiers. You were made to trust the chain of command. I was a Jedi. I was supposed to question things. I was supposed to protect you."

Rex looked back at him then, and something in his face was impossibly old. "Fives told you."

The words came quietly.

Anakin flinched anyway. "He told me something was wrong."

"He was scared."

"He was right."

Rex's jaw tightened. "Yeah. He was."

"I should've listened," Anakin said, and the words came out hollow. "He was trying to save all of you. All of us. And I didn't listen."

Rex stared at him for several long moments. Then he nodded once. No anger. No forgiveness. Just truth. "Yeah," he said. Then he faded, and Anakin was alone again.

The corridor twisted. The Force shifted. And speak of the Sith’s Devil-

Fives stood waiting next,his  ARC Trooper armor sharp and familiar, eyes determined in the exact way Anakin remembered from those final hours of his life. 

"You didn't believe me," Fives said.

Anakin stopped. "No."

Fives' eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Anakin almost laughed, but there was nothing funny in it. How could he explain it? How could he explain the war, the exhaustion, the bureaucracy, the fear, the way the truth had been so impossible that nobody wanted to look directly at it? "I thought you were scared," he said at last. "I thought something had happened to you."

Fives shook his head. "Something had happened."

Anakin flinched, because he was right. Force, he'd been right all along. "I know."

"I tried to tell you."

"I know."

"I tried to tell everyone."

Anakin's hands shook. "I know."

Fives stared at him, and for a moment Anakin braced for hatred. He almost wanted it. Hatred would have made sense. Instead, Fives' expression softened slightly. "You would've helped," he said.

Anakin's breath caught. "What?"

"You would've," Fives said, like it was obvious. "If you'd known. If you'd really known."

That hurt worse than blame. Because Fives had believed in him. Even then. Even at the end. Even after being hunted and cornered and dismissed by the people he had been trying to save, some part of Fives had still believed Anakin Skywalker would help if only he understood.

Anakin bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

Fives smiled, small and brief. Then he vanished.

Anakin stood there for a long moment before forcing himself forward again.

The next figure was laughing before he even fully appeared. Hardcase stood in full armor, grinning like he'd just gotten away with something, bright and reckless and alive in a way that made Anakin's chest ache.

"General!"

Despite everything, Anakin laughed. The sound felt strange, almost foreign. "Hardcase."

"You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

For a few precious seconds it almost felt normal. Then the corridor around them changed. Purple skies spread above them. Dark forests rose on either side. Smoke stung the air. Umbara. The memory of it settled over Anakin like a weight, and Hardcase's grin slowly faded.

"You left us there," Hardcase said.

The words weren't cruel. Just honest.

Anakin looked down. "I did."

"We kept waiting for somebody to stop him." Hardcase's voice was quieter now. "Krell. We knew something was wrong. We knew he didn't see us like people. But he was a Jedi, and we were clones, and we kept thinking someone would come."

Anakin closed his eyes. The guilt hit like a physical blow. "I should've."

"Yeah," Hardcase said simply.

"I should've seen it sooner. I should've been there. I should've never left you under his command."

Hardcase shrugged, but it wasn't careless now. "War moved fast."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No," Hardcase agreed. Then, somehow, he grinned again. "But we got through it."

Anakin looked up.

"Most of us, anyway," Hardcase said, and the smile turned softer. "And we made him regret it."

Anakin huffed out something that was almost a laugh and almost a sob. "Yeah. You did."

Hardcase gave him one last grin. Then he disappeared, and Anakin kept walking. The red ice returning as he walked.

Echo waited further ahead.

Not the Echo Anakin had eventually found on Skako Minor. Not the cybernetic soldier who had returned from the dead. Just Echo. A Domino Squad shinie who had become an ARC Trooper through sheer stubbornness and determination.

For a moment, Anakin simply stared, because this one hurt differently. Rex had never given up. Never. Even when everyone else had. Even when the reports were final and the evidence overwhelming and there was nothing left but wreckage and assumptions, Rex had kept looking. Rex had kept hoping.

Anakin hadn't.

Not forever, anyway.

Not at first.

But eventually the war had continued. Another battle. Another crisis. Another world needing help. Another thousand soldiers depending on him. Somewhere along the way, the searches became less frequent. The reports stopped coming. The war moved on. And eventually, so had he.

Echo stood silently before him, waiting.

Anakin looked away first. "I stopped."

The admission came easier than he expected. Maybe because he'd been carrying it for so long. "I didn't want to," he said, voice small in the frozen corridor. "But I did."

Echo didn't say anything. Didn't accuse him. Didn't judge him. Which somehow made it worse.

Anakin laughed once, bitter and weak. "I kept telling myself there wasn't anything left to find." The memories surfaced immediately. The Citadel. The explosion. The endless debris field. The casualty reports. The certainty from everyone around him that nobody could have survived. "It was easier," he admitted. His throat tightened. "Easier than hoping forever."

Echo studied him quietly. "And Rex?"

Anakin smiled sadly. "Rex never stopped." The answer came immediately, without hesitation. "He always believed. He searched longer. Asked more questions. Followed more leads. Held onto hope long after most people would've let it go. Long after I started accepting reality." His smile twisted. "Or what I thought reality was."

Echo's mouth twitched upward. "Sounds like Rex."

"Yeah." Anakin could almost picture it. Rex standing there trying to pretend he wasn't emotional while simultaneously looking like he wanted to hug everyone in the room. The image nearly made him laugh. Then the smile faded. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should've had more faith. I should've kept looking."

For several moments neither of them spoke. Then Echo smiled. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just Echo. The same stubborn, loyal soldier he'd always been. "You found me eventually."

Anakin's breath caught. Because it wasn't entirely true. Rex had found him. The Bad Batch had found him. But Echo wasn't measuring failures. He was measuring what happened in the end. And in the end, they had brought him home.

Slowly, Anakin nodded. "Yeah," he said roughly. "Yeah, we did."

Echo's smile widened slightly. Then he faded into the Force, leaving Anakin alone in the corridor once more. But somehow, for the first time since entering the temple, a small part of that particular guilt felt lighter. Not gone. Just acknowledged. Finally spoken aloud.

The corridor continued. The temple continued. Anakin continued. The red ice was no longer glowing brightly, now a null light.

Everything stopped.

Shmi Skywalker stood before him exactly as he remembered her. Warm smile. Kind eyes. Safe. Home. Then her face changed. Bruised. Broken. Dying. The woman he'd found in that Tusken camp. The woman who had died in his arms.

Anakin fell to his knees. The strength he'd been gathering vanished instantly. "Mom," he whispered, and his voice broke completely. The image said nothing, and somehow that made it worse. "I'm sorry." The words poured out of him, raw and desperate. "I should have come back. I should've saved you. I should've been there."

He couldn’t stop the tears that came but his mother simply smiled. Not the smile from her final moments, but the smile from his childhood, the smile that told him everything would be okay even when nothing was. Then she vanished, leaving him alone.

The corridor continued, and somehow he stood. Somehow he kept walking.

Then Padmé appeared.

The galaxy narrowed to a single point. Anakin stopped breathing. For a moment he wasn't twelve anymore, or twenty-three, or Vader, or anything. He was just Anakin, and Padmé was standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, because the words always came first with her. "I was trying to save you. I know that doesn't make it better." He laughed weakly. "It probably makes it worse."

Padmé said nothing. She only listened. So Anakin kept talking. About the nightmares. About the fear. About how losing his mother had broken something inside him. About how he'd spent years terrified of losing anyone else, especially her. "I just wanted to save the people I loved," he said, voice finally cracking. "I just wanted them to live."

Padmé's expression softened.

Then she faded too.

Anakin stood motionless for several moments before forcing himself onward.

The next chamber opened slowly, and Anakin stopped breathing.

 Leia Organa stood waiting.

She looked exactly as he remembered. Not a child- A leader. A general. A senator. A survivor. His daughter. The daughter he'd never known. The daughter he'd tortured. The daughter he'd failed before he even knew her name.

Leia folded her arms. "You destroyed my planet."

The words landed like a knife.

Anakin closed his eyes and nodded. "I know."

"You stood there," she said. Her voice shook slightly, but her chin remained lifted. "You stood there while Tarkin gave the order. You watched Alderaan die."

Billions of lives flashed through his mind. A world reduced to light and dust. "I know."

"My parents were there."

Anakin's throat closed.

Leia's eyes shone, but no tears fell. "Bail Organa raised me. Breha Organa loved me. They were my parents. They made me who I was. And you stood there while they died."

Anakin lowered his gaze. "I know."

"You tortured me."

"I know."

"You hunted my friends."

"I know."

"You helped build the Empire that destroyed everything."

The words echoed through the chamber. Anakin forced himself to meet her eyes. "I know."

Leia stared at him, waiting. Maybe expecting excuses. Maybe expecting justification. Maybe expecting him to hide behind Vader. Instead, he simply stood there and accepted it. The silence stretched until Leia's face tightened with something like anger. "That's it?"

Anakin blinked.

"That's all you have to say?" Leia demanded. "I know? You know?"

His chest ached. "There isn't anything else I can say that would make it better."

"No," Leia snapped. "There isn't."

"I won't insult you by pretending there is."

Leia's jaw clenched. "Were you proud of it?"

The question caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"The Empire," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "Were you proud?"

Anakin shook his head immediately. "No."

Leia studied him sharply. "Never?"

"Never."

"Then why stay?"

The question hit harder than the first.

Anakin looked away. "Because I was afraid."

Leia's expression shifted.

"Because I was angry. Because I hated myself. Because by the time I understood what I had become, I thought there was nothing left of me worth saving." He swallowed. "And because Palpatine made sure I believed that."

Leia was quiet for a moment. Then she said, coldly, "That doesn't excuse you."

"No," Anakin said. "It doesn't."

"It doesn't bring Alderaan back."

"No."

"It doesn't undo what you did to me."

"No."

"It doesn't give me my parents back."

Anakin's voice cracked. "No."

Leia stared at him, breathing hard. For a moment she looked so much like Padmé that it hurt. Then she looked like him, and that hurt too. "I hated you," she said quietly. "Before I knew. After I knew. I hated you both ways."

Anakin nodded. "You had every right to."

"I didn't want you to be my father."

The words struck deep.

Anakin closed his eyes. "I know."

"I wanted it to be anyone else."

"I know."

Leia's voice dropped. "Luke forgave you too easily."

A tiny, broken smile crossed Anakin's face. "Luke… does that, doesn’t he?" So much like his mother.

Leia looked away, furious and grieving and uncertain all at once. "He saw something in you."

"He saw more than I deserved."

"He always does."

"He does."

For the first time, something between them softened. Not forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But something honest enough to stand on.

Anakin looked at her. Really looked at her. And beneath all the guilt, all the shame, something fierce rose in his chest. Not denial. Not defense. Pride.

"I am so proud of you."

Leia blinked. "What?"

Anakin smiled despite the tears. "You fought Palpatine. You stood against impossible odds. You helped lead the Rebellion. You refused to give up even when the galaxy gave you every reason to." His voice steadied. "You were a senator. A rebel. A general. You became everything the Empire feared."

Leia stared at him, speechless.

"The ISB kept me informed," Anakin admitted, his smile turning crooked. "They thought the reports made me angry. They thought every mention of Leia Organa defying the Empire would make me want to crush the Rebellion harder." He shook his head. "It didn't. I didn't understand why then. Not fully. But some part of me..." His voice softened. "Some part of me was proud."

Leia looked horrified and uncertain all at once. "That's disturbing."

"Yes," Anakin said. "Most things about me were."

That startled a laugh out of her before she could stop it. She looked offended by her own reaction.

Anakin's smile warmed. "When I heard you were helping run the Rebellion, I wasn't surprised. When I heard Jabba was dead, I was happy." A pause. His grin appeared before he could stop it. "When I found out you killed him?"

Leia's eyes narrowed. "Don't."

"My daughter became Huttslayer."

"Do not call me that."

"I absolutely will."

"Father!"

The word escaped her before either of them could prepare for it.

Anakin froze.

Leia froze too.

The chamber went painfully still.

Anakin's grin faded into something softer, something almost fragile. "I don't deserve to hear that."

Leia looked away. "It slipped out."

"I know."

"I didn't mean-"

"It's all right."

Silence settled between them again, but this time it wasn't sharp. It was delicate. Anakin swallowed hard. "I am proud of you," he said again, quieter now. "I don't deserve to say it. I don't deserve anything from you. Not forgiveness. Not kindness. Not that word. But it's true. I am so proud of you, Leia."

Leia looked like she wanted to argue. Then her expression shifted, just slightly. Not forgiveness. Not peace. But understanding. The smallest crack in a wall that had every right to stand forever.

Then a familiar presence appeared behind her.

Luke.

His son.

Standing there with that same gentle smile. The smile that had saved him. The smile that had somehow looked at Darth Vader and found Anakin Skywalker underneath.

Luke said nothing. He simply smiled and nodded.

For a moment Anakin felt warmth spread through his chest. Hope. Then Leia and Luke faded together, and the chamber grew dark.

Silent.

Until the breathing started again.

Hsssshhhhhh.

Khhhhhhhhhh.

Anakin turned.

Darth Vader stood waiting. Black armor. Black cape. Black mask. The monster. The failure. The wound. The shadow Anakin had spent this entire second life trying not to look at directly.

For a long time neither of them moved.

Then Vader spoke. "They all died."

The familiar accusation.

The familiar pain.

Anakin looked at him. Really looked at him. At the armor. At the mask. At the prison. At himself.

"No."

Vader tilted his head.

Anakin took a step forward. "No."

His voice grew stronger.

"You don't get to use them anymore."

The breathing continued, unchanging and cold.

"You don't get to use their memory as a weapon."

Vader remained silent.

Anakin's hands clenched. Then relaxed.

"I'll always be you," he said. The admission hurt, but it was true. "I can't pretend otherwise."

The armor seemed to loom larger.

Anakin didn't back away.

"I was Darth Vader. I did those things." The words echoed through the chamber. For a moment the breathing was the only sound. Then Anakin straightened. "But you're not in charge anymore."

The Force stirred. The chamber trembled. Something changed deep within the mountain, deep within him. The red slowly returned to blue. 

"I won't forget you," Anakin said, voice softer now. "I won't pretend you never existed."

The shadow of Vader seemed to flicker. Blur.

"We carry our scars," Anakin said. "And maybe some of them never heal."

The mask stared back, expressionless, yet somehow waiting.

"But I won't let pain decide who I am." Another step. "I won't let fear decide who I am." The darkness around Vader began to crack, like ice beneath sunlight. "And I won't let you control me."

The words rang through the chamber. Simple. Certain. True.

For the first time, Vader took a step backward.

Anakin stood his ground.

The Force surged around him. Warm. Bright. Alive.

"I'll remember," he said quietly. "If I have to become something terrible to protect someone, if I have to carry darkness so someone else doesn't have to, then I'll carry that burden." He thought of Luke. Leia. Ahsoka. Obi-Wan. Padmé. His mother. Rex and Fives and Hardcase and Echo. Everyone. "But I'll never become you again."

Vader stared at him.

Then slowly, finally, the figure began to dissolve.

Vader wasn't destroyed. Anakin knew that. Some wounds did not vanish because they had finally been named. Some scars did not fade because a person decided to keep walking. Vader had been more than armor and a mask. Vader had been pain given shape, fear given purpose, grief twisted into something sharp enough to cut the galaxy open. Anakin could deny many things, but not that. Never that.

But Vader was gone from the chamber now.

For the first time since the red ice had begun to glow, the world around him was blue again. The walls no longer bled crimson beneath the frozen surface, and the terrible mechanical breathing no longer filled the air. Only the faint hum of the temple remained, steady and watchful, as though the stone itself had listened to every confession and found no need to speak.

Anakin stood alone for a long moment.

His body felt too small.

That was the strange part. Not the fear, not the guilt, not even the exhaustion dragging through his bones. It was the sudden awareness of his own hands, his own thin wrists, his own narrow shoulders beneath his robes. Twelve years old. A child’s body carrying a dead man’s lifetime. The mismatch felt worse after Vader, like some part of his mind expected black armor when he looked down and found only trembling fingers instead.

He drew a slow breath.

Then another.

The air did not come with a mechanical hiss.

That alone nearly broke him again.

Anakin wiped at his face with his sleeve, rougher than necessary, and forced himself upright. He had to keep going. That was what he did. What he had always done, maybe even when he shouldn’t have. Forward. One step. Then another. If he stopped too long, he might sink beneath everything the temple had pulled from him, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to claw his way back up alone.

So he turned.

There was a doorway behind him now.

Of course there was.

The temple seemed fond of doors appearing where they had not existed before.

Anakin stared at it for a moment, then let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Sure,” he muttered. “Why not.”

He took one step toward it.

The Force vanished.

Not dimmed.

Not muffled.

Not distant.

Gone.

Anakin froze.

The absence hit harder than any vision had. For one impossible second, there was nothing. No hum of the temple. No kyber singing faintly through the mountain. No distant warmth of Obi-Wan’s bond waiting somewhere behind layers of stone and trial and memory. No currents of life moving through the galaxy. No light. No dark. No balance.

Nothing.

Anakin’s breath caught painfully in his chest.

Then the floor disappeared beneath him.

He did not fall.

Falling would have made sense.

Instead, the chamber peeled away around him like paint dissolving in water. The walls stretched thin, the ice became starlight, and the world opened into something vast and colorless and wrong. For one wild heartbeat, Anakin thought he had slipped into the World Between Worlds again. The thought came with sharp panic and sharper recognition, because that place lived somewhere in the bones of him now.. Time folded in on itself like a living thing.

But this was not that.

This place had no pathways here nor stars he trusted.

It was emptier than the World Between Worlds, and yet not empty at all. Something slept in the distance. Something immense. Something curled around itself in the dark beyond sight, old enough that the word old felt useless. It was not awake. But awareness shifted there, slow and vast, like something turning over beneath deep water after hearing a sound it did not expect.

Anakin could not move.

He could not breathe.

There was no body here, not really, and yet he felt twelve years old and twenty-three and forty-five all at once. A child. A Jedi. A Sith. A father. A ghost. A wound the Force had dragged backward through time.

Something noticed him.

The nothingness changed.

Not light.

Not darkness.

Attention.

Anakin felt it slide over him, curious and hungry and lonely in a way that made his soul recoil. It looked at him without eyes. It knew him without knowing his name. It saw the tear in him, the impossible fold where death had become childhood, where the Force had reached backward and placed a broken life inside an unbroken body.

And something in that vast sleeping dark stirred.

A whisper moved through the emptiness. Like the sound like stars drowning and the feeling like hands pressing against the inside of a locked door.

Anakin tried to reach for the Force and found nothing there.

No Obi-Wan.

No light.

No anchor.

Only that attention turning toward him.

Closer.

Closer.

Then, from somewhere far away, another voice cut through the void.

Soft.

Urgent.

Familiar in a way he could not place.

“<Ana, you need to wake up!>”

Anakin flinched.

The sleeping dark recoiled, not in fear, but irritation. The whispering rose around him, tangled and vast, but the voice came again, firmer this time.

Anakin.

“<Please, you have to wake up.>”

He knew that voice.

He didn’t know how.

He didn’t know from where.

But some part of him knew it belonged to safety. To warmth. A hand reaching through deep water.

“<Wake up, Anakin!>”

The void shattered.

Air slammed into his lungs.

Sound returned all at once.

“Anakin!”

His eyes flew open.

The first thing he saw was Obi-Wan.

Not Mustafar’s Obi-Wan. Not the war-weary ghost the temple had thrown at him. His Obi-Wan. Young. Pale. Terrified in a way Anakin had almost never seen on him before.

Obi-Wan was kneeling over him, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other braced near his head, as if he had been trying to keep him from striking it against the floor.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said again, voice tight. “Anakin, look at me.”

Anakin tried to answer.

All that came out was a harsh, broken breath.

His whole body hurt.

Not like Mustafar.

Not like Vader.

But like every muscle had locked at once and only just remembered how to release. His limbs trembled violently. His chest heaved. There was a strange taste in his mouth, sharp and metallic, and his head throbbed behind his eyes.

Obi-Wan’s face tightened.

“That’s it,” he said, softer now, though the fear had not left his voice. “Breathe. Slowly.”

Anakin blinked at him.

The bond between them crashed back into place so suddenly it nearly made him sob.

Warm.

Bright.

Frantic.

Alive.

Never broken.

Only muffled.

Anakin reached for it without meaning to, clinging so hard Obi-Wan’s breath caught.

“Easy,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I’m here.”

Anakin swallowed. “Master?”

Relief flashed across Obi-Wan’s face so strongly that it hurt to look at. “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“The door…”

“It opened,” Obi-Wan said. His hand tightened on Anakin’s shoulder. “The door opened, but you didn’t come out. I waited only a moment before I came in, and then you were on the floor. You were—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “You were seizing.”

Anakin went cold.

Obi-Wan noticed immediately.

“Like before,” he said quietly.

All those months ago.

When Anakin had first come back.

When his body had nearly torn itself apart trying to hold a life it had not lived yet.

Anakin closed his eyes.

For a second, he could still feel that place. Not clearly. Not enough to understand. Only the impression of something vast shifting in sleep. Something that had seen him.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said.

It was not a lie.

Not completely.

Obi-Wan’s expression said he knew that.

It also said he knew Anakin was leaving things out.

But Obi-Wan did not push. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he pulled Anakin carefully upright, steadying him when his body swayed. Anakin’s hands shook so badly he had to grip Obi-Wan’s sleeve just to keep from tipping sideways. It should have embarrassed him. Maybe later it would. Right now, he was too tired to care.

For a few seconds they simply sat there on the cold floor of the temple, Obi-Wan kneeling close enough to shield him from anything else that might come out of the dark.

Then Anakin remembered.

His eyes widened.

“My crystal.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What?”

Anakin looked around, panic returning in a weaker, messier rush. “I didn’t get it. I never— I went through all that and I didn’t-”

“Anakin.”

“I didn’t even see one, I just-”

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s voice sharpened enough to cut through him.

Anakin stopped.

Obi-Wan looked down.

Anakin followed his gaze.

His right hand was clenched into a fist.

He hadn’t noticed.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his fingers.

Two kyber crystal rested in his palm, one slightly smaller then the other. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The two crystals was small, rough-edged, and beautiful. It caught the pale blue light of the chamber and held it for a second before giving back something warmer. But that wasn’t what caught him off guard- it was not blue or even green.

Orange.

Soft at first, then brighter near the center, like sunrise trapped inside a shard of living stone.

And so much like red. 

Anakin stared.

The crystals hummed faintly against his skin. His throat tightened so suddenly he could barely breathe.

“They're orange,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan stared at it too, wonder briefly overtaking his worry. “So it is.”

“I didn’t…” Anakin swallowed. “I don’t remember picking them up.”

“Perhaps you didn’t.” Anakin looked at him and Obi-Wan’s expression softened. “The idea of this place is for it chose you.”

The two crystal pulsed once in his hand, warm and steady, and Anakin felt something answer deep in his chest. Not absolution. Not forgiveness. Not the erasure of anything he had done.

A beginning.

That was all.

That was enough.

For a second, his face crumpled before he could stop it.

Obi-Wan saw. While he might not understand what was fully going in his apprentice’s mind. He moved without hesitation, pulling Anakin into his arms.

Anakin went stiff for half a heartbeat out of old instinct and older shame.

Then he broke.

He clung to Obi-Wan like he was still falling through that terrible empty place, like the only thing keeping him in this time and this body and this life was the warmth of his Master’s robe beneath his fingers.

Obi-Wan held him tightly.

“You’re all right,” Obi-Wan murmured, even though his own voice shook. “You’re all right, Anakin. I have you.”

Anakin pressed his face into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the orange crystal trapped safely between them in his fist.

The echoes of the Temple had gone quiet as the two hugged each other. 

Chapter Text

The trip to Rattatak was going to take about a day.

Normally, Anakin would have spent most of that time pestering Obi-Wan, exploring every accessible section of the ship, or trying to find increasingly creative ways to avoid whatever reading assignments his Master had inevitably packed for the journey.

This time, however, he had a far more important project.

His lightsaber.

Or rather, his future lightsaber.

At the moment, the workshop aboard Huyang's vessel looked as though a small explosion of lightsaber components had occurred. Emitters sat beside power cells. Activation switches were spread across one table. Chassis components occupied another. Half-disassembled historical replicas filled several shelves, while hundreds of years of collected lightsaber designs flickered across nearby holoprojectors.

Anakin sat cross-legged in the middle of it all and frowned.

Huyang watched from nearby. "Most students are significantly more excited during this stage."

"I am excited."

"You have been staring at that emitter shroud for twelve minutes."

Anakin picked it up, slowly turning it over.

And then set it back down.

"Maybe I'm excited carefully."

Huyang's photoreceptors dimmed slightly. "I do no think that how excitement works."

Anakin through a glare at the droid.

Huyang remained entirely unbothered. The old droid was annoyingly difficult to intimidate.

Mostly because he had spent twenty-five thousand years teaching Jedi children and therefore possessed an immunity to stubborn Padawans.

Because this was harder than it should have been.

The crystals weren't the problem.

The crystals were easy.

The two orange kyber crystals rested on a padded cloth beside him, humming softly through the Force. He could feel them almost constantly now. They felt warm and steady, neither eager nor impatient. Just present. Waiting for him to figure things out.

The problem was the hilt.

Or more specifically-

The problem was that every time Anakin closed his eyes and imagined building a lightsaber, he already knew exactly what it would look like.

He knew every measurement.

Every component, internal mechanism, balancing adjustment, crystal alignment, hidden compartment, maintenance access panel.

Because he'd spent over twenty years carrying it.

Darth Vader's lightsaber.

Anakin hated that fact.

Not because it was poorly designed. The opposite, actually. Honestly, he was still quite proud of it.  The weapon had been exceptionally crafted. Elegant, powerful, and efficient.

A masterpiece of his engineering.

It was also one of the most personal things Vader had ever created, which somehow made it worse.

The lightsaber had been one of the only possessions Vader, he, genuinely cared about. An extension of himself. Something constantly modified and refined. Improved again and again over decades until every component functioned exactly as intended.

Anakin knew the design so well that he could practically assemble it blindfolded. And apparently his subconscious knew it too.

Because every idea he came up with kept drifting back toward it.

"Most students struggle with crystal acquisition," Huyang said, looking at the few parts Anakin had out. "You appear to have skipped directly to struggling with aesthetics."

"It's important."

"Not this important."

"It is if I have to carry it around for the rest of my life."

That made Huyang pause. As if to say ‘fair point’. 

The droid looked over the scattered components and then at Anakin.

"Hm."

That sound immediately put Anakin on alert.

Whenever Huyang said "hm" like that, something was about to happen.

The old droid walked over to several storage drawers, then another, then another, before  pulling components out and placing them in trays.

Anakin frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"Solving a problem."

"I wasn't aware there was a problem."

"There is."

"There is?"

"Yes." The droid placed the large in front of Anakin. "You are overthinking."

Anakin opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. Unfortunately, Huyang wasn't wrong. 

Several minutes later, a small collection of parts sat on the table as the droid kept being things over.

None of them matched- at all. 

Anakin immediately noticed. The emitter looked old, like nearly three thousand years old. The grip assembly came from something far newer. The activation plate appeared to be from a High Republic design, while the pommel looked like it had been stolen from an entirely different lightsaber family. Even the metal finishes disagreed with each other. Polished silver sat beside darkened durasteel. Elegant curves clashed against practical military lines. It looked less like a lightsaber and more like several lightsabers had exploded and somehow landed in the same pile.

Unfortunately, that did absolutely nothing to help him.

Anakin stared at the collection.

Then he stared some more.

Then he picked up a grip section.

Turned it over.

Set it back down.

Five minutes later, he was still no closer to an answer.

The problem wasn't that he disliked the parts. The problem was that none of them felt right. Every time he picked up a component and tried to imagine it as part of his future lightsaber, his mind immediately began comparing it to other designs. The elegant emitter reminded him of a weapon he'd seen in the Jedi Archives. The grip section brought back memories of a Master he'd fought alongside during the war. One activation plate looked suspiciously similar to something he'd repaired for Ahsoka years ago. Every piece became tangled up with another memory until he found himself staring at a pile of metal and wondering how in the Force he had ever managed to build three different lightsabers in his first life.

Across the room, Huyang watched the increasingly pathetic display with the patience of a being who had witnessed twenty-five thousand years of Jedi overcomplicating simple problems.

Eventually the old droid spoke.

"Perhaps you should not build a standard lightsaber."

Anakin looked up immediately. "What?"

"A standard lightsaber."

"I know what those words mean."

"Good."

"Why wouldn't I build one?"

Huyang gestured vaguely toward the mountain of components surrounding him.

"Because you appear incapable of choosing."

Anakin opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then frowned.

"That's not fair."

"You have spent nearly an hour selecting three components."

"It was a difficult decision."

"You selected none of them."

"...that's not the point."

The droid ignored him.

His photoreceptors shifted toward the two orange crystals resting on the cloth nearby.

"You possess two kyber crystals."

Anakin followed his gaze.

"Yeah."

"Many Jedi would use the second crystal for a shoto."

Anakin blinked.

That actually made him pause and think about it.

A shoto lightsaber wasn't an unreasonable suggestion. They had been around for thousands of years and were especially popular among Jedi who specialized in dual-blade combat. The shorter blade made them excellent off-hand weapons, particularly for defense and redirection. Smaller Jedi often used them as primary weapons, while others paired them with a traditional saber.

For a brief moment Anakin imagined it.

A main blade.

A shoto in the other hand.

Then memories immediately ruined the idea.

Count Dooku. Geonosis. A flash of red. Pain. His arm hitting the floor.

Anakin winced.

Huyang noticed instantly.

"Hm."

"No."

The droid tilted his head.

"No?"

"No."

"You rejected that surprisingly quickly."

"I've had bad experiences with dual-wielding."

That was technically true, but it was also a horrifying understatement.

Huyang studied him for a moment. "Most Padawans do not possess enough combat experience to have strong opinions about multiple lightsaber forms."

Anakin immediately realized his mistake.

"Uh."

The droid continued staring.

Anakin pointed randomly at a component. "Nice emitter."

Huyang's photoreceptors dimmed. But thankfully. the old droid had clearly decided not to pursue the topic.

For now, at least.

Anakin leaned back against the workbench and looked at the two crystals again. They sat side by side, warm orange light reflecting softly against the polished surface beneath them. They didn't feel separate anymore. Not completely. Individually they had their own presence within the Force, but together there was something else. A sense of harmony. Of balance.

That was what kept bothering him.

The crystals wanted to be together.

He was almost certain of it.

Not fused. Not merged.

Connected.

A pair.

…

…maybe it wouldn’t hurt to use one thing from his time as Vader. 

The thought settled heavily into Anakin's mind. Not because he enjoyed admitting it, but because, after everything the temple had dragged out of him, after standing in front of Vader and finally looking directly at what he had become, pretending there was absolutely nothing worth keeping felt almost as dishonest as pretending Vader had never existed at all.

Some lessons were learned through pain.

Some skills were forged in terrible places.

And the dual-phase mechanism had never been the problem.

The crystal bleeding had been the problem.

The Empire had been the problem.

The murder and fear and hatred had been the problem.

Not engineering or his craftsmanship. Not a lightsaber design that happened to be old enough that most modern Jedi considered it unfashionable.

Anakin found himself reaching for one of the orange crystals. It settled into his palm immediately, warm against his skin. The second crystal followed a moment later, rolling gently across the cloth until it bumped against the first. Together they hummed softly through the Force.

Connected.

Across the room, Huyang was pretending not to watch him, he was very clearly watching him.

Anakin turned one crystal over between his fingers.

"What do you know about dual-phase sabers?"

The question had barely left his mouth before Huyang froze.

Then, very slowly, the ancient droid turned toward him.

Anakin immediately regretted asking. Not because the droid was upset, Anakin would have been okay with some apathy, but Huyang looked delighted.

The expression was somehow more alarming than when the droid was annoyed.

"Young Skywalker."

"Uh oh."

"You are interested in dual-phase construction?"

Anakin nodded slightly. 

The droid moved with surprising speed for something that old, crossing the workshop and immediately beginning to pull old schematics from storage. Holoprojectors flickered to life throughout the room. Ancient lightsaber designs appeared in the air around them, some dating back thousands upon thousands of years.

Most of them looked dangerous, several looked mildly insane, and one appeared to have been designed by someone who genuinely hated maintenance technicians.

Huyang gestured proudly toward the floating projections.

"Dual-phase lightsabers were once quite respected."

Anakin hummed, knowing this already but going along with it."Weren't they considered overly aggressive?"

"By modern Jedi." The way Huyang said modern Jedi carried all the respect of someone discussing a particularly misguided fashion trend. "Ancient Jedi lived in a different galaxy," the droid continued. "Many faced opponents armed with lightsabers regularly. Adaptability was valuable. A blade capable of changing length during combat could break an opponent's rhythm instantly."

Anakin nodded. He knew that very well. 

The mechanism in Vader's lightsaber had never been flashy. Most opponents never even realized it existed until the blade suddenly extended beyond its expected length. By then it was usually too late.

Countless duelists relied on distance, timing, and expectations. Changing the blade length by even a few centimeters could be devastating. 

"You like them.” It wasn't really a question. But it was surprising to see something the Jedi had labeled ‘barbaric’ and have someone seem to like them.  

Huyang paused, then the droid straightened slightly. "Very much." Anakin barked out a laugh, but the droid continued ."Most Jedi have long since abandoned the design."

"You sound offended."

"I am offended."

That only made Anakin laugh harder.

For all his lectures and endless corrections, Huyang occasionally reminded Anakin of a historian discovering somebody had thrown away an important artifact. And the old droid took that personally.

Eventually Anakin's gaze drifted back toward the crystals.

The workshop had become quiet again. Not truly quiet, there was always the low hum of the ship's engines, the occasional whir of one of Huyang's storage systems opening and closing somewhere behind them, and the constant background noise of dozens of holoprojectors displaying lightsaber schematics from every era of Jedi history. But compared to the excited lecture Huyang had launched into the moment dual-phase construction entered the conversation, it was quiet.

The two orange crystals rested side-by-side on the table.

Something slowly came to his mind. He could already picture the crystal chamber. Something accessible. Something that could be opened without dismantling half the lightsaber. Something that would let him remove them whenever he wanted.

The idea was deeply impractical, as someone could take the sabor and get the crystals but he wanted to hold his crystals. Almost like a calling.

Maybe it was the attachable side that Anakin could never control. 

His attention was so focused on mentally redesigning half a dozen lightsaber systems that he didn't notice the workshop door opening.

Huyang did. The droid immediately looked up. "Ah."

Anakin didn't but as several seconds passed, a new voice- “Aha."

He looked up just in time to see Obi-Wan enter the workshop.

R2-D2 rolled in beside him, letting out an enthusiastic series of beeps. 

Anakin immediately brightened, he raised his hand out. “Hey buddy”

The astromech chirped proudly as the droid bumped into his hand. 

Obi-Wan's eyes swept across the workshop, then paused. Then slowly continued sweeping across the workshop. His expression became increasingly concerned the longer he looked. Parts covered nearly every available surface, the schematics floated through the air, one workbench appeared to have been completely buried beneath components.

Obi-Wan stared. Then he looked at Huyang. Then at Anakin.

Then back at the workshop.

"...Should I be worried?"

"Probably," Anakin answered honestly.

"I appreciate your honesty."

"I learned it from you."

"No, you didn't."

"Fair."

R2 rolled over toward the nearest table and immediately began examining one of the projected schematics.

The droid emitted an interested whistle.

Huyang looked mildly offended. "Please do not touch anything."

R2 immediately touched something.

Huyang made a sound that somehow conveyed twenty-five thousand years of disappointment.

Obi-Wan ignored both droids.

His attention remained firmly on Anakin.

Specifically, on the fact that his Padawan appeared to have become completely absorbed in lightsaber construction. Honestly, it was a little adorable. Anakin was practically vibrating with concentration.

"I take it you've made progress?"

Anakin hesitated. "...Maybe."

That was never a reassuring answer.

Obi-Wan glanced toward the floating projections.

His eyebrows rose.

"Huyang."

"Yes?"

"What exactly are you teaching him?"

The old droid straightened.

"History."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes.

"Huyang."

"Ancient history."

"Huyang."

"Excellent ancient history."

Anakin snorted.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I see."

Which was code for I absolutely do not see but I suspect I won't like the answer.

Anakin grinned. Then immediately regretted it when Obi-Wan pointed toward the empty seat beside him.

"Come sit."

The grin vanished. "Why?"

"Because we need to discuss the mission."

"Oh." The disappointment in his voice was immediate.

Obi-Wan looked entirely too pleased by that.

Anakin sighed dramatically and slid off the workbench. The two crystals remained on the table as he moved over.

R2 followed, the astromech apparently intended to be included. As always.

Obi-Wan activated a small holoprojector.

A star system appeared above the table.

Rattatak.

The sight immediately wiped most of the humor from Anakin's expression.

Rattatak was not a name that carried anything gentle with it.

Even as a hologram, the planet looked harsh. Pale and dusty, surrounded by thin bands of cloud and old orbital debris that glinted faintly in the projected light. The system data scrolled beside it in small blue letters, listing atmospheric conditions, settlements, known conflicts, and communication failures. Most of it was useless. Rattatak had never been the sort of world that kept neat records, and what little the Republic had was either outdated, incomplete, or written by someone who clearly wanted to avoid setting foot on the planet ever again. 

Anakin stared at the projection and felt the humor drain out of him entirely. He remembered Rattatak in pieces. He had to the planet once, when the Order had first learned of Dooku’s assassin so that they may gather information on her. It had been such a long time that everything was fuzzy on the details. But he knew enough to know that nothing about the mission would be simple 

Obi-Wan noticed the change in him, of course, because Obi-Wan noticed everything eventually. His gaze flicked briefly over Anakin’s face before returning to the projection. “Our objective is straightforward,” he said, which Anakin immediately distrusted because in his experience those words were almost always spoken directly before everything became extremely not straightforward. Obi-Wan tapped the side of the holoprojector, and the image shifted, zooming toward a marked settlement near a stretch of broken red-brown terrain. “We believe Knight Narec and his Padawan are somewhere near this town. Master Plo’s contact was brief, but the signal originated from this general region before communications were blocked again. We will land outside the settlement, avoid drawing attention, locate them, and extract them as quickly as possible.”

Anakin stared at the glowing marker. “That’s the whole plan?”

Obi-Wan gave him a look. “It is the outline of the plan.”

“So the whole plan.”

“It is not the whole plan.”

“It sounds like the whole plan.”

“It sounds that way because I have not yet explained the details.”

Anakin leaned back slightly, arms crossing before he could stop himself. “Land outside town. Find them. Get them out. That’s a plan people make when they don’t know what they’re walking into.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose, and for one awful second Anakin realized exactly how that sounded coming from a twelve-year-old Padawan who was supposed to be on his first mission after months of medical recovery. Huyang’s photoreceptors turned toward him with immediate interest. R2 gave a low, suspicious warble. Anakin coughed and looked back at the hologram as if it had personally betrayed him. 

“I mean,” he added quickly, “Rattatak sounds dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, still watching him. “Which is why you will not be wandering off, improvising, negotiating with armed locals, or attempting to rescue anyone by yourself.”

Anakin’s mouth opened.

Obi-Wan lifted one finger. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

R2 beeped in agreement.

Anakin pointed at him. “You are supposed to be on my side.”

The astromech whistled cheerfully, which sounded very much like he had chosen Obi-Wan’s side and was pleased with himself.

Obi-Wan continued, clearly deciding that if he allowed Anakin to argue now, they would never actually discuss the mission. “This is an extraction. Nothing more. Knight Narec has been cut off for years. He may be injured, compromised, or unwilling to leave without making arrangements for the people he has been protecting. His Padawan may be difficult to persuade as well. We know very little about her beyond her name and the fact that she is Force-sensitive. She was raised on Rattatak, Anakin. That means she may not respond to Jedi authority the way a Temple-trained Padawan would.”

Anakin’s gaze drifted to the second image that appeared beside the planet. It was poor quality, taken from the broken transmission Master Plo had managed to recover. A girl with a shaved head, sharp eyes, and a face that already looked too hard for someone so young stared back from the flickering blue projection. Asajj. Not known as Ventress but Asajj. A shadow with red blades. A woman full of rage and abandonment and grief, used by everyone who had ever claimed to teach her. But now she was just a Padawan stranded on a brutal planet with the only Master who had ever chosen her. 

It’s so familiar, isn't it?

Obi-Wan’s voice softened slightly. “Knight Narec reported that he took her in after finding her in dangerous circumstances. The Council had no record of her. No formal registration. No training reports. Nothing. From what little Master Plo was able to gather, Narec has been attempting to contact the Order for some time, but Rattatak’s defenses and local interference have made any reliable transmission nearly impossible.” He paused, troubled in a way Anakin rarely saw him show so openly. “He went there originally to help settle a conflict. Instead, he became stranded, found a child, and stayed.”

Anakin looked down at the table. Stayed. That word did something sharp behind his ribs. A Jedi stranded on a violent Outer Rim world, cut off from the Temple, with a Force-sensitive child who had nowhere else to go. Of course Narec had stayed. What else could he have done? Walked away? Left her there? Anakin knew too well what it meant to be a child on a harsh world waiting for someone to notice. Waiting for someone to choose you. The difference was that Qui-Gon had found him and brought him away. Narec had found Asajj and had been unable to get her away.

Huyang stood very still across the room. Even he seemed less inclined to interrupt now.

Anakin swallowed. “So we go in quiet.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “Quietly. Carefully. We do not know who controls the town. We do not know how many factions may be watching it. We do not know whether Knight Narec has enemies nearby. We land outside the settlement, approach on foot, observe first, then make contact if it is safe.”

“If it isn’t?”

“Then we adapt.”

Anakin gave him a flat look.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Within reason.”

“That’s less fun.”

“It is meant to be less fun.”

“Your plans usually are.”

“My plans usually keep us alive.”

Anakin almost said not always, and only barely stopped himself.

The thought hit harder than he expected.

Obi-Wan must have felt something shift through the bond, because his expression softened a fraction. He didn’t ask though. Not in front of Huyang, not in front of Artoo, not when Anakin’s face had gone a little too still. Instead, he reached over and adjusted the hologram, showing the path from their projected landing zone to the outskirts of the town. “You will stay close to me. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to get back to the ship with R2, you do so without argument.”

Anakin stared at him.

Obi-Wan stared back.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Anakin said, very carefully, “I’m not helpless.”

“I know.”

Anakin hated how much those words stung. But he knew also why his Master was acting like this- he was twelve after all. His medical files were probably a nightmare. His first real mission since collapsing and nearly dying in the Temple was about to take them to one of the most violent planets in the Outer Rim. Obi-Wan was not being unreasonable, he had to forcefully remind himself.

“I can help,” Anakin said quietly.

Obi-Wan’s expression changed. The sternness did not vanish, but something gentler settled beneath it. “I know that too.”

“Then let me.”

“I will,” Obi-Wan said. “But helping does not always mean rushing ahead. It does not always mean taking the most dangerous part for yourself.”

Anakin looked away.

That one landed too close.

Obi-Wan continued, softer now. “Your role is to observe, to assist, and to stay alive. If matters become dangerous, your priority is not heroics. It is getting yourself and, if necessary, others back to the ship.”

Anakin wanted to argue.

He really did.

The words were already there, sharp and immediate, ready to spill out before he could think better of them. He had fought wars. He had led men into battle. He had stood against Sith Lords and armies and monsters wearing familiar faces. He was not some helpless initiate who needed to be hidden behind his Master’s cloak.

But then his gaze drifted back to Asajj’s flickering image.

A child.

A Padawan.

Someone who had been left alone with war for far too long.

And suddenly arguing felt smaller.

Anakin exhaled slowly. “Fine.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Clearly, he had expected more resistance.

Anakin frowned. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am attempting not to.”

“You’re bad at it.”

“Clearly.”

R2 let out a pleased chirp.

Anakin pointed at him again. “No commentary.”

The astromech beeped anyway.

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched, but he quickly returned to the projection. “Once we make contact, we assess Narec’s condition and determine whether he and his Padawan are willing and able to leave. Huyang will remain with the ship unless circumstances require otherwise.”

Huyang inclined his head, looking perfectly content with that arrangement. “I assure you, Knight Kenobi, I have no intention of wandering into an active conflict zone unless absolutely necessary. I am old, valuable, and surrounded by irreplaceable historical equipment.”

Anakin snorted. “That’s your reason?”

“It is an excellent reason.”

Obi-Wan looked as though he agreed more than he wanted to admit. “Good. Then we are all settled.” He shut off the holoprojector, and Rattatak vanished from the table, leaving only the scattered lightsaber parts and the two orange crystals glowing softly in the workshop light. His gaze moved to Anakin again, gentler this time. “You should rest. We arrive tomorrow, and I would prefer you not begin your first mission back exhausted from arguing with lightsaber components.”

“I wasn’t arguing with them.”

Huyang looked at him.

R2 beeped.

Anakin crossed his arms. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched. “Rest, Anakin.”

This time, Anakin didn’t argue. He gathered the two crystals carefully, tucking them into the small pouch at his belt before standing. R2 rolled after him immediately, chirping something that sounded far too smug for a droid who had spent the last several minutes touching things he had been explicitly told not to touch.

Anakin glanced back once at the unfinished lightsaber parts, then followed Artoo toward the temporary quarters Huyang had assigned him.

The heat hit Padmé the moment the ship's ramp lowered.

Years had passed since her last visit to Tatooine, but some things never changed. The desert stretched endlessly in every direction, waves of golden sand shimmering beneath twin suns that seemed determined to cook anything foolish enough to stand beneath them. Dry air filled her lungs, carrying dust and the faint scent of machinery from distant settlements.

Beside her, Sabé adjusted the scarf wrapped around her head and frowned at the horizon.

"I still think we should have brought guards."

Padmé smiled as she stepped down the ramp. "You always think we should bring guards."

"Because we usually should."

"We're buying someone's freedom, not negotiating a treaty."

Sabé gave her a look.

The expression was one Padmé knew well. It was the same one Sabé had been giving her since they were twelve years old and Padmé had first started finding creative ways to ignore security recommendations.

"We're two young women carrying enough credits to buy several people out of slavery," Sabé said. "That sounds exactly like the sort of situation where guards would be useful."

Padmé laughed softly. "Guards would attract attention."

"We're attracting attention regardless."

"Not nearly as much."

That much was true. A pair of travelers arriving in Mos Espa barely warranted a second glance. A former Queen of Naboo arriving with armed escorts would have half the city talking before sunset.

Sabé sighed dramatically. "You are impossible."

"So I've been told."

Mostly by you, Padmé thought.

The two women had changed into simpler clothing before leaving the ship. Gone were the elegant dresses and fine fabrics of Naboo. Instead, they wore practical desert garments similar to those favored by offworld traders. Nothing expensive. Nothing memorable.

Padmé had learned years ago that sometimes the easiest way to remain unnoticed was to look completely ordinary.

The walk into Mos Espa brought a flood of memories she hadn't expected.

The city looked much the same as she remembered. Buildings of faded stone and metal rose from the desert floor. Market stalls crowded the streets. Speeders darted overhead. Merchants shouted from storefronts while mechanics worked on engines beneath shaded awnings.

Yet seeing it now felt different.

The first time she had visited Tatooine, she had been fourteen years old and running from an invasion. She had been scared, exhausted, and focused entirely on saving Naboo.

Now she was eighteen.

Older.

Wiser.

And far more aware of the injustices surrounding her.

Every slave she saw twisted something unpleasant inside her chest.

Anakin had grown up here. Shmi still lived here. The realization made everything harder to ignore.

They spent nearly an hour asking questions.

Most people were suspicious, some were outright unhelpful. They avoid Watto and his shop at all cost, not wanting to risk being recognized by the Toydarian before they had a chance to speak with Shmi.

Padmé was beginning to worry when she spotted a familiar face across a crowded marketplace.

A young man with dark hair and sun-browned skin was helping unload crates from a battered landspeeder. Something about him tugged at her memory.

She slowed.

The young man glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a moment neither moved.

Then his eyes widened dramatically.

"No way."

Padmé blinked.

Recognition clicked into place.

"Kitster?"

The crate nearly slipped from his hands.

"Miss Padmé?"

A grin spread across his face so quickly it seemed to split it in half. "You actually came back!"

Several nearby merchants looked over at the outburst. Kitster ignored them completely. "I can't believe it. Annie's angel actually came back."

Padmé groaned immediately. "Oh, stars."

Sabé's head snapped toward her. "Annie's what?"

"Don't."

"But-"

"Not a word."

Kitster laughed. The sound was familiar enough to make Padmé smile despite herself. Kitster's grin only grew wider as he hurried over, abandoning the crate entirely. The nearby workers immediately started shouting at him for it, but he ignored them without hesitation.

"You're really here," he said, still sounding as though he couldn't quite believe it. "Moonweaver, the other is never going to believe this."

Then grin faltered slightly.

His eyes searched her face.

"Actually..." he said carefully. "How is he?"

Padmé's smile softened.

Of course that would be the first thing he asked.

To Kitster, Anakin hadn't been the Chosen One or a Jedi Padawan. He had been Ani. The kid who built droids from scrap and talked too much and somehow convinced everyone around him that impossible things could happen.

The last time Kitster had seen him, they had both been children.

Anakin had climbed aboard a ship and vanished into the stars.

Three years.

Three entire years.

Padmé suddenly realized that Kitster probably knew less about Anakin than she did.

And she knew almost nothing.

"He's alright," she said gently.

It wasn't a lie, not entirely. The letter had sounded healthy. Thoughtful. Older.

Worried, certainly.

But alright.

"I haven't seen him since we left Tatooine," she admitted. "The Jedi keep their students rather busy."

Kitster nodded immediately.

"Yeah, figured."

Though disappointment flickered briefly across his face.

"I always wondered what happened to him." He laughed softly. "Half the time I expect some wizard ship to land and Annie to come running down the ramp talking a hundred words a minute."

Padmé found herself smiling.

"That sounds like him."

"Doesn't it?"

For a moment both of them stood there sharing memories of a boy neither had seen in years.

Then Kitster's expression brightened again. "So what brings you back to Mos Espa?"

Padmé exchanged a quick glance with Sabé.

Neither woman missed the opportunity.

"We're looking for his mother," Padmé said.

The effect was immediate.

Kitster's eyes widened. "Shmi?"

"Do you know where she is?"

"Yeah."

Relief hit Padmé so quickly she nearly sagged.

Stars.

They had spent hours asking questions already.

Kitster rubbed the back of his neck.

"She moved a while back. Still in the same housing complex, but she got transferred to one of the upper levels."

Padmé frowned. "Transferred?"

"Watto moved workshops. Got himself a smaller place since his business has been bad." Kitster shrugged. "Shmi went with it."

Not free, then. Padmé felt her stomach sink. Not yet, but soon.

Very soon.

Kitster pointed toward a cluster of buildings further into the city.

"You see that tower there? Third level from the top. That's where she lives now."

Padmé followed his gesture and committed the location to memory immediately.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

She meant to leave it there.

Instead, she found herself reaching out and squeezing his arm.

"Really. Thank you."

Something about the gesture seemed to catch him off guard.

His smile returned, smaller this time.

"Tell Ani..." He hesitated. "Tell him we're all still around."

Padmé nodded. "I will."

The moment stretched only a second before a furious shout erupted from behind them.

"KITSTER!"

The young man visibly winced.

A large man stormed out from a nearby shop, grease staining his clothes and rage already building across his face.

"What are you standing around for? Those crates aren't unloading themselves!"

Kitster immediately straightened.

"Sorry, sir."

"Sorry doesn't move cargo!"

Several people nearby looked away while others pretended not to notice.

Padmé felt her jaw tighten.

The man wasn't shouting because work had stopped. He was shouting because he could.

Kitster lowered his head slightly, shoulders instinctively drawing inward in a way that made something cold settle in Padmé's chest.

She knew that posture.

She had seen it on Tatooine before, when she came. Seen it on people who had learned that arguing only made things worse.

"Move!"

The man shoved a crate toward him.

Padmé took a step forward before she could stop herself.

Sabé caught her wrist immediately. The grip was firm. "Padmé." The warning in her voice was quiet.

Padmé didn't look away from Kitster. "He's treating him like-"

"I know."

The former Queen's hands clenched. Every instinct screamed at her to intervene. To say something or to do something. Anything.

But Sabé was right.

A confrontation here would accomplish nothing. At best, it would embarrass Kitster. At worst, it would make his situation harder.

"He'll take it out on him later," Sabé murmured. "You know that."

Padmé did know.

That was what made it so difficult.

Across the marketplace, Kitster gave them an awkward little wave.

A silent goodbye.

Then he picked up the crate and returned to work.

The shouting continued.

Padmé hated every second of it.

Eventually she forced herself to turn away.

"Let's go," Sabé said softly.

Padmé nodded.

But as they headed deeper into Mos Espa toward Shmi's apartment, she found herself glancing back one last time.

Kitster was already working again, head down, moving crates beneath the blazing suns.

Just another poor boy in Mos Espa.

Another person trapped by circumstances beyond his control. Padmé remembered Anakin's letter then. Not just the plea for his mother, but the line written almost as an afterthought, squeezed into the margin.

If you can, please help my friends too. Kitster, Wald... all of them.

At the time she had promised herself she would try.

Now, watching Kitster labor under the watch of a man who clearly enjoyed wielding power over him, that promise hardened into something stronger.

She would do more than try.

Shmi would be freed.

And if she had anything to say about it, Anakin's old friends would not be left behind either.

Her hand drifted to the pouch of credits at her side.

Yes.

She was definitely going to need a much larger budget.

The landing went surprisingly smoothly, which immediately made Anakin suspicious.

In his experience, whenever a mission started smoothly, it usually meant the galaxy was simply saving its problems for later.

The ship had touched down several kilometers from the nearest settlement, hidden among jagged stone formations that rose from the pale desert like broken teeth. The terrain provided natural cover from anyone passing overhead, and Huyang had immediately launched into a lecture about proper concealment procedures that suggested he'd hidden ships in hostile territory more times than anyone had bothered counting.

Obi-Wan had left shortly afterward. It was just to observe, then he would come to collect Anakin and they would contact with Knight Narec.

Which left Anakin on the ship. Exactly where Obi-Wan wanted him.

And exactly where he was already becoming restless.

The workshop area had become his temporary refuge.

One datapad sat open in front of him, covered in rough sketches of lightsaber designs. Another one was in his lap, where he sketched and sent to the pad in front of him when he decided to do something new. On there were several featured notes written in margins, though one had been crossed out so aggressively the original drawing was barely visible beneath the lines.

The two orange crystals sat nearby.

Anakin had removed them from their pouch almost immediately.

Again.

Because apparently he had developed a habit.

Or an attachment.

Or both.

He wasn't entirely sure which was more concerning from a Jedi perspective.

"-most Jedi wait."

Anakin looked up, having not been listening. 

Huyang stood nearby, examining one of the schematics.

"Wait for what?"

"Before redesigning their lightsabers."

Anakin glanced back down. "Oh."

The droid folded his arms. "I would say significantly longer than a day."

"Really?"

"Usually years."

Anakin considered that. Then shrugged. "I like tinkering."

That answer seemed to satisfy Huyang more than the droid expected. \"That is apparent."

Anakin grinned slightly.

It was true.

Even before becoming Vader.

Before the Clone Wars.

Before any of it.

He had always taken things apart.

Machines.

Droids.

Speeders.

Anything he could get his hands on.

Sometimes he improved them.

Sometimes he broke them.

Usually both.

Sometimes though… he created. Like Threepio. His gaze drifted back toward the sketch. The dual-phase assembly was coming together nicely.

The removable crystal chamber where you didn’t take out the crystal was still giving him problems. Mostly because every safety feature he added created three new engineering complications.

And every solution created two more.

He was so focused on the design that at first he almost missed it.

Almost.

The sensation brushed against the edge of his awareness, something…. Subtle.

Anakin froze.

His pencil stopped moving.

The sensation rang out again. It was strong and didn’t even feel that dangerous. Just… present.

His eyes slowly lifted from the datapad.

The ship around him remained unchanged.Nothing was moved or out of place. Yet something felt different. The Force flowed strangely here, deep beneath the stone.

Anakin frowned.

There was something buried in this place.

An echo.

A memory.

The feeling reminded him of walking through old Jedi temples Places where emotions lingered long after the people themselves were gone.

He reached out slightly. Not enough to pry too deeply, just to try and listen.

The sensation did strengthen, but it was cut into fragments. It only really gave him impressions but not a clear image. 

Determination.

Fear.

Resolve.

Loss.

Thousands of emotions layered atop one another until they became impossible to separate.

The Force hummed quietly around him.

Anakin's frown deepened.

It almost felt like Ilum but… warped somehow?

"What is it?" Huyang's voice broke the silence.

Anakin blinked. "I'm not sure."

The feeling lingered for another moment. Then slowly receded, like a wave pulling back from shore, leaving only questions behind.

Weird.

Very weird.

And considering Anakin's life, that was saying something.

He was still thinking about it when–

A sound slammed through the air.

A deep thunderous boom that shook the ship beneath his feet.

The entire vessel vibrated as one of Huyang's projections flickered violently and tools started to rattle. 

For half a second nobody moved.

Then Anakin was already standing.

"What was that?"

Huyang moved toward the nearest sensor display.

Outside the viewport, a plume of smoke rose in the distance. Thankfully, it wasn’t near their position.

But it was inside the settlement.

Anakin's stomach dropped.

The Force bond flared.

Panic.

Not his.

Obi-Wan. 

For half a second, Anakin froze.

Then the sensation was muffled suddenly. As if Obi-Wan had slammed mental walls into place and focused entirely on whatever was happening in front of him. Which somehow made it worse. Because Obi-Wan only did that when he needed every ounce of concentration available.

"Huyang."

The droid was already at the sensor station.

"I know.”

Outside the viewport, another distant boom rolled across the desert.

The sound arrived several seconds after the first.

An explosion. Definitely an explosion.

Anakin crossed the room in three strides and looked out through the forward viewport. The settlement sat on the horizon, little more than a cluster of structures built into the rocky terrain. 

Dark thick smoke was rising now.

Something had gone very wrong.

His hand was already reaching for his commlink.

"Master?"

Only static answered.

The crackling hiss filled the small speaker before fading again.

Anakin frowned and adjusted the frequency.

"Obi-Wan?"

Nothing.

Not even a fragment of a reply.

The interference wasn't natural., as the reports had said it was hard to get a single off world, but not on the ground. Or if it was, it was stronger than it should have been. The rocky terrain around the settlement certainly didn't help communications, but this felt different. Like it was being blocked.

His stomach twisted.

It was hard to read the bond now, there still wasn’t any pain but there was certainly urgency there. As well as a thin thread of concern.

Obi-Wan was worried. Not for himself, but for someone else. Which somehow made Anakin even more anxious.

He tried the comm again.

"Master, come on."

Static.

Anakin lowered the device slowly.

Behind him, Huyang was still studying the sensor readouts. The old droid's photoreceptors flickered as new data scrolled across the display but it wasn’t helping much. Whatever was blocking the comms was messing with the scans. 

Anakin stared at the sensor display for another few seconds, as if trying to will the numbers to suddenly become useful. They stubbornly refused. Whatever was happening in the settlement was generating enough interference that half the readings looked unreliable, and the other half contradicted each other. The only thing he knew for certain was that something had exploded, communications were being blocked, and Obi-Wan was now in the middle of whatever mess Rattatak had decided to throw at them.

That was enough.

The decision settled into place with the same inevitability as a starship dropping into hyperspace. There were moments in life where he paused and carefully considered every option available to him.

This was not one of those moments.

Anakin turned away from the viewport. 

"I'm going."

Huyang immediately looked up. “Padawan Skywalker.”

Anakin kept walking until the droid stepped into his path.

"No." 

"Master Obi-Wan is out there."

"I am aware."

"Something's wrong."

"I am aware."

"We've lost communications."

"I am aware."

Anakin spread his hands. "Then why are we still having this conversation?"

Huyang stared at him.

Anakin stared back.

The old droid remained completely unimpressed. "You are a twelve-year-old Padawan on your first mission after a significant medical incident."

Anakin winced.

That was unfortunately a very reasonable argument.

"I am also the only other Jedi currently available."

"You are not a Jedi."

Anakin opened his mouth, paused. Then narrowed his eyes. "I'm close."

"You are a Padawan."

"That's basically a Jedi."

"It is most certainly not."

Anakin pointed accusingly. "You sound like Obi-Wan."

"Thank you."

That was somehow worse.

Anakin moved around Huyang.

The droid made an exasperated noise. Twenty-five thousand years of Jedi apparently had not prepared him for Anakin Skywalker.

Or perhaps they had prepared him perfectly.

Anakin headed toward one of the ship's equipment lockers.

His lightsaber wasn't finished, but that didn’t mean he would be unarmed. And while Jedi generally preferred lightsabers whenever possible, they weren't idiots. Ships carried emergency weapons for a reason.

The locker hissed open and he grabbed a compact blaster pistol that sat neatly inside.The weight settled comfortably into his hand.

Familiar.

Far too familiar.

Jedi generally disliked blasters. Officially, anyway. The Order considered them inelegant weapons. Something that was crude. A tool that solved problems by pointing and pulling a trigger.

Anakin had always thought that opinion sounded suspiciously like something invented by people who had never been shot at.

The Clone Wars had only reinforced that belief.

Still, a blaster wasn't his first choice, but it worked.

And right now working was more important than philosophy.

He checked the charge pack out of habit.

Fully powered.

Good.

When he turned around, he found R2-D2 waiting by the ramp.

The astromech immediately let out an excited series of beeps.

Anakin sighed.. "No."

R2 beeped louder.

"No."

The droid rolled forward. Ever bit determined, stubborn and offended.

Very familiar traits, honestly.

Anakin crouched down beside him. "Artoo."

The droid quieted slightly.

"If something goes really wrong, we might need to leave fast."

R2 emitted a suspicious whistle.

Anakin nodded.

"Exactly."

The astromech's dome rotated, thinking.

"If Obi-Wan gets hurt." The words felt wrong in his mouth. "Or if I get hurt. Or if we need extraction."

R2 made an unhappy noise.

"I need someone I trust here."

That got the droid's attention.

Anakin rested a hand against the blue-and-white dome.

"I trust you."

The astromech went completely still. For a second, neither of them moved. Then R2 let out a softer beep.

A questioning one.

Anakin smiled.

"Can you fly the ship if you have to?"

The response was immediate and deeply offended. Apparently the question itself had been insulting.

"Right. Sorry. Stupid question."

Another indignant chirp.

Anakin laughed despite everything. 

"Good."

The droid bumped his hand once.

Then rolled backward, still a bit reluctantly but accepting.

The fact that R2 trusted him enough to go was honestly more surprising than the fact that he trusted R2 to stay. The little droid had never been particularly fond of being left behind.

And the last thing Anakin had ever told Atroo was to stay with the ship. Anakin stood.

The bond pulsed again. His head snapped toward the settlement.

There.

A flash of determination that felt unmistakably Obi-Wan.

Followed by the sensation of movement. Either running or fighting, it was hard to tell. Anakin's stomach tightened as he looked toward the horizon.

Smoke continued to climb into the sky. The settlement looked peaceful from this distance. Almost insignificant, but he knew better.

Entire wars could fit inside places that looked small from far enough away.

He clipped the blaster to his belt, adjusted the pouch containing his two orange kyber crystals, and headed for the ramp.

The desert air hit him immediately, dry and hot, filled with dust and sand.

The jagged rock formations surrounding the hidden landing site cast long shadows across the pale ground. In the distance, dark smoke continued to rise from the settlement like a warning beacon.

He sighed and took off running. 

It didn’t take long for him to reach the edge of the town. 

That, more than anything else, made him uneasy.

Settlements on worlds like Rattatak weren't supposed to be this quiet. Even the poorest towns had noise. Arguments drifting from open windows. Merchants shouting across market stalls. Mechanics cursing malfunctioning equipment. Children running through streets until somebody yelled at them to stop. Life made noise. Survival made noise.

This place felt wrong.

The streets were nearly empty. Doors stood half-open. Several market stalls looked as though they had been abandoned in the middle of business. A crate of dried food had spilled across the road. A discarded cloak fluttered lazily in the wind. Somewhere far away metal creaked against metal. Beneath it all lingered fear.

Anakin could feel it.

Not fresh panic, older than that.

The sort of fear that settled into a place after years of violence. The sort of fear people learned to live with because they had no other choice.

His grip tightened around the blaster.

The bond flickered again, enough to show he was alive but something about it was distance. The reassurance lasted only a moment before worry returned.

Anakin pushed deeper into the settlement.

The smoke rising into the sky gave him something to follow. The closer he got, the more obvious the signs of violence became. Fresh blaster marks scarred walls. Windows had been shattered. One entire building looked partially collapsed. Whatever had happened here hadn't been an accident.

Then he heard voices. Alongside shouting, crying, and laughter. The wrong kind of laughter.

Anakin immediately slowed and slipped into a narrow alley. The Force stretched outward instinctively, brushing against minds nearby. Fear. Pain. Greed. Excitement. Cruel amusement.

His stomach sank.

He crept forward until he reached the corner.

Then looked around it.

A large transport speeder sat in the middle of an open square. Bound prisoners were being loaded into the cargo section. Men. Women. Children. Some looked injured. Others looked too exhausted to even struggle anymore.

Around them stood nearly a dozen armed figures.

Most were pirates. Anakin recognized the type immediately. But they weren't alone.

Three Zygerrians stood among them.

The moment he saw the shock-whips hanging from their belts, something inside him went cold.

One of the prisoners stumbled.

A pirate struck him across the face with a rifle stock. The square erupted with laughter.

Anakin stopped thinking.

The Force surged.

The nearest pirate flew sideways before anyone even realized what was happening. He smashed through a market stall hard enough to shatter wood and send supplies scattering across the street.

The square exploded into chaos.

"What-"

"JEDI!"

Blasters came up.

Anakin was already moving. The first bolt missed him. The second came close enough that he felt heat brush his sleeve.

He fired twice and two pirates dropped.

A third charged him with a vibroblade. Anakin caught him in the Force and hurled him directly into one of the Zygerrians.

Both went down.

The prisoners stared.

The pirates stared.

Anakin didn't stop.

Without a lightsaber he fought differently than most Jedi. Less elegant. Less controlled. The Force moved around him almost instinctively. Weapons ripped themselves from hands. Pirates found themselves slammed into walls or lifted off the ground. One blaster suddenly reversed direction and smacked its owner directly across the face.

Years of war lived inside him.

Years of experience.

The body carrying those memories might have been twelve years old. The mind behind it wasn't.

A Zygerrian grabbed one of the prisoners and shoved a blaster against their head.

Anakin immediately turned toward him.

The slaver sneered.

"Drop it, Jedi."

The prisoner trembled beneath his grip, the barrel of the blaster pressed so tightly against the side of their head that it left a pale mark against their skin. Around the square the fighting had slowed. Pirates shifted uneasily, blasters raised but uncertain. Several of them were already injured. Two were unconscious. One was still groaning from where Anakin had thrown him through a market stall.

Anakin slowly lowered his blaster.

The Zygerrian smiled.

Wrong move.

The weapon ripped itself from his hand so quickly that the slaver barely had time to register what had happened before it was halfway across the square. His expression shifted from smug confidence to shock.

Anakin took a step forward.

The Force curled around him. Not out of control, but sharp. And so very dangerous. "Surrender, you filthy Depur scum."

The words came out low enough that they almost sounded like a growl.

For a second the Zygerrian simply stared at him. Then something flickered across the slaver's face. Recognition.

Slowly, the Zygerrian smiled again.

Only this smile was different. Crueler.

"Oh." The slaver's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I know what you are."

Anakin's stomach tightened.

The Zygerrian looked him up and down, really looked at him.

The worn boots, the sun-darkened skin, the accent Anakin had never fully lost. The way he'd reacted the moment he'd seen the whips.

The fury.

Understanding clicked into place.

And the slaver laughed.

Anakin couldn’t help another snarl escape him, the old Tatooine insult rolled off Anakin's tongue before he could stop it. "Nashur."

Chain-Maker.

The smile widened. The Zygerrian actually looked delighted. "There it is." 

Anakin's jaw clenched.

The slaver pointed at him. "You've worn a collar."

Silence fell across the square as several prisoners looked up and the pirates slowly glanced between them.

The Zygerrian's grin became vicious. "You were property once."

Something cold twisted inside Anakin's chest.

The memories came immediately.

A transmitter bomb buried beneath skin.

Watto's shop.

Shmi's tired smile.

The constant knowledge that somebody else owned your life.

His fingers curled.

The Force shifted around him.

Sand stirred across the square.

The Zygerrian noticed, and laughed harder.

"Tell me, Jedi." The slaver took a step forward. "Did they buy you?" Another step. "Or did you run?"

Anakin didn't answer.

The silence was answer enough.

The slaver's eyes glittered.

"I know your kind." The Zygerrian spread his arms. "You leave. You get free. Then you come back pretending you're better than everyone still wearing chains."

Something moved behind Anakin, making him take a little glance back. It was one of the prisoners, a little girl. She looked no older than seven and terrified.

The sight snapped something back into focus. 

Because this wasn't about him.

It had never been about him.

The Zygerrian wasn't looking at Anakin anymore.

He was looking at the people behind him.

The people he planned to sell.

Anakin exhaled slowly. Then took another step forward. "You talk too much."

The slaver sneered. 

"And you still sound like a slave."

The square went silent.

Anakin tilted his head, then smirked. 

The Force slammed outward.

The Zygerrian flew backward, moreso launched back. He crashed through the side of a building hard enough to collapse part of the wall.

The square erupted into chaos again.

Blaster fire exploded from every direction.

Anakin moved immediately.

A pirate fired.

The bolt curved harmlessly into the dirt as the Force knocked his aim aside.

Another charged.

Anakin sidestepped and drove a Force-enhanced shove into the man's chest that sent him tumbling across the square.

A third tried to reach the prisoners.

The blaster ripped itself from his hand and struck him across the jaw.

Everywhere around him people shouted.

Ran.

Fought.

And through it all Anakin kept moving.

Fast.

Relentless.

The years of war he'd lived through surfaced automatically. Old instinct.

One pirate rolled behind cover and raised a rifle.

The weapon suddenly flew upward and discharged harmlessly into the sky.

Another tried to flank him. A crate slammed into him before he made it three steps.

A Zygerrian cracked a shock-whip. The weapon wrapped around a post instead as the Force yanked it sideways. The slaver cursed.

Anakin advanced.

The Force felt hot now. Just closer to the surface than usual. Like a storm gathering behind his ribs. He felt it curl around him like a cape. It was so easy to lose himself in it. 

Then movement caught the edge of his vision.

A pirate, more off to the side, who was aiming at one of the prisoners. The man squeezed the trigger before Anakin could react. 

But the blaster never fired.

A green blade flashed through the air.

The weapon fell apart.

Then the pirate screamed.

His arm hit the ground a second later.

The entire square froze.

Anakin turned.

A young woman stood atop the transport speeder as the green lightsaber returned to her. 

She wore more simple brown clothes and half her head shaved, the other half straight and off to the side. Older than him by a few years, but not quite an adult. Either eighteen or nineteen if he had to guess. Her expression is impossible to read.

He knew very well who this was. 

The pirate collapsed screaming, but she didn't even look at him. Her attention remained fixed entirely on Anakin.

It was clear what she was doing, trying to figure him out. Trying to decide if he was another enemy.

Anakin stared back.

For a long moment neither moved.

Then Anakin saw something on the ground, one of the pirates groaning as he lifted a concealed blaster and aimed directly at her back.

Anakin reacted instantly.

The weapon ripped free from the pirate's hand and straight into his own. He looked at it, scoffed, and then floated it up and shot it right back, the blaster struck the pirate square in the face, knocking the pathetic one out.

For a moment, the only sound in the square was the groaning of injured pirates and the frightened breathing of the prisoners still huddled inside the transport speeder.

The green blade hummed between them.

Anakin lowered the stolen blaster slowly, keeping his other hand loose at his side in case anyone else decided to be stupid. Several pirates were still conscious, but none seemed particularly eager to continue the fight now that a lightsaber had entered the conversation. One man tried to crawl away behind a broken crate, froze when Asajj’s eyes flicked toward him, and immediately decided playing dead was the wiser option. Anakin would have laughed if his heart wasn’t still pounding and if the Force around him didn’t still feel too hot, too sharp, too close to the edge of something he was trying very hard not to touch.

Asajj Ventress stood on top of the transport like she belonged there, one boot planted against the edge, her green lightsaber angled downward in a grip that was casual only if someone didn’t know better. Anakin knew better. He knew exactly how fast she could move. He knew how vicious she could be with a blade, how easily she could turn an opponent’s momentum against them, how she smiled right before striking where it hurt most. But this Asajj wasn’t that woman. Not yet. Her eyes were hard, yes, and Rattatak had already carved survival into the set of her shoulders, but there was no red blade in her hand. No Sith rage pouring off her like smoke. No bitter, broken cruelty sharpened by Dooku’s training. Just a nineteen-year-old Padawan with a green lightsaber, a shaved side of her head, dust on her clothes, and the wary posture of someone who had learned very young that help often arrived wearing the same face as danger.

Her eyes moved over him once, fast and assessing. The blaster in his hand. The pouch at his belt. The lack of a lightsaber. The way half the pirates around them had been thrown around the square without being touched. Then her gaze narrowed.

“You’re a little short for a Jedi,” she said.

Anakin stared at her.

Then, despite everything, his mouth moved before his common sense could stop it. “That’s rich coming from someone standing on a speeder to look taller.”

The prisoners went very still.

One of the pirates made the mistake of snorting.

Asajj’s gaze snapped toward him.

The pirate immediately shut up.

Anakin decided, with the calm clarity of someone who had survived many bad decisions and learned nothing from most of them, that he had perhaps started off poorly.

Asajj looked back at him, expression sharpening. “You have a mouth.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Frequently?”

“Constantly.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Neither does your attitude.”

Her eyes narrowed another fraction, and Anakin had the sudden, surreal thought that she, at least this version of her, and Ahsoka would either despise each other on sight or become unstoppable within three hours. Possibly both. Probably both. There was a certain familiar shape to her stubbornness, a familiar bite to the way she held herself, like she had already decided the galaxy would have to fight her for every inch she intended to keep. It made something ache in his chest, but he shoved that away because now was not the time to start collecting emotionally complicated Padawans like spare droid parts.

Asajj hopped down from the transport, landing lightly on the dusty ground. Her lightsaber remained ignited. “Who sent you?”

“No one.”

“That is never true.”

“Fine. Technically, Obi-Wan did. But not for this. Actually, he specifically told me to stay on the ship, so if you want to be precise, nobody sent me.”

That made her pause.

“Obi-Wan,” she repeated.

Anakin lifted his chin slightly. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m his Padawan.”

The change in her was immediate, though subtle. The line of her shoulders didn’t fully relax, but something in her expression shifted. Not trust, not exactly, but recognition. She had heard the name. Maybe from Narec. Maybe from the brief communications the Order had managed. Maybe from Obi-Wan himself, if he had been here long enough to introduce himself before everything exploded. Either way, the green blade dipped slightly.

“Kenobi was here,” she said.

Anakin’s grip tightened around his blaster. “Where is he?”

Asajj’s jaw flexed. For the first time since she had appeared, irritation gave way to something more frightened. Not fear for herself. Fear for someone else. “Wrong place. Wrong moment,” she said, looking over the square as if trying to put scattered pieces of events back in order. “My Master and I had been preparing to move against a slave exchange. Pirates were bringing locals in. Zygerrians were negotiating transport rights. We were going to let the trade begin, identify the buyer, then strike when we knew where the rest were being held.”

Anakin looked toward the bound prisoners in the transport, and his stomach twisted. “This was planned?”

“It was controlled,” Asajj snapped.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her eyes flashed. “It was as controlled as anything on this cursed planet can be. Then your Master arrived.”

Anakin blinked. “Obi-Wan interrupted a sting operation?”

“He jumped in when one of the children was dragged out early,” Asajj said, with enough reluctant annoyance that Anakin could picture it perfectly. Obi-Wan seeing a child in danger, calculating the risks in half a second, and deciding the plan could burn if it meant one person didn’t have to suffer for it. “Which I might have respected if the explosion hadn’t followed right after. The deal fell apart. Everyone started shooting. I was thrown into a wall hard enough to black out. When I woke, half the square was burning, half the prisoners were gone, and your Master and mine were missing.”

The bond pulsed at the edge of Anakin’s awareness again.

Distant.

Muffled.

Alive.

But strained.

Anakin exhaled through his nose and forced himself not to run blindly down the nearest street. “Narec is missing too?”

Asajj’s face closed off at the name, but not before he saw the worry there. She was terrified. Hidden under anger because anger was easier to survive with. “Yes.”

“Do you know who took them?”

“If I knew, I would already be there.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the only one you’re getting until I have more information.”

Anakin almost snapped back, then stopped himself. He knew that tone. Force, he knew it too well. It was the sound of someone holding themselves together by sheer spite because if they stopped being angry for one second, fear would rush in and drown them. He had sounded like that often enough. Ahsoka had too, sometimes. Rex, in quieter ways. Obi-Wan, when things were truly bad and he was pretending they weren’t.

So instead of arguing, Anakin turned toward the prisoners.

“We need to free them first.”

Asajj stared at him like she hadn’t expected that.

Anakin looked back. “What?”

“You are not going to demand we chase after Kenobi immediately?”

“I want to,” Anakin said honestly, moving toward the transport. “But leaving them tied up in a square full of pirates and slavers would be stupid.”

Her expression shifted again, something unreadable flickering across her face before she extinguished her lightsaber and clipped it to her belt. “You are strange.”

“You have no idea.”

“I am beginning to.”

They moved quickly after that. Anakin used the Force to snap bindings while Asajj checked the unconscious pirates with brisk efficiency, kicking weapons out of reach and stunning anyone who looked like they might wake soon. The freed prisoners stumbled down from the speeder in small groups, some crying, some too numb to react, some staring at Anakin and Asajj with the cautious awe people often reserved for Jedi when they weren’t sure whether to be grateful or afraid. A little girl, the same one Anakin had noticed earlier, clung to an older woman’s sleeve and stared at him with wide eyes.

 For a second she looked so much like one of the children from the Temple that Anakin’s chest tightened painfully.

He turned away before the memory could fully form.

Asajj noticed.

Of course she did.

“You know slavers,” she said quietly.

Anakin’s hands stilled on the last set of bindings.

The prisoner he was freeing glanced between them and wisely said nothing.

Anakin broke the cuffs with a sharp twist of the Force, then stepped back. “I’m from Tatooine.”

That was all he said.

For most people, it would have meant little.

For Asajj, apparently, it was enough.

Her gaze lowered briefly to his wrist, as if imagining a collar or a transmitter scar hidden beneath the sleeve. Not pity. He didn’t think she had much use for pity. But understanding, perhaps. Or something close to it.

Then she looked away first. “Rattatak has its own chains.”

Anakin met her eyes. “I figured.”

For a moment, they stood in the middle of a ruined square with smoke rising behind them and unconscious slavers scattered across the ground, and some invisible thing passed between them. Not trust, not yet, but recognition. Two people from worlds that taught children early that survival was never guaranteed. Two people who knew exactly what it meant to hate a collar even after it was gone.

Then Asajj turned sharply and began searching the square.

Anakin frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Looking.”

“For?”

She didn’t answer.

That, unfortunately, was answer enough.

Anakin helped the last prisoner down from the transport, then followed her as she moved with increasing urgency between fallen pirates, broken crates, and the collapsed edge of the building where the Zygerrian had disappeared under stone and dust. She kicked aside a scorched piece of metal, crouched near a smear of disturbed sand, then stood again with her jaw clenched. Her hands were steady, but Anakin could feel the panic beneath the surface now. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. Focused into something thin and dangerous.

Then she stopped.

At first Anakin didn’t see why.

Then he noticed the hilt lying half-buried beneath debris near the edge of the square.

A lightsaber.

Not hers.

Asajj went very still.

Anakin felt the air leave her before she moved. She crossed the distance quickly, dropped to one knee, and reached for it with a care that looked almost painful. The hilt was worn, practical, older than most Temple designs, scarred from years of use and repair. Anakin didn’t know Narec well, not really, but he knew a Jedi’s weapon when he saw one that had been loved. Maintained. Trusted. Carried.

Asajj closed her fingers around it.

For one fragile second, she looked nineteen.

Not sharp.

Not dangerous.

Just young.

Then her expression hardened.

“They took him.”

Anakin crouched beside her. “Or he dropped it during the fight.”

She gave him a look so fierce it could have cut stone. “My Master would not leave his lightsaber behind unless he was taken or dead.”

Anakin didn’t argue.

Because she was right.

The bond flickered again, and this time he caught something more clearly. Obi-Wan. Still alive. Still guarded. Not far, but not here. Beneath? No, not beneath exactly. Lower. Enclosed. Loud emotions all around him, violence and anticipation and hunger for spectacle.

Anakin’s eyes narrowed.

Asajj saw his expression change. “What?”

He slowly looked toward the far side of town, where the buildings rose higher and the streets began to slope downward toward a wide carved ridge. “There’s something that way.”

Asajj followed his gaze.

Her face went pale beneath the dust.

Then furious.

“The Pitts.”

Anakin glanced at her. “A gladiator arena?”

“Arenas,” she corrected, voice tight. “Old fighting pits carved into the stone before I was ever born. Warlords use them for punishment, entertainment, negotiations, executions. Pirates use them when they want to sell fighters instead of laborers.” Her fingers tightened around Narec’s lightsaber. “If they took two Jedi alive, that is where they would bring them.”

Anakin’s blood went cold.

Two Jedi alive.

Obi-Wan and Narec.

The thought of Obi-Wan in an arena made something violent surge behind his ribs so fast he had to clamp down on it.

Asajj noticed that too.

Her eyes narrowed. “You are very angry for someone who claims to be a Temple Padawan.”

Anakin looked at her. Then, because apparently the day had not been terrible enough, he smiled.

It was not a nice smile.

“And you’re very suspicious for someone who just cut off a man’s arm.”

“He was aiming at you.”

“Still counts.”

“He was also aiming at prisoners.”

“Also counts.”

Her mouth twitched once, against her will.

Anakin pointed toward the ridge. “We need to move.”

Asajj clipped Narec’s lightsaber carefully to her belt beside her own and rose. “We?”

“You know the town. I can sense Obi-Wan.”

“I don’t need a child slowing me down.”

“I just took out half the square.”

“With a blaster and bad temper.”

“And the Force.”

“And bad temper,” she repeated.

Anakin glared.

She looked unimpressed.

It was, horribly, a little like arguing with an older sister he had never asked for.

He hated how quickly that thought formed.

Asajj started walking.

Anakin hurried after her.

“I’m not a child.”

“You are short.”

“I’m twelve.”

“That explains the height.”

“I’m going to be tall.”

“Everyone says that.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Anakin scowled at the back of her head. “I don’t like you.”

“You talk too much to dislike me.”

“I talk too much in general.”

“At least you know your flaws.”

“I know yours too.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

He grinned sharply. “You’re rude.”

Asajj stared at him for a beat.

Then, unbelievably, she laughed once.

It was brief.

Rough.

Almost startled out of her.

Then it was gone, buried under urgency as they reached the edge of the square and slipped into the narrower streets leading toward the Pits.

Behind them, the freed prisoners scattered into hiding, dragging the injured with them. Around them, Rattatak’s fear pressed close again, old and heavy and familiar. Ahead, the bond tugged faintly through interference and stone.

Padmé stared up at the weathered apartment building.

It was somehow smaller than she remembered.

Or perhaps she had simply been younger the last time she stood in Mos Espa.

The upper levels overlooked much of the city, rusted walkways connecting apartments built from old durasteel and salvaged machinery. The building creaked softly beneath the desert wind.

Sabé glanced toward the narrow staircase.

"Charming."

Padmé snorted.

"You're impossible."

"I learned from the best."

Together they climbed the stairs.

The higher they went, the quieter things became. The sounds of the marketplace faded into distant noise. Fewer people lived this high up. Fewer merchants. Fewer visitors.

Eventually they stopped before a simple metal door.

Padmé found herself unexpectedly nervous.

Three years.

Three years since she had seen Shmi Skywalker.

Three years since a frightened slave woman had entrusted her son to strangers and watched him leave his home forever.

Padmé raised a hand and knocked.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then Padmé heard movement from inside the apartment. Metal feet against durasteel flooring. A familiar mechanical whir. The door slid open.

A protocol droid stood in the doorway.

Not the skeletal collection of exposed wiring and mismatched parts she remembered from years ago, but an actual droid now. His plating was old and worn, silver dulled by years of desert sand and countless repairs. Tiny scratches covered nearly every panel, and one arm appeared slightly different in color than the rest, as though it had been replaced at some point. He looked older somehow, despite being a machine.

The droid blinked.

"Oh dear. May I help yo—"

Padmé's eyes widened.

No.

Surely not.

"Threepio?"

The droid froze completely.

For several seconds his processors seemed to stop functioning.

Then his photoreceptors widened dramatically.

"Miss Padmé?!"

Padmé laughed in disbelief.

"Oh my stars, it is you."

"Miss Padmé!" Threepio practically squeaked. "It really is you! I thought perhaps I was malfunctioning! Oh, this is wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! Mistress Shmi will never believe—"

Before he could finish, another voice drifted from deeper inside the apartment.

"Threepio? Who's at the door?"

The sound of approaching footsteps followed.

Then Shmi Skywalker appeared.

Time seemed to stop.

The older woman's eyes landed on Padmé and immediately widened. Surprise flashed across her face, followed by disbelief, then something warmer.

"Padmé?"

Padmé smiled.

"Hello, Shmi."

For a moment neither moved. Then Shmi crossed the room quickly and pulled Padmé into a tight embrace.

"Oh, child."

Padmé hugged her back .

When they finally pulled apart, Shmi brushed at her eyes and laughed softly.

"Look at you. All grown up."

Padmé smiled, suddenly feeling far younger than a former queen and future senator ought to.

Then she remembered she wasn't alone.

"Oh." She stepped aside and glanced toward Sabé. "Shmi, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Shmi's attention shifted to the woman standing patiently beside her.

For a moment she looked puzzled.

Sabé offered a polite nod.

Padmé hesitated, realizing the explanation was more complicated than she'd expected.

"This is Sabé."

"Hello," Sabé said warmly.

Shmi smiled back. "It's nice to meet you."

Padmé rubbed the back of her neck.

"She was... one of my handmaidens."

Sabé snorted. "That's one way to describe it."

Shmi looked between them.

Padmé sighed.

"She was also my bodyguard."

"And occasionally the queen of Naboo," Sabé added helpfully.

Shmi blinked. "The queen?"

"Only when Padmé needed to be somewhere else."

Understanding slowly dawned across Shmi's face.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh."

"Yes," Padmé said.

"Oh."

"There was a lot happening at the time."

For a moment Shmi simply stared.

Then she laughed.

"Well. No wonder I never met you properly."

"It wasn't personal," Sabé assured her.

"I should hope not."

Padmé shook her head fondly.

"Sabé spent years protecting me from assassins, politicians, kidnappers, and my own terrible ideas."

"Mostly the last one."

"Rude."

"Accurate."

Shmi's smile softened as she watched them.

"And now?"

Padmé glanced at Sabé.

The answer came easily.

"Now she's my friend."

Sabé looked briefly surprised before her expression gentled.

"We're still stuck with each other."

"Apparently."

"Someone has to keep an eye on you."

Shmi laughed again.

"Then I'm very glad she came."

Sabé inclined her head.

"So am I."

For the first time since arriving, Padmé felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Somehow introducing Sabé as a friend felt more honest than any title either of them had ever carried.

Shmi stepped aside and gestured them inside.

"Come in before the suns melt all of us."

The apartment was modest but comfortable. Small pieces of scrap machinery had been repurposed into furniture. Everything was neat and carefully maintained. Threepio immediately busied himself preparing refreshments, proudly explaining every improvement he had made to the apartment over the years while Sabé listened with barely concealed amusement.

Once everyone was seated, the conversation flowed naturally. They spoke of Naboo, of travel, of how much Mos Espa had changed and somehow remained exactly the same. Padmé found herself relaxing as the years seemed to melt away.

Eventually, though, Shmi asked the question she had clearly been waiting to ask from the moment she had opened the door.

"How is Anakin?"

The warmth in her voice made Padmé's chest ache.

Shmi had not seen her son in three years. Padmé couldn't image what it was like to never have any contact with their own child. No visits or no holocalls.

Padmé swallowed. Not wanting to lie but she didn't know how to tell the truth either. "He's well," she said carefully. "From what I've heard, he's doing well with his training."

Shmi's face brightened immediately.

"He is?"

Padmé nodded. "I don't know very much, honestly. The Jedi keep their students rather busy, and I haven't seen him since Naboo."

That wasn't entirely true anymore, not after receiving his letter, but it was close enough.

"I've heard he's a very dutiful Padawan," she continued. "Dedicated to his studies. Working hard to become a Jedi."

Shmi smiled softly at that.

"That sounds like Anakin."

Padmé couldn't help smiling in return.

"And his Master?"

Padmé hesitated. "Obi-Wan?"

This time Shmi looked confused as she shook her head. "No, Master Qui-Gon."

The room immediately fell silent.

Padmé felt her stomach sink.

Of course Shmi would ask.

The last time she had seen Qui-Gon Jinn, he had promised to watch over Anakin. To train him. To help him. There was no way the older woman would know what his fate as been. 

The smile faded from Padmé's face.

Across from her, Shmi immediately understood.

"Oh."

The single word carried so much.

Padmé lowered her eyes.

"Master Qui-Gon died shortly after. we left Tatooine," Padmé continued quietly. "During the battle on Naboo."

For a long moment nobody spoke.

Then Shmi nodded slowly.

"I see."

Her voice was calm, but sadness lingered there. "Qui-Gon was a good man." A small smile touched Shmi's face, before she smiled sadly. "I hope he's at peace now." She looked upward briefly. "Rest well in Amarahn, Jedi."

Padmé wasn't entirely sure whether Amarahn was a Tatooinian belief or something Shmi had learned from travelers over the years, but the sincerity in her voice made something tighten in Padmé's chest.

"I think he'd like that," Padmé said softly.

The conversation slowly recovered after that, but Padmé knew she couldn't delay forever. She had come here for a reason.

She sat forward.

"Shmi, there's something I to talk with you about."

The older woman looked up.

Padmé took a breath.

"The reason I'm here is because of Anakin."

Immediately Shmi smiled.

"I guessed."

"He asked me for help."

The smile faded slightly.

Padmé reached into her satchel and removed a datapad.

"He worries about you."

"Padmé-"

"He worries about all of you."

She thought of the letter.

The hastily added lines squeezed into the margins.

His mother.

Kitster.

Wald.

The people he had left behind.

Padmé looked directly at Shmi.

"And I want to help."

The older woman immediately shook her head. "No."

Padmé blinked. "No?"

"No."

Shmi folded her arms. "Absolutely not."

Sabé immediately looked interested.

Threepio looked alarmed.

Padmé frowned.

"Shmi-"

"No."

"You haven't even heard my plan."

"That is exactly what worries me."

Sabé covered a laugh with her hand.

Padmé looked accusingly at her. "Don't encourage this."

Sabé looked away to not try and not encourage it.

Shmi smiled despite herself. Then her expression softened.

"You've always had a good heart, Padmé."

The words were gentle, but there was concern behind them.

Shmi leaned forward slightly.

"When we met, you crossed half the galaxy to help your people. You walked into danger without a second thought. And now you've come all the way back here because you're worried about a boy you haven't seen in years."

Padmé opened her mouth.

Shmi raised a hand.

"See? That's exactly what I mean." Shmi watched her for a moment before her smile softened again. "I know why you're here and I know why Anakin asked."

The older woman looked down at her hands.

"He's always worried about everyone else."

A familiar ache settled in Padmé's chest.

Yes.

That sounded exactly like little Ani.

Shmi looked back up. "But that doesn't mean I want either of you getting hurt because of me."

There was no anger in her voice, just worry. The kind of worry only a mother could have.

"Padmé," she said quietly, "you've already done more for my son than I could ever repay. You don't owe us anything."

Padmé met her gaze.

Maybe she didn't owe them.

But that wasn't why she was here.

And judging by the stubborn look beginning to form on Shmi's face, convincing her of that was going to be far more difficult than buying a slave from Watto.

Padmé felt her resolve harden.

"I can buy your freedom."

The room went silent as everyone stared at her. Padmé pressed on. "I have the credits."

"Padmé."

"I can help."

"You could get into trouble."

"I'll manage."

"You shouldn't be risking yourself for me."

Padmé's eyes flashed. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not your responsibility."

"No," Padmé said quietly. "You're Anakin's family."

Something shifted in Shmi's expression. Padmé continued. "He can't be here." The words hung heavily between them. "He wants to be. I know he does. But he can't."

She swallowed as she continued. "And it's not just you."

Shmi frowned slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Kitster. Wald. The others." Padmé spread her hands. "Anakin asked about all of them. He worries about all of you."

A look of understanding crossed Shmi's face.

"Oh, Padmé..."

"No." Padmé sat forward. "What's the point of becoming a senator if I can't help people? What's the point of any of this if I see people suffering and do nothing?"

Sabé's expression softened.

Threepio made a small approving noise.

Shmi, however, only sighed.

"Even if I agreed, it wouldn't be that simple."

Padmé blinked.

"Why not?"

"Because Kitster and Wald belong to different masters. So do most of the others." Shmi shook her head. "You might be able to buy one person's freedom, perhaps two, but you can't simply walk into Mos Espa and free everyone Anakin ever cared about."

Padmé opened her mouth, then closed it again.

That was true.

The problem wasn't one slave.

It was dozens of owners scattered across the city.

For a moment she sat in thought.

Then slowly, a smile spread across her face.

Sabé immediately groaned.

"Oh no."

Shmi narrowed her eyes.

"What?"

Padmé looked up.

"I have an idea."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," Sabé muttered.

Threepio looked positively terrified.

"Miss Padmé's ideas have historically produced a great deal of excitement and property damage."

"I do not cause property damage."

Sabé raised an eyebrow.

"Theed Palace."

"That was one time."

"It was an entire hangar."

Shmi looked between them, suddenly suspicious.

"Padmé."

Padmé's smile only widened.

"I said I had an idea."

Which, judging by everyone's expressions, was somehow much worse than saying she had a plan.

The tunnels beneath Rattatak were older than the settlement above them.

Anakin had realized that almost immediately.

They weren't natural, at least not entirely. Some passages had clearly been carved by water or shifting stone thousands of years ago, but others bore tool marks, old supports, collapsed arches, and broken walls half-swallowed by rock. Entire sections looked as though people had once lived there, not simply passed through. Asajj moved through them like someone who had spent most of her life memorizing which shadows were safe and which ones had teeth. She never hesitated at turns, never needed to stop and check markings, never looked back to see if Anakin was following. He followed anyway, because he was stubborn, because Obi-Wan was somewhere ahead of them, and because every time he reached through the bond all he felt was that same muffled presence buried beneath layers of stone, noise, and interference. Alive. Still alive. That had to be enough for now.

The place Asajj brought him to was not a home in any way the Temple would have recognized. It was part of an old abandoned city carved into the rock, far below the surface, where broken towers rose from the cavern floor and empty windows stared into darkness like hollow eyes. Bridges crossed gaps between half-collapsed structures. Old lamps, repaired and repurposed, cast dim amber light across stone walkways. Tarps had been stretched between crumbling walls to keep dust from falling onto sleeping areas. There were crates of supplies, water containers, a few weapons racks, and signs of careful repairs everywhere. Not comfortable. Not safe, exactly. But lived in, claimed.

Anakin understood it immediately.

Asajj and Narec had built a life here.

Not a normal one, trying to make it a good one.

They stopped in a smaller chamber off the main cavern, where a battered table had been set up near a heating unit that buzzed every few seconds like it was considering death as a serious option. Asajj shoved a cup of water toward him, then dropped into a seat opposite him and drank from her own like she had forgotten thirst existed until that moment. For several minutes neither of them spoke. The silence was not peaceful, but it was less sharp than before. They were both breathing hard from the run through the tunnels, both coated in dust, both pretending they were resting instead of impatiently waiting until their bodies were useful again.

“There are no tunnels directly into the Pits,” Asajj said eventually, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Not ones I know. The warlords collapsed most of the old entrances years ago. They wanted control over who came in and out.”

Anakin leaned back against the stone wall and frowned into his cup. “There are always tunnels.”

Asajj gave him a flat look. “Spoken like someone who has never lived here.”

“Spoken like someone who grew up on Tatooine,” Anakin shot back. “If there’s stone, someone dug through it. If there’s a locked door, someone made another way around. If there’s a place rich people don’t want you getting into, there’s definitely a tunnel.”

For a moment Asajj only stared at him. Then her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough that Anakin counted it as a victory.

“You sound very sure of yourself for someone who got lost following me twice.”

“I didn’t get lost.”

“You turned the wrong way.”

“I was checking if you noticed.”

“I noticed.”

“Good. Then it worked.”

“You are unbearable.”

“I’ve been told that too.”

That earned him a quiet snort. The sound was so brief he might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching her, but he was, because there was something painfully familiar about her. Not the future version of her. Not Dooku’s assassin. This girl. This Padawan. This almost-adult who had grown up too hard and too fast, who sat with one shoulder angled toward the door and one hand never far from her lightsaber, who looked like she had learned trust in tiny pieces and guarded each one like stolen food.

Anakin blinked suddenly.

“Oh.”

Asajj’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I never introduced myself.”

She stared.

Anakin straightened slightly, then gave an awkward little half-wave that made him immediately want to throw himself into the nearest pit. “Anakin Skywalker.”

Asajj continued staring at him for a long moment, then slowly said, “Asajj.”

No last name.

The absence sat between them more heavily than Anakin expected.

Then her expression shifted.

“Skywalker?” she asked.

Anakin braced himself automatically, because people usually had something to say about his name. Most of it involved prophecy, whispers, or the Council looking at him like he was either the answer to every prayer they had ever made or a problem they intended to solve later.

But Asajj tilted her head and said, “Isn’t that your god on Tatooine?”

Anakin froze.

For a second, he didn’t understand the question.

Then he did.

And something old and buried inside him opened like a door.

Not Jedi old.

Not Sith old.

Home old.

“Ekkreth,” he said quietly.

Asajj leaned back slightly, watching him. “That’s the one.”

Anakin stared down at the cup in his hands. The water inside trembled faintly, and he realized his fingers had tightened around it. He hadn’t thought about Ekkreth in years. Decades. Not really. Not as something that belonged to him. The Temple had taken his name and filed it under language, culture, background, unusual Outer Rim slave traditions, then moved on. The galaxy had taken Skywalker and made it prophecy. Vader had taken it and buried it. Luke had carried it like hope. Leia surely would want nothing to do with it. And Anakin himself had somehow forgotten that before any of that, before the Jedi and the Sith and the war and the Empire, his name had been his mother’s choice.

His mother’s joke.

His mother’s prayer.

“Ekkreth is the Trickster,” he said, voice softer than he meant it to be. “Liberator of Chains. They don’t have one form. Or one gender. Some stories say they’re one of Ar-Amu’s children. Some say they were born from the first slave who lied successfully to a Depur and lived.” His mouth curved faintly despite himself. “Nobody tells it the same way twice.”

Asajj was quiet now. Not mocking. Listening.

Anakin swallowed and kept going, because the words felt strange but good in his mouth. “Ekkreth doesn’t beat the Depur by being stronger. That’s not the point. Hutts are stronger. Slavers have money, guards, chains, collars, bombs. Ekkreth wins by being clever. By changing shape. By stealing keys. By making the master believe the door is locked when it isn’t. By making a whole palace chase a shadow while the slaves walk out the back.”

“Sounds useful,” Asajj said.

Anakin huffed a laugh. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

“And Skywalker?”

His fingers brushed over the rim of the cup. Water- the most sacred thing of his homeworld. “Ekkreth roughly means Sky-Walker. Or star-stepper, depending on the dialect. Slaves without last names sometimes took versions of it when they were freed or to have ownership of something. Stardancer. Sunrunner. Sandtwirler. Things like that.” His smile softened, and for once the pain that came with thinking of his mother did not arrive alone. There was warmth too. “My mother just took the most literal translation.”

Asajj studied him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Your mother named you after a god who frees slaves through tricks.”

Anakin shrugged, but his throat felt tight. “My mother had a sense of humor.”

“She sounds interesting.”

“She was..” The words came out immediately. No hesitation. “She is-  She's the best person I ever knew.” Alive, alive, alive- he had to remind himself.

For once, Asajj didn’t reply with a sharp comment. She only looked away, toward the dim cavern beyond the room, where the broken city rose in shadows around them.

“I don’t have a last name,” she said after a while.

Anakin looked at her.

She said it like it didn’t matter. Like she had thrown it out carelessly. But the Force shifted around her, just a little, and he knew better.

“No?”

“No.” Her thumb brushed over the hilt at her belt. Narec’s lightsaber rested beside her own now, close enough that her hand could reach it without thought. “Names are not always kept here. Sometimes they are sold. Sometimes they are taken. Sometimes they are too dangerous to carry.” Her mouth twisted. “My Master said I could choose one someday if I wanted.”

Anakin thought of the name the galaxy would one day know.

Ventress.

Sharp. Elegant. Dangerous.

Not birth name.

Chosen, perhaps.

Or given later by someone else.

He wondered suddenly whether Dooku had given it to her. Whether she had taken it herself. Whether it had been armor.

He didn’t ask. She couldn't even answer him if he did.

Instead, he looked down at the two orange crystals in the pouch at his belt, feeling their warmth even through the cloth. “Names can be a lot.”

Asajj’s eyes flicked back to him. “That sounds like Jedi wisdom.”

“No, that sounds like me avoiding saying something stupid.”

“That would be new.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

Anakin opened his mouth to fire back, but the words died before they formed.

There it was again.

That sensation.

The subtle pull at the edge of his awareness.

He went completely still.

The old city around them did not change. The heating unit continued buzzing. Dust drifted from the cavern ceiling. Somewhere far off, water dripped steadily into stone. But beneath all of it, through the Force, something stirred. Not dangerous. Not exactly. Present. Layered. A pressure beneath the world, as if thousands of voices were speaking at once from behind thick glass. Determination. Fear. Resolve. Loss. The same impressions from before, but stronger here. Much stronger.

Asajj noticed him freeze immediately. “What?”

Anakin slowly stood. “You feel that?”

Her expression changed.

For the first time since he’d met her, she looked uncertain.

“You feel it too?”

“Yeah.”

Asajj rose more slowly. “I have always felt it.”

Anakin turned toward the cavern wall, his gaze narrowing. “From here?”

“From everywhere.” She stepped beside him, following his stare. “Some days stronger. Some days not. I could never find where it came from. My Master couldn’t feel it.”

That made Anakin’s frown deepen. “Narec couldn’t?”

“No.”

Interesting.

Very interesting.

And probably bad.

Anakin reached out carefully, brushing the edge of the sensation. It answered not like a person, not like a crystal, but like an old wound remembering it had once been open. The pull sharpened, tugging him toward the far end of the chamber.

“This way,” he said.

Asajj crossed her arms. “That is a wall.”

“Not all walls stay walls.”

“That sounds like something someone says right before walking into one.”

Anakin shot her a look. “Do you want to find out what it is or not?”

“I want to rescue my Master.”

“So do I.”

The words landed harder than either of them expected.

Asajj’s expression tightened.

Then she grabbed a lamp from the table. “Fine. Lead the way, Sky-Walker.”

The way she said it, split just slightly like the old stories, made something warm and strange flicker inside him.

He ignored it and followed the pull.

It led them through the abandoned city, across a narrow bridge, down a set of broken stairs, and into a section of cavern Asajj clearly disliked. The air became colder there. Older. The walls were smoother, less natural, carved with lines so faint that only the angled lamplight revealed them. The pull grew stronger with every step until Anakin could feel it beneath his skin, vibrating against the two crystals at his belt. Asajj walked behind him without speaking now, her green lightsaber unlit but ready in one hand, Narec’s hilt gripped in the other like a promise.

Eventually, the passage ended.

A flat stone wall blocked their path.

Anakin stopped.

Asajj stepped up beside him.

Then looked at the wall.

Then at him.

Then back at the wall.

“Well,” she said dryly. “That was inspiring.”

Anakin ignored her and moved closer.

“It’s a door.”

“It is a wall.”

“It’s a door.”

“Does it open?”

“Most doors do.”

“Not this one.”

He crouched, running his fingers along the lower edge of the stone. There were seams there, almost invisible beneath centuries of dust and mineral buildup. Not mechanical in the modern sense, but not purely Force-locked either. A hybrid mechanism. Counterweights, pressure plates, rotational stone pins, and something else. Something that responded to touch through the Force. Ancient Jedi engineering. Or Sith. Or both, which was never comforting.

Asajj leaned against the opposite wall. “Should I come back after you finish flirting with the architecture?”

Anakin snorted. “You mock now, but when I open this, you’ll be impressed.”

“I will be shocked.”

“Same thing.”

“It is not.”

He grinned despite himself. Then the grin faded as he focused.

The mechanism was damaged. Not broken, but warped by time. One internal pin had locked out of alignment. A pressure channel had collapsed. The Force-trigger was still intact, though faint. Dormant. Waiting for the right sequence. Anakin closed his eyes and pictured the pieces behind the wall, not seeing them exactly, but feeling the shape of them. Machines made sense. Even ancient ones. Especially ancient ones. Everything wanted to move a certain way. You just had to listen.

He pressed one hand to the stone, reached through the Force, and twisted.

Deep inside the wall, something clicked.

Asajj straightened.

Another click followed.

Then a low grinding sound rolled through the passage.

Dust spilled from overhead.

The wall split down the center.

Asajj stared.

Anakin looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Shocked?”

“I am reconsidering several assumptions.”

“Same thing.”

The door opened into darkness.

The sensation beyond it hit them like a storm.

Anakin staggered.

Asajj swore under her breath.

The Force inside was enormous. Not alive, not exactly, but crowded. Heavy with so many impressions that Anakin’s knees almost buckled beneath the weight of them. Fear. Rage. Courage. Pain. Loyalty. Hatred. Sacrifice. Thousands of moments, thousands of deaths, all pressed into the stone until the chamber beyond felt less like a place and more like a memory that had never ended.

They stepped through.

The passage opened into an underground battlefield.

Anakin stopped breathing.

The cavern was massive, far larger than anything above it suggested. Broken pillars rose from the ground like shattered bones. Cracked statues lay half-buried in dust. Old scorch marks scarred stone barricades. Rusted armor fragments littered the floor. Here and there, ancient lightsaber hilts rested where their owners had fallen, untouched for centuries. And everywhere, faintly glowing through cracks in metal and stone, crystals cried.

Not loud.

Not like Ilum.

Not like his own crystals.

This was grief.

Kyber grief.

Hundreds of crystals, maybe more, trapped in dead hilts, broken weapons, abandoned blades, all singing faintly through the Force in voices too tangled for most to hear. Jedi. Sith. Light and dark and everything broken between them. A battlefield where the war had ended but the weapons had never been laid to rest.

Anakin’s throat tightened.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Asajj looked at him sharply. “What?”

He couldn’t explain it. Not all of it. Not quickly. “The crystals.”

Her face shifted. “What crystals?”

“In the sabers.” Anakin slowly moved forward, careful not to step on anything that might have been bone beneath the dust. “They’re still here.”

Asajj looked around the battlefield again, and this time her expression changed with understanding, or at least the beginning of it. “That is what I’ve been feeling?”

“I think so.” Anakin swallowed. “Some of it.”

Ahead, beyond the battlefield, rose a temple.

Small compared to Ilum’s structure, but unmistakably Jedi in its bones. Or it had been once. Its entrance was cracked, one side collapsed, its symbols worn by time and violence. Sith markings had been carved over some of the older designs, then cut away by lightsaber burns. A place taken, retaken, defiled, defended, lost.

Together, they walked toward it.

Inside, the air felt colder.

At the center of the temple stood a broken holoprojector.

Anakin stared at it.

Asajj looked at him. “Can you fix it?”

He almost said probably. Then remembered who he was and said, “Yes.”

It took ten minutes, three muttered curses, and one borrowed tool from Asajj’s belt that she insisted was not meant for delicate repairs. But eventually the projector sparked, whined, and flickered to life.

A blue figure appeared.

A Jedi Temple Guard.

Anakin recognized the robes immediately. The mask. The posture. The double-bladed saberstaff held in one hand, though one emitter had been damaged. The recording stuttered badly, static tearing through the image.

“-to the Council,” the Guard said, voice distorted. “This is Sentinel Vhar. Rattatak outpost compromised. Sith forces breached the lower city. We have civilians in the western shelters and wounded in the sanctum. Our numbers are-” Static. The image fractured. “‘cannot hold the eastern gate another night.”

Asajj stared at the projection, face unreadable.

The Guard continued, flickering in and out. “We have sealed the lower passages, but the Sith have brought war beasts through the southern tunnels. Padawan groups evacuated into the caves. Unknown survivors.” The Guard’s head turned, as if reacting to something off-screen. Distant explosions crackled through the recording. “If this reaches Coruscant, we require aid. Not tomorrow. Not after deliberation. Now.”

Anakin’s stomach twisted.

Hundreds of years old. Maybe more.

And still the plea sounded immediate.

The projection glitched violently. For one second, the Temple Guard looked directly at them. Or through them. “We are not enough. But we will hold while we can. May the Force be with us.”

The recording cut out.

Silence filled the temple.

Asajj’s fingers had tightened around Narec’s lightsaber.

“They never came,” she said.

Anakin looked at the dead projector. “Maybe they couldn’t.”

“That is a Jedi answer.”

“No.” His voice was quieter now. “It’s a war answer.”

She glanced at him.

Anakin stared at the battlefield outside the cracked temple doors. “There were wars between Jedi and Sith that lasted generations. Whole worlds became battlefields. Some outposts were lost before messages reached anyone. Some messages reached the Council too late. Sometimes the Council made the wrong decision. Sometimes there wasn’t a right one.” He swallowed, thinking of the Clone Wars, of planets they hadn’t reached in time, of distress calls buried under a thousand others. “The Sith used that. They always did. They understood that if you made enough fires, even the Jedi couldn’t put them all out.”

Asajj looked back toward the projector. “So they were abandoned.”

Anakin didn’t answer immediately.

Because he knew what abandonment felt like. He knew what excuses sounded like afterward. Finally he said, “Maybe.”

The word sat heavily between them.

Asajj moved first.

Not toward the door.

Toward the side of the temple.

Anakin felt it as soon as she did.

A pull.

Not his.

Hers.

Asajj’s steps slowed. Her expression changed from suspicion to confusion to something almost vulnerable. She moved past cracked stone benches and fallen debris, into a small alcove where a Temple Guard’s body had long since become part of the dust. His armor remained, brittle with age. Beside him lay a saberstaff.

Asajj crouched before it.

For once, she didn’t make a joke. Neither did Anakin.

Her hand hovered over the hilt.

The Force around them trembled.

Then, carefully, she picked it up.

A sound moved through the temple.

Soft.

Golden.

A kyber crystal waking after centuries of waiting.

Asajj inhaled sharply.

Anakin felt the connection form.

Not like his own crystals had, warm and steady. Hers struck like recognition. Like a name finally spoken correctly. Like a door opening inside a person who had spent years sleeping beside it without knowing.

Asajj stared at the old hilt.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “This is mine.”

Anakin smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

“I’ve felt it my whole life.”

“I think it’s been calling to you.”

Her jaw tightened. “My lightsaber now… Master Narec and I found the crystal in a market. A trader had it among junk. He said it was pretty.” Her mouth twisted with old disgust. “I built around it.”

“That crystal chose you too,” Anakin said. “Maybe not the same way. But it stayed with you.”

Asajj looked at him, as if the idea had not occurred to her and she didn’t know what to do with it.

Then she looked back at the Temple Guard’s weapon.

Her thumb found the activation.

Yellow light filled the alcove.

The blade was bright, warm, unmistakable. But the hilt did not stop at one blade. With a twist of Asajj’s wrist, the weapon split cleanly in half, two shorter hilts separating where the central grip had been hidden in the mechanism. Twin yellow blades hummed in her hands.

Modern saberstaffs usually didn’t do that. They couldn't be separate to his knowledge.

Asajj stared.

Then she moved, not a kata. Just a testing motion.

The twin blades spun around her in smooth arcs, catching golden light against the broken temple walls. She shifted her grip, crossed them, separated them, turned one blade backward and the other forward with instinctive ease. The weapon suited her so completely that Anakin felt something in his chest settle.

Like the Force had been waiting for this too.

Asajj stopped, breathing slightly harder, eyes bright in the yellow glow.

Anakin smiled.

“Yellow is a good color on you.”

She stared at him.

Then looked away too quickly.

“Do not be sentimental.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe a little.”

“I dislike it.”

“No, you don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I could still leave you here.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You like me.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“Sure you don't.”

Asajj glared at him like she was strongly considering violence.

Then, with aggressive reluctance, she extinguished her old green lightsaber and held it out hilt-first.

Anakin’s grin faded.

He looked at it.

Then at her.

“You sure?”

Her expression sharpened again, but there was something softer beneath it now. “You have no weapon. I have two.”

“I have a blaster.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“I’m very good with it.”

“That is less reassuring.”

He snorted and accepted the hilt carefully.

The green crystal inside hummed faintly. Not his. Not the way his orange crystals were. But willing enough. Trusting enough, maybe because Asajj trusted him just enough to hand it over.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

She looked away. “Do not lose it.”

“I won’t.”

“If you break it-”

“I won’t.”

“If you die holding it-”

“I’ll try not to.”

“That was not comforting.”

“You’re the one who brought up dying.”

She huffed and turned away, but her shoulders had lost some of their tension.

Then the battlefield shifted.

Not physically.

In the Force.

Both of them turned at the same time.

At the far side of the temple, behind a collapsed section of wall, a narrow passage had opened. Or maybe it had always been there, hidden beneath shadow and debris until the old saber woke. A current of air moved through it, carrying distant sound.

Not voices exactly.

But something close.

A roar.

Crowds.

Metal.

The Pits.

Asajj’s eyes sharpened.

Anakin tightened his grip around the borrowed green lightsaber.

The bond pulsed faintly.

Obi-Wan.

Asajj clipped one yellow blade at each hip and stared into the newly revealed tunnel.

“Looks like you were right,” she said.

Anakin blinked. “About what?”

“There are always tunnels.”

He smiled despite everything.

“Told you.”

She rolled her eyes and started forward.

Anakin followed, green lightsaber in hand, orange crystals warm at his belt, and the buried battlefield behind them finally a little quieter than before.

Padmé bought Shmi Skywalker just before sundown.

She did it wearing a mask.

Not anything dramatic, not the sort of thing a queen or senator would wear for ceremony, but a practical desert covering that hid most of her face beneath wrapped cloth and shaded lenses. Sabé stood behind her in equally plain clothing, quiet and watchful, every inch the hired guard she was pretending to be. Watto did not recognize her. He barely looked at her, in truth, too busy complaining about the state of the market, the rising cost of parts, and how much trouble it was to sell a slave who was “practically family,” as if the word meant anything in his mouth. 

Padmé kept her hands still at her sides. She kept her voice lower than usual. She did not let herself look at Shmi too long, because if she did, if she looked too openly at the woman who had once sheltered her and fed her and asked nothing in return, she was afraid her face would betray her. So she let Watto talk. She let him haggle. She let him laugh. Then she paid him more than Shmi was worth by market standards and less than Shmi was worth by any standard that mattered, and when the transaction was done, Watto grumbled about paperwork and fetched the scanner.

Shmi stood very still when he approached her with the device. Padmé had every part of her attention sharpened until the whole world narrowed to Watto’s hand, the scanner, and the place it moved over Shmi’s body. Each enslaved person had a transmitter chip hidden somewhere different. Padmé had known that already, but knowing and seeing were not the same.

 Watto passed the scanner over Shmi’s arm first, then her spine, then her shoulder. Nothing. The device gave only a faint low hum. He muttered, impatient, and moved it toward the side of her neck, beneath the edge of her hair. The scanner chirped. A soft, ugly little sound. Padmé’s stomach tightened. Watto pressed the device there, activating something with a click. Shmi’s breath hitched, only barely, but Padmé heard it. The scanner gave a sharper tone as it covered the chip and confirmed its location, and Padmé memorized the exact spot. Right side of the neck, just below the hairline. She made no movement. She said nothing. But inside her mind, she marked it like a target.

That night, after Shmi had been taken aboard the ship and given clean water, soft clothing, and several hours to sit with the impossible fact that she was free, she left again to speak to the others. 

She went to people she trusted first, then people they trusted, one whispered chain at a time. Sabé stole Watto’s scanner before the shop closed, lifting it from a shelf while the Toydarian cursed at a broken compressor and never once looked behind him. By moonrise, Padmé, Sabé, Shmi, and Threepio had a list of homes, slave quarters, workshops, storage rooms, and hidden alcoves where people could be reached without waking too much of the town. They began with the slave complexes. 

Those were the easiest and the worst. Too many bodies in too little space, too many people sleeping lightly because people who were owned never truly slept deeply. Shmi moved among them like a blessing and a warning, touching shoulders, whispering names, telling them not to cry out, telling them this was real, telling them Padmé could help but only if they stayed quiet. Threepio held the light with trembling golden hands. Sabé operated the scanner. Padmé removed the chips.

It took three days to get everyone. 

During the day, they hid aboard the ship. Shmi stayed with them, pale and exhausted but unwilling to rest, constantly revising the list, remembering another household, another family, another person hidden behind a workshop wall or kept in a back room by a master who liked to pretend they owned no one. 

Sabé slept in brief, controlled intervals with a blaster under her hand. Padmé barely slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the scanner chirp over Shmi’s neck, and nothing sounded. 

Every night, they went back out. Slave complexes first, then individual homes. One chip from a wrist. Another from beneath a shoulder blade. One from the fleshy part of a thigh, one from the ribs, one from behind an ear. Some came out clean. Some did not. People bit down on cloth and shook silently while Padmé worked with hands that had been trained for diplomacy and battle but never this. By the third night, her fingers were raw, her eyes burned, and the hidden pouch where they had stashed the removed chips felt heavier than any weapon she had ever carried.

There was one last home.

Shmi had been worried about it from the beginning.

The woman there was Pantoran, enslaved to a human master who had brought her to Tatooine years ago and never cared that the desert was slowly killing her. The heat had been cruel to her blue skin, cruel to her lungs, cruel to everything about her that had been made for colder air and softer light. She had two children, both half-Pantoran, both born into chains because their mother was chained. The eldest was fourteen, thin and sharp-eyed, already carrying herself like someone who had learned to stand between danger and her little brother. The youngest was four and silent, so quiet for a little boy that Padmé. Sabé found the children first in a small side room, curled together on a sleeping mat. The scanner chirped over the little boy’s upper arm. Then over the girl’s lower back. Padmé removed both chips with shaking care while Sabé held the light.

They were just about to reach their mother when a voice hissed from the window.

“What are you doing?”

Padmé turned sharply.

A Rodian teenager stared through the gap in the shutters, eyes wide and suspicious. Too young to be dangerous in the way adults were dangerous, but old enough to shout, and that was enough. Sabé moved first, but not fast enough. The Rodian yelled. 

A light snapped on in the main room. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor. The human master came out with a blaster in one hand and the detonator control in the other, face twisted with fury and fear. Padmé saw his thumb move. Saw Sabé’s eyes widen. Saw the two chips from the children lying where Sabé had placed them next to the doorway, wrapped in cloth beside the tools.

The explosion tore the doorway apart.

The master disappeared in a blast of fire and splintered wood.

For half a second Padmé thought they had been lucky.

Then the Pantoran woman screamed.

The sound cut through the ringing in Padmé’s ears more sharply than the blast itself. She turned and saw the woman collapse, one hand clamped to her side where the chip inside her body had detonated. Blood spread immediately through her clothing, dark against blue skin. The two children screamed then, both at once, the girl’s voice raw and the little boy’s terrified and animal. 

Padmé fell to her knees beside the woman, pressing both hands to the wound even though some part of her knew at once it was too bad. Too deep. Too much damage in a place no field dressing could fix quickly enough. The woman’s eyes found her daughter. She lifted one shaking hand and pulled a necklace from beneath her torn collar, pressing it toward the girl with fingers slick with blood.

The girl took it.

She was shaking so hard the chain nearly slipped from her hands.

“Go,” her mother whispered.

“No,” the girl sobbed. “No, no, no-”

“Go.”

Padmé had carried herself through battles, through invasions, and stood before the Senate chambers full of people who would let entire worlds suffer if it made them richer. None of it prepared her for pulling two children away from their dying mother. The little boy fought her, screaming, his small hands covered in blood as he reached back. The girl didn’t fight. That was worse. She let Padmé pull her up, necklace clutched in one fist, face empty with shock as Sabé grabbed the boy. Behind them, the Pantoran woman’s breathing hitched once, twice, then stopped.

By then, the town was waking.

Lights flared in nearby homes. Voices rose. Someone shouted about a blast. Someone else screamed when the stashed chips began detonating in the confusion, one after another, small explosions ripping through alleys, courtyards, sheds, and empty rooms where Padmé and Sabé had hidden them away from bodies but close enough to create chaos. The village erupted into panic. Masters woke to alarms and smoke and the sudden realization that the people they owned were gone. Padmé ran with Sabé and the two children through the back streets, keeping low, moving fast, the little boy still sobbing against Sabé’s shoulder while the girl stumbled beside Padmé with blood drying on her hands and clothes and her mother’s necklace clenched so tightly the chain cut into her palm.

At the edge of town, the others were waiting in so they all could leave in one full sweep.

Twenty-three speeders.

Too many people.

Not enough room.

But enough.

Freed slaves packed themselves onto the vehicles with very light luggage, food, water skins, fuel canisters, and whatever else they had been able to carry without slowing down. Some had nothing but the clothes they wore. Some carried sleeping children. Some carried tools. Some carried ashes or small bundles of memory. Shmi was already gone, back at the ship as planned, because if the escape failed there had to be someone ready to get anyone freed off world. Sabé climbed behind her with the little boy in her lap. The fourteen-year-old girl sat pressed against Padmé’s side, silent now, her mother’s blood on her cheek.

The speeders tore away from the village in a storm of dust.

Behind them, more explosions cracked through the night as the last of the removed chips detonated where they had been hidden, as Padme had put out at the beginning of the night. Firelight flickered over Mos Espa’s edges. Sirens wailed. People shouted. Confusion spread like wildfire, and for a precious few minutes nobody knew where to aim their anger. Then four speeders burst from the smoke behind them.

Pursuit.

Padmé saw them in the mirror and felt every part of her go cold and clear.

“Sabé.”

“I see them.”

Blaster fire split the night.

One bolt struck the ground beside them, throwing sand high into the air. Another clipped the side of a speeder two vehicles back, making it fishtail before the driver corrected. The freed people ducked low, clutching children and supplies. Padmé drew her blaster with one hand and kept the speeder steady with the other. Sabé fired first. Her shot struck the lead pursuer’s steering vane. The speeder lurched sideways and slammed into a dune hard enough to flip. Another slaver came up fast on their left. Padmé twisted in her seat, aimed, and fired three times. The third shot hit the engine.

The speeder exploded.

The light washed over them for one terrible second.

The fourteen-year-old girl didn’t flinch, didn’t even move.

That, more than anything, made Padmé’s throat tighten.

Two more pursuers remained. One was taken out by a freed man on the rear speeder who fired with the steady precision of someone who had been waiting years for permission to fight back. The last tried to pull alongside Padmé, close enough that she saw the driver’s face twisted with rage. Then Sabé shot him through the shoulder, Padmé shot the engine, and the speeder spun out into the dark.

No one cheered.

They only kept driving.

By dawn, they reached the rocky cliffs.

Padmé’s ship waited hidden among the stone, moved there during the final night for exactly this escape. The speeders arrived in staggered waves, one after another, engines whining, riders exhausted, injured, terrified, alive. 

Shmi came down the ramp before the first engine had fully died, and several people broke at the sight of her. They touched her hands, her shoulders, her face, as if confirming she was real, as if her freedom had become proof that theirs might be too. Threepio hovered near the ramp, wringing his hands and trying to count children while clearly losing track every time someone cried.

There was no time for proper goodbyes.

That was the cruelest part.

Most of the adults would not go with Padmé. They had decided before the escape even began. There were other slave quarters, other settlements, other families, other people still wearing chips beneath their skin. Tatooine had places where freed people hid, fought, smuggled, lied, stole, and survived in Ekkreth’s name. They would go there. They would join them. They would fight for more. Padmé wanted to argue. Wanted to tell them they could all come, that she would find room, that Naboo would shelter them somehow, that the Republic would have to listen if she forced the issue loudly enough. But the ship was already too small, and they knew Tatooine better than she did. They knew what chains remained.

The children were another matter.

Every single one of them were coming. 

Some parents came too. Shmi, Threepio, the two half-Pantoran children, a handful of mothers and fathers who would not be separated from the little ones clinging to them. Others knelt in front of their children and told them to be brave. Told them they would meet again. Told them lies that were also prayers. The ship became crowded beyond comfort, children squeezed into every available space with food packs, blankets, and water. The fourteen-year-old Pantoran girl sat near the ramp with her brother asleep against her side, still wearing her mother’s necklace and still covered in blood. Padmé saw Shmi sit beside her without a word and wrap an arm around both children.

At the base of the ramp, the freed adults gathered.

One woman lifted her hand, palm outward.

The others followed.

Padmé did not know the words, but Shmi had taught her enough to understand. It sounded like huttese but just a little different, as if a different diolect. Still, it was similar enough that she could still understnad it. 

“<<May those who died find peace in Amarahn,>>” one of the men said, voice rough. “<<May Kharai protect them,>>” another whispered.

“<<Ar-Amu is always with you.>>”

Shmi nodded and nodded deeply. “The Four Winds will guide you all well.”

Padmé watched for a minte before turning to Sabé, who stood beside her, face streaked with dust and blood, blaster still in hand.

The ship lifted as the twin suns rose over Tatooine, carrying too many children, too much grief, and one impossible promise into the sky.

Below, the people who stayed behind mounted their speeders again and vanished into the desert.

Not safe.

Not free in the way the Core understood freedom.

But unchained, and ready to make others unchained too.

The tunnels led them exactly where neither of them wanted to be.

Above the Pits.

The passage eventually narrowed until it opened into a series of observation alcoves carved high into the stone overlooking the massive arena below. The moment Anakin stepped out onto one of the ledges, the noise hit him like a physical blow.

Thousands of voices.

Shouting.

Cheering.

Screaming.

The sound rolled through the cavern like thunder.

The Pits occupied the center of an enormous underground chamber large enough to swallow entire city blocks. Ancient stone terraces climbed the walls in concentric circles, packed with spectators. Rusted cages hung suspended from chains. Massive banners draped from pillars. Fires burned in iron braziers, casting orange light across the arena floor and painting everything in shifting shadows.

It looked less like an arena and more like a monument to violence.

Anakin hated it immediately.

Beside him, Asajj's expression darkened.  

For several long moments neither of them spoke as they watched the arena. The noise was overwhelming. The crowd moved like a living thing, thousands of bodies packed together beneath banners stained by years of smoke and blood. Every few seconds another roar would ripple through the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls until it became impossible to tell where it had started.

Anakin hated every part of it.

There was something deeply familiar about places like this.

Not because he had ever been to the Pits specifically.

Because he had grown up around people who saw living beings as entertainment.

Asajj crouched beside the ledge and studied the arena below.

"The overseer's box."

Anakin followed her gaze.

High above the arena floor sat a large balcony enclosed behind armored transparisteel. Guards stood outside the entrances. Rich spectators occupied the surrounding platforms while servants moved between them carrying food and drinks.

In the center sat a man draped in expensive fabrics and jewelry.

Even from this distance he looked unpleasant.

"That's him?" Anakin asked.

"The Pirate King."

Anakin frowned. "That's a title?"

"Apparently."

"What does a Pirate King actually do?"

Asajj blinked. "...pirate things."

"That explains nothing."

"I know."

Anakin stared at the man again.

He somehow looked exactly like the sort of person who would call himself ‘Pirate King’.

"Right."

Asajj pointed toward the box.

"I can get there."

Anakin nodded. The viewing platform sat high above the arena and would require speed, stealth, and the ability to stab horrible people without warning. All things Asajj excelled at, even though she was young, Anakin couldn’t see her as anything else. 

Then he pointed toward the lower levels beneath the arena seating.

Rows upon rows of barred holding cells lined the walls. Slave pens. Even from here he could feel them.

Fear.

Pain.

Resignation.

Hope so faint it barely existed.

His jaw tightened.

"I'll handle the cells."

Asajj glanced toward him.

For a second she looked like she wanted to argue.

Then she saw his expression.

And didn't.

"Try not to start a war."

Anakin snorted.

"You say that like it isn't already happening."

"...fair."

For a moment neither moved.

Then Asajj extended her hand.

Anakin blinked.

She rolled her eyes.

"We're splitting up."

"Oh."

He grabbed her wrist.

She grabbed his.

Quick.

Firm.

A warrior's promise.

Then they released each other and headed in opposite directions.

The lower tunnels beneath the arena were somehow worse than the arena itself.

At least the people above could pretend the violence was entertainment.

Down here nobody bothered pretending.

The slave pens stretched beneath the terraces in long rows of iron bars and reinforced cages. Guards patrolled the corridors between them carrying shock staffs and rifles. The air smelled like sweat, fear, blood, and rust.

Anakin's stomach twisted.

A guard turned a corner.

The Force grabbed him immediately.

The man yelped as he was lifted completely off the ground and slammed headfirst into the ceiling.

His unconscious body dropped without another sound.

Anakin kept moving.

Fast.

Quiet.

Relentless.

One guard rounded a corner and saw him.

The man's eyes widened.

The blaster ripped itself from his hand before he could raise it.

The weapon reversed direction and struck him squarely across the face.

He dropped.

Another went down moments later.

Then another.

Within minutes an entire section of guards lay unconscious across the corridors.

Anakin reached the first cell.

Then the second.

Then the third.

The locks were laughably simple.

Half of them opened through mechanical release switches. The others surrendered after a little encouragement from the Force.

One by one the doors slid open.

The slaves stared.

Nobody moved.

They looked too shocked to believe it was real.

Anakin understood that feeling.

"Move," he said.

Nothing.

A small Twi'lek child blinked.

An older woman slowly stood.

"Go."

Still nobody moved.

He thought for a moment before “Uba nee' tah bolla ateema!” You need to go now. 

That, thankfully, got their attention.

The older woman’s head snapped up as if the language itself had struck her harder than any guard could have. Around her, the others reacted in smaller ways, startled looks, widening eyes, hands tightening around children and strangers alike. Huttese was not a kind language to many of them. It was the language of markets where people were weighed and priced, of threats hissed through metal collars, of bargains made over living bodies. Anakin knew that. He hated that. But it was also the language many enslaved people shared when Basic failed them, a language twisted by survival into something useful, something that could carry warnings through places where nobody cared enough to translate. So he forced his voice steady and repeated himself, sharper this time. “Uba nee' tah bolla ateema. Go now. Follow the tunnel behind me, keep left until the stone splits, then down. Do not go toward the noise. Do not stop for anything.” His eyes flicked over them quickly, cataloging injuries, counting children, checking wrists and necks and behind ears with the kind of dreadful efficiency he had learned long before the Jedi had ever found him. No transmitter bumps. No fresh surgical marks. No explosive chips under the skin. Of course not. Why waste money chipping people who were expected to die in front of a crowd?

The thought turned something in him cold and furious, but he shoved it down because anger could come later, if later existed. He moved from cell to cell, Asajj’s old green lightsaber humming in his hand as he cut through the locks that resisted the Force. The blade felt strange, not wrong exactly, but not his. It carried the imprint of another hand, another rhythm, another person’s survival. Still, it answered well enough when he asked, and for now that was all that mattered. Guards came at him in pairs after the first alarm spread through the lower corridors. One rounded the corner with a shock staff raised, and Anakin drove the hilt of the saber into his stomach before kicking his knees out from under him. Another fired wildly down the hall, and Anakin snapped the bolt aside with the blade, then yanked the rifle from the guard’s hands and sent it spinning into his helmet hard enough to drop him. He did not fight like a Temple Padawan. He knew that. He could feel it in the way some of the freed prisoners stared at him, not with awe, but with wary confusion. Too young, too small, too practiced. But there was no time to pretend to be less than he was.

The deeper he went, the more cells he opened, and the more obvious it became that Obi-Wan and Narec were not among the prisoners. He felt for his Master through the bond again, reaching carefully through the chaos above, through the roar of the arena and the panic flooding the tunnels, and found him still alive, still close, but moving now in a way that made Anakin’s breath catch. Not escaping. Being moved. Displayed. His hand clenched tighter around the borrowed saber. He caught the sleeve of a man helping an injured Rodian woman from a cell and switched back to Huttese before Basic could fail him. “The Jedi. Two Jedi. Where did they take them?” The man’s face went grey beneath the grime. He looked upward, toward the thundering crowd, and swallowed. “The floor,” he said. “They just took them to the floor. The Pirate King wanted them seen. Wanted them to fight.”

As if summoned by the words, the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena above them, amplified until dust shook loose from the ceiling. “Honored patrons! Blood-marked champions! Witness now the arrogance of peacekeepers dragged into the only truth Rattatak has ever respected!” The crowd roared so loudly the tunnel walls vibrated. Anakin was already running. He shoved the last group of freed prisoners toward the side passage he had cleared, barking instructions in Huttese as he went. “Left at the split, down through the old service tunnel, then keep moving until the air turns cold. There is a way out. If you see a blue-and-white astromech, follow him. If a very old droid scolds you, ignore him but do what he says.” That earned him a few bewildered looks, but they moved, and that was enough. He paused only long enough to sweep his senses over them one last time, confirming again that none of them carried chips or bombs, then he turned toward the barred gate overlooking the arena floor just as the announcer’s voice rose higher.

“Two Jedi! Two noble blades without their blades! Let us see whether the Force favors them when steel and tooth come calling!”

Through the bars, Anakin saw them.

Obi-Wan stood near the center of the arena, dusty, bruised, wrists still marked where restraints had been cut away, but upright in that infuriatingly calm way that meant he was either fine or very determined to look fine until he collapsed somewhere private. Ky Narec stood beside him, older than Anakin had expected, lean and scarred and sharp-eyed, one arm held stiffly as though he had already taken a bad hit before being shoved onto the floor. Neither had a lightsaber. Around them, side gates ground open with horrible slowness. Armed fighters poured out first, men and women with vibroblades, axes, blasters, and the hungry expressions of people who thought killing a Jedi would make them legends. Then something shrieked from the largest gate, and an Acklay unfolded itself into the arena, all armored limbs and stabbing claws and too many memories of Geonosis scraping down Anakin’s spine. Two more creatures lumbered out after it, squat and massive and frog-like, with wide mouths full of teeth and eyes that seemed far too stupid and far too vicious at the same time.

Anakin stared at them for half a heartbeat. “I don’t know what those are,” he muttered, “but I hate them.”

Then he cut through the bars.

The green blade carved an opening wide enough for him to drop through, and he fell into the arena with the Force wrapped around him, landing hard on the back of a gladiator who had been too busy raising his axe at Obi-Wan to look up. The man hit the dirt with a strangled wheeze. Anakin rolled off him, came up with the green saber ignited, and immediately drove three attackers back with a fast, brutal sweep that would have made half the Temple instructors start asking very uncomfortable questions. Across the arena, Obi-Wan’s head snapped toward him, and for one wild second relief flashed across his face before being buried under absolute horror. “Anakin!” he shouted over the crowd. “What are you doing here?”

Anakin deflected a blaster bolt into the dirt and shouted back, “Rescuing you!”

“You were told to stay on the ship!”

“Yes, and look how well that went!”

Obi-Wan’s expression did something complicated and deeply pained, but before he could answer, the Acklay charged him. Narec moved to intercept one of the frog-creatures, and Anakin had no more room for words. The arena collapsed into motion. The crowd screamed in delight as green flashed against steel, as blue-white sparks flew where vibroblades met energy, as the Acklay’s claws slammed into the dirt hard enough to shake the ground. Anakin fought toward Obi-Wan, using the Force to hurl sand into the eyes of one attacker, sweep another’s legs from beneath him, and slam a third into the arena wall. He was aware of Asajj somewhere above them before he saw her, not through the bond but through the sudden shift in the crowd’s attention, the shrieks from the overseer’s box, the sharp golden flare of her new blades cutting through guards who had thought height and armor would protect them.

The Pirate King’s balcony exploded into chaos.

Anakin caught only flashes between strikes: Asajj moving like a thrown knife, yellow blades carving arcs through blasters and railings; guards dropping; rich spectators scrambling away from her as if wealth could outrun consequences. Then something blue spun down from above, end over end, straight toward Obi-Wan. His Master reached without looking, and his lightsaber slapped into his palm like it had been waiting for him. Blue light ignited with a snap-hiss that cut through the arena noise like a declaration. Another hilt flew after it, older and worn, and Narec caught it in his uninjured hand just as one of the squat monsters lunged. His green blade came alive, and Asajj’s voice echoed down from above, sharp and furious. “Try not to die before I get down there!”

Narec actually smiled. “I will do my best!”

“You always say that!”

“Because it is always true!”

Anakin would have laughed if he wasn’t busy trying not to be trampled by an Acklay. Obi-Wan joined him a breath later, and suddenly the fight changed. With his lightsaber in hand, Obi-Wan became the center of a storm that refused to break. He did not attack like Anakin did. He endured, redirected, stepped aside at precisely the right moment and let enemies destroy their own footing against him. Anakin, by contrast, hit like a falling engine. Together, they carved space out of the chaos. Narec and Asajj fought toward each other from opposite sides of the arena once she finally leapt from the box, landing in a crouch with both yellow blades flaring. The crowd’s cheering shifted uneasily then, excitement curdling into fear as the spectacle stopped looking controlled.

Then the blaster shot cracked across the arena.

Narec jerked.

Asajj’s entire presence in the Force went white with terror.

The bolt struck high in his shoulder, spinning him half a step back. Not fatal, Anakin knew instantly. Not if treated quickly. Not if they got out now. But Asajj did not know that. Asajj saw her Master bleeding, saw the only person who had chosen her stagger beneath a shot meant to drop him, and the future Anakin remembered opened like a pit beneath her feet. Red blades. Dooku’s hand. Abandonment turned into rage. A girl with yellow sabers becoming a weapon because grief had nowhere else to go.

No.

The word did not leave Anakin’s mouth. It went through the Force instead.

The shooter was perched near one of the lower terraces, already raising his rifle for another shot. Anakin turned toward him, and the air around him seemed to tighten. The rifle ripped from the man’s hands so violently that his fingers snapped back. The weapon crumpled in midair, folding inward with a shriek of tortured metal. The shooter’s eyes widened, and for one terrible second Anakin wanted to keep going. Wanted to crush more than the weapon. Wanted to make him afraid enough that every slaver, pirate, and cheering spectator in this cavern would remember what happened when they hurt someone under his protection.

“Anakin!”

Obi-Wan’s voice cut through him.

Not angry.

Afraid.

Anakin stopped.

The crumpled rifle dropped to the sand.

The shooter collapsed backward, unconscious from the Force-blow Anakin barely remembered sending. Around them, several attackers faltered, suddenly much less eager to press forward. Anakin dragged in a breath and forced his hands open. Not here. Not now. Not again. He looked to Narec, saw Asajj already at his side with one yellow blade held defensively and the other angled toward anything that came too close. Narec was pale, but standing. Alive. Anakin clung to that as hard as Asajj did.

“We leave!” Anakin shouted.

Obi-Wan did not argue this time.

That alone said enough.

They moved as one broken, desperate unit. Obi-Wan took Narec’s injured side before Asajj could protest, not replacing her but helping, giving the older Jedi enough support to move without dragging the wound wider. Asajj stayed on Narec’s other side, teeth bared, yellow saber flashing whenever anyone came close. Anakin cleared the path ahead with the borrowed green blade and the Force, throwing enemies aside, collapsing a cage gate into the path of one of the frog-creatures, and shoving a fallen pillar hard enough that it crashed between them and the Acklay. The crowd had stopped cheering now. People were screaming for different reasons. Fires had begun spreading across the lower terraces from the chaos in the overseer’s box. Somewhere above, the Pirate King was shouting orders that no one seemed particularly interested in obeying.

The barred opening Anakin had cut was still ahead, half-hidden beneath dust and smoke. He reached it first and widened the gap with one slash, then waved the others through. “This way! The prisoners are already moving through the lower tunnels!”

“You freed the prisoners?” Obi-Wan demanded, breathless and incredulous as he helped Narec through the opening.

Anakin ducked under a blaster bolt and shoved the shooter into two of his friends. “You sound surprised!”

“I am many things right now!”

“Proud can be one of them!”

“Later!”

Asajj pushed Narec into the tunnel with more care than gentleness and followed close behind, her face tight with fear she had no time to show. Narec managed to look at Anakin as he passed, pain-bright eyes taking in the green lightsaber in his hand, the dust on his face, the too-old fury still fading from around him. “You must be Kenobi’s Padawan.”

Anakin gave him a wild grin. “Unfortunately for him.”

Obi-Wan made a strangled sound that might have been agreement.

The moment all four of them were inside the tunnel, Anakin turned back toward the arena. Guards were already regrouping. Fighters were rushing toward the opening. One of the squat creatures slammed into the wall outside hard enough to send dust raining from the ceiling. The tunnel was too narrow. Too vulnerable. If they were followed now, with Narec wounded and hundreds of freed prisoners somewhere ahead, they would be trapped between panic and pursuit.

Anakin lifted both hands.

Obi-Wan felt what he was about to do a second before anyone else. “Anakin, wait—”

He didn’t.

The Force surged through the stone.

The ceiling groaned. Cracks spiderwebbed across the archway. Supports screamed as ancient rock shifted under pressure. Then the entrance collapsed in a roar of falling stone, dust, and shattered metal. The shockwave knocked Anakin backward hard enough that he hit the opposite wall, but he held the collapse until the entire passage behind them was buried beneath tons of rock. The arena vanished. The roar of the crowd became muffled, distant, then almost gone.

For several seconds there was only coughing.

Dust filled the tunnel in thick clouds.

Anakin lowered his hands slowly.

Obi-Wan stared at the collapsed passage, then at him, his face caught somewhere between relief, terror, and the exhausted knowledge that this was absolutely going to become a conversation later.

“That,” Obi-Wan said, voice hoarse, “was excessive.”

Anakin coughed, wiped dust from his cheek with the back of his sleeve, and tried very hard not to sway. “It worked.”

“It was excessive.”

“It still worked.”

“It could have brought the entire tunnel down on us.”

“But it didn’t.”

“That is not the defense you believe it is.”

Asajj, still supporting Narec, looked between them with a strange expression. Then, despite the blood on her Master’s shoulder and the disaster behind them, she barked out a laugh. It was sharp and startled and over almost immediately, but it was real.

Narec leaned heavily against the wall, breathing through the pain, and gave Obi-Wan a faint, exhausted smile. “Your Padawan is… decisive.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for one long second. “That is one word.”

Anakin grinned weakly.

Then the grin faltered as the bond between him and Obi-Wan settled fully back into place, no longer muffled by distance and stone and arena chaos. Concern hit him first. Then relief. Then the kind of fear Obi-Wan would never willingly speak aloud in front of strangers. Anakin looked up, and for a moment all the noise of the Pits, all the dust and blood and panic, faded beneath the simple fact that Obi-Wan was alive. Here. Breathing. Whole enough to scold him.

Obi-Wan’s expression softened despite himself.

“Are you hurt?”

Anakin shook his head too quickly. “No.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed.

“Not much.”

“Asajj,” Narec said quietly before Obi-Wan could begin cataloging every visible scrape, “the others?”

She straightened at once. “Freed prisoners are in the lower tunnels. Skywalker sent them out.”

Narec looked at Anakin again, something unreadable moving through his pain-drawn face. “Thank you.”

Anakin looked away. “Had to.”

No one argued.

From somewhere ahead in the tunnel came the distant sound of movement. The freed prisoners. Hundreds of frightened steps moving through the dark toward whatever exit Anakin had promised them existed. Behind them, the Pits raged against a wall of collapsed stone. Above them, Rattatak waited. And in the narrow space between disaster and escape, four Jedi stood together, bruised and bleeding and alive.

Asajj tightened her grip around Narec’s arm.

Obi-Wan rested a steadying hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

And Anakin, still holding the borrowed green saber, turned toward the tunnel leading out. “We need to move before they find another way around.”

No one disagreed.

This time, they all ran.

The ship felt entirely too small.

Padmé had known it would.

She just hadn't expected quite this many children.

The passenger compartment had become a maze of blankets, food crates, water containers, hastily assembled sleeping spaces, and exhausted people trying to process the fact that they were no longer slaves. Some children slept almost immediately after takeoff. Others were too wired with fear and adrenaline to close their eyes. The younger ones clung to parents or older siblings. The older ones sat in wary little groups, watching everything as if expecting someone to tell them it had all been a mistake.

Near the rear of the compartment, Kitster sat cross-legged on a crate with Wald beside him.

Wald had grown since Anakin left.

Not much.

But enough.

The Rodian teenager's antennae twitched constantly as he watched the stars through one of the small viewports.

"We're really leaving."

Nobody answered immediately.

The statement felt too large somehow.

Too impossible.

"We're really leaving," Wald repeated.

This time Kitster laughed softly.

"Yeah."

The sound cracked slightly.

His eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Looks like we are."

Across from them, several Twi'lek children were crowded together beneath a pile of blankets. The oldest was a violet-skinned girl around fourteen years old with darker purple markings mottled her lekku. Padmé vaguely remembered hearing her name somewhere during the rescue. Nira, if she was right, she had apparently been one of Anakin's friends, was currently arguing with another Twi'lek girl over whether Coruscant actually had weather.

"It can't."

"It does."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"You just said it does."

"That's what people told me."

"People also told me banthas can fly."

A nearby Twi'lek boy immediately nodded. "My uncle said that."

Nira stared. "Your uncle was lying."

"He lies a lot."

"Then why did you believe him?"

"Because I wanted flying banthas to be real."

The logic seemed difficult to argue with.

In a corner, two girls were curled up in each other. A Theelin with white and pink skin with bright pink hair, and a Rodian girl with blue skin that reminded Padme too much of Uncle Ono.

Nearby, a group of younger children dissolved into laughter.

The first genuine laughter Padmé had heard from some of them.

The sound made something inside her loosen slightly.

The two hald-Pantoran children sat together near one wall, finally dressed in new close. The little boy had finally fallen asleep. His head rested in his sister's lap while she absentmindedly stroked his hair.

The necklace never left her hand.

Shmi sat nearby, as she over looked them all.  She was simply close enough that the girl would know someone was there if she needed them.

Eventually Nira wandered over and sat beside her.

For several minutes neither girl spoke.

Then Nira quietly held out a ration bar.

The Pantoran girl blinked.

Nira pushed it closer. "My first day after my father died I forgot to eat."

The Pantoran girl stared.

Nira shrugged. "Then I passed out."

A pause. "...Oh."

"Yeah."

Another pause.

Then, slowly, the Pantoran girl accepted the ration bar.

Neither mentioned her mother. But something eased between them anyway.

Across the room, a Tholothian girl was attempting to explain Coruscant to a cluster of younger children. Poorly.

"Everything is metal."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"What about sand?"

"There isn't any."

The entire group stared at her in horror. "No sand?"

"None."

A small Zabrak boy looked deeply suspicious. "That's impossible."

"It isn't."

"There has to be sand somewhere."

"There isn't."

"What do people throw at each other?"

The Tholothian girl blinked. "What?"

"When they're mad." The question seemed perfectly reasonable to him.

Several nearby children nodded agreement.

The Tholothian looked increasingly overwhelmed.

A male Tholothian slightly older than her leaned over from another crate. "They probably throw politicians."

The cargo hold erupted into laughter.

Even a few adults laughed.

The older Tholothian looked pleased with himself.

The younger girl looked offended.

"That's not helpful."

"It's funny though."

"It isn't."

"It absolutely is."

Meanwhile, Threepio was attempting to count everyone again.

The droid had already lost track four times.

"There are thirty-two children."

"No, thirty-four."

Pause.

"Oh dear."

More frantic counting.

"Thirty-three?"

Shmi smiled into her cup.

"Threepio."

"Yes, Mistress Shmi?"

"Stop counting."

"Relex."

"You absolutely can."

"But what if I misplace a child?"

"How exactly would you misplace a child on a starship?"

Threepio opened his mouth-port. Paused. Then closed it. "...That is a reasonable point."

Not five minutes later he started counting again.

Padmé watched everything from the doorway.

The laughter.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

The children trying to figure out what came next.

Because none of them knew.

Not even her.

Sabé appeared beside her carrying two cups, handing one over, to which Padmé accepted it gratefully.

For a while they simply watched.

Then Sabé finally spoke. "What is the plan?"

Padmé didn't answer immediately.

The stars reflected in the viewport. Coruscant waited somewhere ahead and Tatooine somewhere behind. And between them sat several dozen freed slaves who were now entirely her responsibility.

Sabé leaned against the wall. "We can't take them to Naboo."

Padmé nodded slowly. "I know."

The answer came immediately. Because they had both already thought about it.

Naboo was safe.

Beautiful.

Wealthy.

But it was obvious if Padmé showed up back home with a bunch of people, most dressed in rags and carrying the unmistakable look of people who had spent their lives under someone else's ownership. Questions would be asked, records would be examined, and the Hutts had more influence and spies than most people liked to admit.

And the last thing Padmé wanted was to hand the Hutts a list of exactly where all these people were hiding.

"We can't hide them forever either," Sabé continued.

"No."

"And we're bringing an entire refugee convoy directly into the Core Worlds."

"I know."

Sabé took a sip from her cup.

Then glanced sideways.

"You don't actually know what you're doing, do you?"

Padmé stared ahead. "...Not completely."

"Wonderful."

"We'll figure it out."

Sabé laughed.

The sound held exhaustion and affection in equal measure. "That is not a plan."

"It is the beginning of one."

"That is somehow worse."

Padmé smiled faintly.

Maybe. But it was all she had right now.

Eventually Sabé left to help organize sleeping arrangements.

Which mostly consisted of convincing children not to build forts in emergency access corridors.

Padmé remained where she was.

After several minutes she turned and walked toward her small cabin.

The room was cramped now.

Half the storage space had been given away for supplies.

But it was quiet.

For the first time in days.

She sat down at the small desk.

Opened a datapad.

And stared at the blank screen.

For a moment she simply sat there. Thinking about everything that had happened. The dozens of lives now crowded aboard her ship.

All because of one letter.

Slowly, Padmé activated the writing screen.

To: Anakin Skywalker

She smiled despite herself.

Then began typing.

The underground city felt different now.

Not safe exactly. Rattatak would probably never be truly safe. Too much history was soaked into the stone for that. Too much violence. Too many people who had survived by learning not to trust hope when it appeared.

But it felt alive.

The abandoned chambers that had stood empty for centuries now glowed with cooking fires and portable lanterns. Blankets had been hung between old stone pillars to create temporary shelters. Someone had found old storage rooms and turned them into communal sleeping areas. Children ran through corridors that had once housed Jedi and Sith, their laughter echoing through halls that had not heard joy in hundreds of years.

It was strange.

Good strange.

Anakin sat on a stone ledge overlooking one of the larger chambers and watched the settlement below.

A few dozen meters away, Asajj was helping Narec sit against a pile of blankets while she changed the dressing around his wounded shoulder. She was trying very hard to look annoyed about it.

Narec was trying very hard not to smile.

Neither was succeeding.

"You are tightening it too much."

"I'm not." Narec was pretending not to wince, he was failing.

Badly.

Asajj was having none of it. "You are."

"If I tighten it any less, your arm will fall off."

"I do not believe that's medically accurate."

Asajj narrowed her eyes.

Narec immediately stopped talking.

Anakin snorted.

There was affection there. Unhidden and obvious. Completely against what half the Council would probably consider proper Jedi conduct.

Narec treated Asajj like a daughter. And Asajj, for all her sharp edges and constant attempts to look intimidating, clearly adored him.

The realization made something tighten painfully in Anakin's chest.

Because this was the point. This was the moment. The crossroads.

If Narec lived, Asajj stayed Asajj.

If Narec died...

Anakin already knew what happened.

The future he'd lived through was proof enough.

His gaze drifted away before either of them noticed.

Nearby, Artoo was surrounded by children. The astromech appeared to be losing, spectacularly. One little Twi'lek girl had somehow convinced him to play a game involving balancing rocks on top of his dome. Artoo beeped indignantly every time another rock was added. The children laughed.

Anakin smiled despite himself.

The little droid was clearly suffering and loving every second of it.

Eventually he turned away and headed back toward the temple.

When Anakin stepped through the broken entrance, he immediately saw Obi-Wan standing near one of the central chambers, studying a series of carvings illuminated by portable lights. Dust coated his robes. There was a fresh bandage wrapped around one forearm. His hair was slightly out of place.

To anyone else, he probably looked fine.

Anakin knew better.

Obi-Wan turned before he even reached him.

The bond gave him away every time.

"There you are."

Anakin shrugged.

"Here I am."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed slightly.

"How is Knight Narec?"

"Alive."

A flicker of relief moved through Obi-Wan before he smoothed it away.

"And Asajj?"

Anakin snorted. "She's currently threatening Knight Narec with medical care."

Obi-Wan's mouth twitched despite himself but then the amusement faded and something more thoughtful settled across his face. "I'm glad."

The temple around them remained quiet. Unlike the chambers outside, where refugees had transformed ancient ruins into something resembling a village, this part of the structure still felt old. Sacred almost. Portable lights cast long shadows across stone walls etched with symbols neither of them fully understood. Somewhere deeper in the complex, Huyang could be heard muttering to himself.

But then Obi-Wan folded his arms.

"Anakin."

Uh oh.

Anakin immediately knew that tone.

It was the tone Obi-Wan used when he had been thinking about something for a while and had finally decided it was time to discuss it.

The worst kind of Obi-Wan tone.

"Yes?"

"You ran directly into a gladiatorial arena."

Anakin sighed. "We're starting with that?"

"I feel it is a reasonable place to begin."

"You were about to get eaten."

"I was managing."

"The Acklay disagreed."

"The Acklay was mistaken."

Anakin stared.

Obi-Wan stared back.

Neither looked convinced by Obi-Wan's argument.

Finally Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anakin."

"I know."

"You cannot keep doing this."

Anakin's shoulders stiffened immediately. The words shouldn't have bothered him, but they did. As they sounded so familiar. Too close to every conversation he'd ever had with the Council. Too close to every warning he'd ignored.

"You wanted me to stay on the ship."

"Yes."

"And if I had?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, only briefly though, “You don't know."

"No."

"You don't know if you'd have gotten out."

"No."

"You don't know if Narec would've survived."

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened. Anakin pushed onward, "You don't know if the slaves would've gotten out."

"Anakin-"

"No."

The word came sharper than intended.

Silence settled between them.

The bond shifted uneasily.

Obi-Wan could feel it.

Anakin knew he could.

The frustration.

The fear.

The things he wasn't saying.

Because the truth was simple.

Anakin couldn't explain.

Not really.

How was he supposed to explain that he'd watched entire worlds die because people hesitated? That he'd spent years learning what happened when good people waited for permission? That every instinct he possessed screamed at him to act before it was too late?

He couldn't say any of that.

So instead he crossed his arms and looked away. "I helped."

"You did."

"I was right."

"That is not the point."

Anakin laughed, a little bitterly. "That's always the point."

The bond tightened.

Obi-Wan looked at him for a long moment, then sighed.

"Is it?"

Anakin didn't answer, because the problem was that he wasn't entirely sure anymore. But another voice interrupted before either of them could push further.

"Ah!"

Both turned.

Huyang emerged from one of the side chambers carrying three datapads and what appeared to be half a lightsaber hilt.

The ancient droid looked delighted, which was always dangerous.

Huyang drifted away from the conversation before either Anakin or Obi-Wan could decide whether they were finished arguing.

Which, honestly, was probably for the best.

The ancient droid emerged from one of the deeper chambers carrying several datapads stacked beneath one arm and what appeared to be the remains of a lightsaber hilt under the other. Dust covered nearly every exposed surface of his frame. If droids could look pleased with themselves, Huyang looked ecstatic.

"Knight Kenobi. Young Skywalker," he announced, approaching with the purposeful stride of someone about to inflict knowledge upon unsuspecting victims. "I have completed a preliminary survey of approximately one hundred and twelve lightsabers, thirty-seven intact hilts, dozens of damaged components, and enough fragmented historical records to occupy at least six archivists for several years."

Anakin immediately felt a wave of relief. Saved by Huyang. There were very few situations where those words belonged together.

Obi-Wan looked equally grateful for the interruption, though he was hiding it better.

"That many?" he asked.

"That many." Huyang's photoreceptors brightened. "This site is extraordinary. "The Council will need to know about this immediately," Huyang continued. "This cite will help us understand this time period in Jedi history that we are sorely in the dark on. "

Anakin opened his mouth, then stopped himself. Because his first instinct had been to think:

Why? It would just be a waste of time.

The realization hit him like a thrown hydrospanner.

For years, decades, really, the galaxy had been at war. First the Clone Wars, the Empire, the Rebellion.

Everything had always been measured against survival. Against whether something helped people stay alive long enough to see tomorrow.

Ancient ruins? Historical records? Archaeological expeditions? They had all seemed secondary. It was just a luxury. Things people worried about when they weren't actively fighting for their lives. His mas- Sidious, often looked for things like this but that was only to inforce his own power. 

But...

That wasn't this galaxy.

Not yet.

The Republic still stood. The Jedi weren't generals. Younglings still worried about lessons instead of battlefields. And there were people whose entire lives revolved around studying old places because they genuinely loved learning.

The realization felt strange. Comforting. A little sad. But comforting all the same.

Anakin stood there for a moment, quiet in a way that made Obi-Wan glance at him again, but this time his Master didn’t press. Maybe he felt the shift through the bond, or maybe he simply knew better than to interrupt one of the rare moments where Anakin actually seemed to be thinking before speaking. Either way, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Huyang, who had already begun speaking at length about preservation conditions, damaged archives, and the absolute necessity of contacting the Temple before any more refugees accidentally used historically significant stonework as cooking surfaces.

 Anakin should have found that ridiculous. Part of him did. But another part looked beyond Huyang toward the chambers where people were gathering, where freed prisoners were being given water and blankets, where children were sleeping against walls carved by Jedi who had died centuries before they were born, and thought that maybe this was what the Order was supposed to be when it wasn’t trapped in politics and prophecy and war. Not just warriors. Not just negotiators. Not just people sent where everything had already gone wrong. Helpers. Builders. Witnesses. 

The Jedi would come here, not just to study the temple, but to help these people get their footing. They would bring healers, engineers, food, water purifiers, translators, maybe even teachers if anyone was willing to stay long enough. They would argue with the Republic for relief supplies and probably get less than they asked for, but more than Rattatak had before. They would uncover the dead and protect the living in the same breath.

That thought, more than anything, made Anakin look back toward the settlement outside the temple and breathe a little easier.

This was a time where the Jedi can still do things without the Republic “letting them” do so. 

Then Huyang made another sound, not delighted this time, confused. “Hm.”

Anakin immediately turned back. “That hm is different.”

Obi-Wan looked between them. “You have categories for Huyang’s sounds?”

“Yes.”

Huyang ignored him completely, which was rude, but expected. The droid had drifted toward one of the far walls, where an entire section of carved stone had been hidden beneath dust and collapsed debris until the portable lights caught the raised edges of old markings. Half the wall was gone, sheared away by some ancient impact that had left only jagged stone and scorch marks behind, but what remained was covered in circular symbols connected by lines so faint they looked almost decorative at first glance. Huyang raised one hand and brushed away dust with surprising care. 

“This appears to be a star chart,” he said slowly, his photoreceptors narrowing as he scanned it. “Or part of one. The damage is extensive. Several names are incomplete, and I cannot determine whether these routes represent hyperspace lanes, pilgrimage paths, military movements, or something else entirely.”

Obi-Wan stepped closer, interest catching despite the exhaustion still hanging around him. “Could it be connected to the battle?”

“Possibly,” Huyang said. “Though the layout is peculiar. These are not all major strategic worlds. Some are, certainly, but others…” He paused, head tilting. “Curious.”

Anakin moved beside them almost without thinking. At first the carvings were just shapes, old symbols half-erased by time. Then his eyes adjusted, and recognition began clicking into place one world at a time. Coruscant was there, near the broken center, though half its marking had been cut away. Ilum too, which made sense. Ossus, Tython, Jedha, Malachor, Korriban, Dantooine, Corellia, Christophsis, Alderaan. Some names were barely readable. Others had been carved deeper, as if whoever made the map had returned to them more than once. Then his gaze snagged on one marking near the lower edge of the surviving wall, half-covered by a crack but still readable enough to make his breath catch.

Tatooine.

For a second, Anakin simply stared.

Obi-Wan noticed immediately. “Anakin?”

“What is Tatooine doing here?”

The question came out too quickly. Too sharply. Huyang turned toward him, and Obi-Wan’s expression shifted into that careful concern Anakin had become very good at recognizing. But Anakin couldn’t look away from the wall. Tatooine sat among Jedi and Sith worlds like a mistake someone had carved into history and forgotten to explain. It wasn’t important. It had never been important, not to the Republic, not to the Jedi, not to anyone with enough power to make it matter. Tatooine was sand and slaves and Hutts and moisture farms and podraces and people surviving because nobody else cared whether they lived or died. It was not the sort of place ancient Jedi mapped unless they had a reason. His mother’s stories flickered in his mind. Old slave myths told in kitchens and workshops and markets where masters weren’t listening closely enough. He had always thought those stories belonged only to people like him. People with collars, people with no last names, people who needed tricks because strength belonged to someone else. But here was Tatooine carved into a wall beneath Rattatak, connected by a faint line to other worlds soaked in Force history.

Huyang’s voice softened into something almost reverent. “Tatooine has older records than most give it credit for. Sparse, contradictory, and often dismissed, but old.”

Anakin swallowed. “Dismissed by who?”

“Almost everyone.”

“Sounds right.”

Obi-Wan gave him a quiet look, but again didn’t press. Maybe because there was nothing useful to say. Maybe because he knew Anakin hated pity more than silence. Huyang, thankfully, continued scanning the wall, and Anakin let his eyes move elsewhere before Tatooine could pull him too far inward. Another marking caught his attention a little higher up, one he knew for reasons that had nothing to do with his childhood and everything to do with a future that should not exist yet.

Lothal.

Anakin went still again, but this time for a different reason.

Lothal. Dusty plains. Tall grass. White towers. Imperial factories. A boy with blue eyes and too much courage standing in the path of things far larger than himself. Ezra Bridger. Anakin had not known him well. Vader had known him only as a rebel problem, a nuisance connected to Kanan Jarrus and the Ghost crew, another flicker of Jedi defiance the Empire had tried to crush. 

But Anakin remembered him now with the strange clarity that came from hindsight. A street rat. A thief. A survivor. A Padawan who had grown up under occupation and still somehow become a Jedi. There had been something clever about him, something reckless and bright that reminded Anakin uncomfortably of himself and, later, of Ahsoka. Vader had noted the boy’s weapon too, because of course he had. A lightsaber with a built-in blaster. Crude by Temple standards, probably scandalous to half the Masters, and absolutely brilliant in the hands of someone raised in alleys instead of training rooms.

Without meaning to, Anakin looked down toward his own hip.

Asajj’s green lightsaber hung there for now, borrowed and temporary, while his two orange crystals rested warm in their pouch beside it. His own saber was still unfinished, still scattered in sketches and parts aboard Huyang’s ship. Dual-phase. Removable crystal chamber. Adjustable length. Old design made new. But suddenly another idea flickered alongside it, quick and dangerous and interesting. Not a copy of Ezra’s weapon. No. That wasn’t his. But the concept, the practicality of it, the refusal to pretend combat always happened at lightsaber distance, the sheer audacity of building something that made every traditionalist in the room squint in disapproval, Anakin couldn’t help it. He liked that.

Rex would have loved it.

The thought hit him so unexpectedly that he almost smiled. Rex, practical to the bone, would have looked at Ezra’s strange blaster-saber and immediately started listing tactical advantages while trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t impressed. Cody would have called it a maintenance nightmare but would wish Obi-Wan would get one. Ahsoka would have wanted to try it. Obi-Wan would have sighed for at least five straight minutes and then admitted, very grudgingly, that it had merit in certain circumstances. Vader had dismissed it as an insurgent’s weapon while privately noting the construction was clever. Anakin, now twelve and alive again and standing in a half-buried temple under Rattatak, found himself staring at the ancient carving of Lothal and wondering how many things the future had thought were new that were only old ideas resurfacing when the galaxy needed them again.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

He blinked and looked up.

Obi-Wan was watching him with that same steady concern, but there was curiosity there too. “Do you recognize something?”

Anakin’s mouth opened.

For one terrible second, he nearly said too much.

Then he shrugged, forcing his face into something casual. “Just surprised. Tatooine and Lothal don’t exactly seem like places ancient Jedi would care about.”

Huyang’s head tilted. “That may be precisely why they mattered.”

Anakin looked at him.

The droid gestured toward the damaged wall. “Large centers of power are obvious. Coruscant. Tython. Ossus. Ilum. But history does not only move through obvious places. Sometimes, the most important moments occur on worlds everyone else has dismissed.”

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin when Huyang said it.

Anakin pretended not to notice.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? Tatooine had been dismissed. Lothal would be dismissed. Rattatak had been dismissed so thoroughly that a Jedi Knight and his Padawan had been stranded here for years, building a life in abandoned tunnels while slavers and pirates carved power out of suffering. And yet here they were, all three worlds carved into the same ancient wall, connected by lines no one could fully read anymore. Maybe it was a military map. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe it was a record of something the Jedi had once tracked and then forgotten. Half the wall was gone, so there was no way to be sure.

But Anakin had the horrible feeling it mattered.

He stepped closer, brushing dust away from one of the surviving lines. It ran from Rattatak to Tatooine, then split toward Lothal and Malachor before disappearing into the broken half of the wall. Another line curved toward Jedha. Another toward Ilum. Not routes, he realized slowly. Not exactly. They overlapped wrong for hyperspace lanes. They looked more like someone had been tracing echoes. Patterns in the Force. Places where something had happened, or would happen, or kept happening in different forms across centuries. Chains. Wars. Temples. Children lost in deserts and caves and battlefields. Worlds forgotten until they produced people the galaxy could no longer ignore.

The two orange crystals at his belt warmed suddenly.

Anakin’s fingers twitched toward them.

Not now, he thought.

The warmth faded, but did not vanish.

Huyang was still staring at the wall, clearly already planning at least twelve reports and possibly several lectures that would make generations of archivists regret being born. “This must be preserved. Carefully. No one is to remove anything from this chamber until proper scans are completed.”

From somewhere deeper in the temple, a loud crash echoed.

Huyang froze.

Then turned his head very slowly toward the sound.

Anakin winced. “That was probably refugees using something historic as a table.”

Huyang made a sound that might have been horror.

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched despite himself. “We should perhaps begin organizing the site.”

“Yes,” Huyang said, with the gravity of someone facing a battlefield. “Immediately.”

Anakin looked once more at the wall.

He knew he should have been listening. Huyang was talking quickly now, already outlining preservation zones, emergency documentation procedures, and several increasingly dramatic warnings about refugees placing cooking pots on historically significant stonework. Obi-Wan answered with the calm, patient diplomacy of a man who had not slept enough and was still choosing to be reasonable. Normally, Anakin would have found it funny. Normally, he would have made some comment just to see Obi-Wan’s mouth twitch or Huyang’s photoreceptors narrow in ancient disapproval.

But he couldn’t quite make himself do it. His mind drifting to today's events.

A battle like this reminded him of the battles of the Clone Wars, with Obi-Wan, Ashoka, Rex, and the men.  

Force, he missed all of them. It was a feeling he had surprsses for such a long time. 

Steady Rex, standing at his back with a blaster raised and helmet tucked beneath one arm. Rex telling him a plan was stupid and following him anyway. Rex standing between him and enemy fire without hesitation. Rex’s dry voice over comms, calling him General even when Anakin had clearly done something that deserved several more insulting titles. Rex dragging him out of explosions. Rex trusting him. Rex believing in him.

Anakin had missed him for a long time.

Longer than he had allowed himself to admit.

Even as Vader.

Especially as Vader.

He had told himself after his Fall that clones were soldiers. That Rex was gone. That the past was dead. That none of it mattered anymore. But then he had kept hiring Boba Fett, again and again, not only because Boba was useful or efficient or one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy, but because some broken, buried part of him had looked at that face, heard that voice, seen those familiar movements, and ached for someone he would never have admitted he missed.

Rex had been a sun at his back.

Not like Obi-Wan, bright and steady and impossible to ignore.

Not like Padmé, soft and burning and unreachable.

Rex had been blue.

A blue sun.

That was how Anakin remembered him in the strange Force-place between moments. A blue sun he could almost hold in his hands. Warm. Loyal. Fierce. A presence that had never demanded anything from him but trust, and somehow that had made the loss worse.

The hum in the Force shifted.

Anakin blinked.

Huyang was still talking.

Obi-Wan was still answering.

But their voices grew distant.

The carvings blurred.

The temple faded around him.

Not suddenly.

Not violently.

It was more like sinking beneath water and realizing too late that he had forgotten how deep the pool was.

The hum grew louder.

Anakin reached for it without meaning to.

Rex.

The name was not spoken aloud.

It didn’t need to be.

The Force opened.

And then Anakin was somewhere else.

Rain.

Salt.

White walls.

Endless grey ocean.

Kamino.

Anakin froze.

For one impossible second, he thought he had fallen into memory. But the air was too sharp, too immediate, too real. Rain hammered against transparisteel high above. The floor beneath his feet was polished and too clean. The corridor smelled faintly of antiseptic, metal, and stormwater.

Then voices echoed from somewhere ahead.

Children.

No-

Cadets.

Anakin turned.

Through a wide training-room doorway, rows of young clones moved through drills with blasters too large for their hands and armor plates that didn’t yet fit right. They were young. Too young. Twelve, maybe. Around his age now, though Anakin knew better than anyone how little that meant when a life had been engineered to move too fast.

His breath caught.

He spotted him immediately.

Rex.

Not Captain Rex.

Not ARC-trained, not battle-worn, not the man who would one day stand beside him on battlefields across the galaxy.

Just a boy.

Blond hair cropped short. Face still rounder than it would be later. Shoulders already squared with discipline he should not have needed yet. He was moving through a training sequence, jaw set in concentration, blue training markings on the wall flashing as he hit target after target with calm precision.

Anakin could not breathe.

He had forgotten Rex had ever been this young.

No, that wasn’t true.

He had never really known Rex this young.

The thought hurt.

The boy turned slightly, following an instructor’s command, and something in the Force around him flared.

Blue.

Bright.

Warm.

Anakin moved before he thought better of it.

“Rex,” he whispered.

The boy could not hear him.

He shouldn’t have been able to.

This was a vision. A connection. A wrongness. A thread pulled too far through the Force.

Anakin stepped closer anyway.

The room did not react to him. No one noticed. The other cadets kept moving. The instructors kept calling commands. Rain kept slashing against the city outside.

Rex shifted into the next stance.

Anakin reached out.

His fingers brushed Rex’s shoulder.

The entire vision snapped into focus.

Rex turned.

Not slowly.

Not like someone sensing a ghost.

He turned as if Anakin had truly touched him.

Their eyes met.

Rex stared at him.

Young.

Startled.

Suddenly pale.

Then his mouth opened.

“Anakin?”

The name tore through him.

Rex collapsed.

Anakin lunged forward, panic exploding through his chest, but his hands passed through empty air as the vision shattered apart.

Kamino vanished.

The temple returned all at once.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too solid.

Anakin stumbled.

The world tilted sideways.

“Anakin!”

Obi-Wan caught him before he hit the floor.

The bond between them flared wide open with fear.

Anakin blinked hard, trying to force the chamber back into place. Stone walls. Portable lights. Huyang standing rigidly beside the star chart. Obi-Wan’s hands on his arms. Dust in the air. Rattatak beneath his feet.

Not Kamino.

Not rain.

Not Rex falling.

His stomach turned.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said again, sharper now. “Look at me.”

Anakin did.

Or tried to.

Obi-Wan’s face swam in and out of focus.

Concern. Fear. Frustration carefully buried beneath both.

“What happened?”

Anakin swallowed.

His mouth felt dry.

“I’m tired.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed.

It was a terrible lie.

They both knew it.

But it was also true enough to stand on.

For a long moment Obi-Wan looked like he might press.

Then his expression softened in that way that made guilt curl up beneath Anakin’s ribs.

“You are tired,” he said quietly.

Anakin managed a weak glare. “That’s what I said.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied. “Occasionally you stumble into accuracy.”

Anakin huffed something that almost became a laugh, but it came out shaky and wrong.

Obi-Wan noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His hands shifted, steadying Anakin more carefully. “Can you walk?”

Anakin opened his mouth to say yes.

The floor tilted again.

Obi-Wan sighed.

“That answers that.”

“I can walk.”

“You nearly fell.”

“I didn’t.”

“Because I caught you.”

“So it worked out.”

Huyang made a disapproving sound. “That is not medical reasoning.”

“No one asked you.”

“I am volunteering.”

Obi-Wan ignored both of them and bent slightly.

Anakin realized what was about to happen half a second too late.

“Master, no-”

Obi-Wan lifted him. He simply gathered Anakin up like he weighed nothing and stood, one arm beneath his knees and the other supporting his back.

Anakin went completely still.

For one humiliating second, all he could do was stare.

Then heat flooded his face.

“I can walk.”

“I am sure you believe that.”

“I’m twelve, not four.”

“You are also pale, shaking, and lying badly.”

Anakin scowled.

Obi-Wan adjusted his hold with infuriating calm. “You may complain after you have slept.”

“I’m complaining now.”

“Yes. I noticed.”

Huyang looked between them, then toward the damaged star chart, then back again. “I will begin securing the chamber and prepare preliminary documentation. I also recommend departure as soon as Knight Narec is stable enough to transport. This site requires a proper Jedi team, not exhausted improvisation.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Agreed.”

Anakin tried to look back toward the wall. But Obi-Wan was already carrying him toward the exit, and the carvings slipped from view behind dust and shadow.

The last thing Anakin saw was the mark for Tatooine catching the portable light.

Then the temple corridor swallowed it.

Outside, the underground city still glowed with cooking fires and lanterns. Refugees moved through the chambers, quieter now as exhaustion settled over them. Somewhere below, R2 beeped indignantly while several children continued whatever game they had trapped him in. Asajj’s voice drifted faintly from across the chamber, sharp and worried as she argued with Narec about whether bleeding counted as a reason to stop being difficult.

Anakin wanted to focus on that.

On the living.

On the people here.

But all he could see when he closed his eyes was Kamino rain.

Rex turning toward him.

Rex saying his name.

Rex falling.

His hand curled weakly against Obi-Wan’s robe.

Obi-Wan’s hold tightened at once.

“I have you,” his Master murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Anakin closed his eyes.

For once, he let himself believe it.

Just for a little while.