Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

***1***

Padmé Amidala stood at the window in her Coruscant apartment, her gaze fixed on the Jedi Temple’s distant spires, sunlight glinting off their polished stone. She absently traced her fingers along the windowsill.The Jedi Council had informed her that two Jedi would be assigned to protect her and investigate the attempt on her life.

She had survived.

Cordé hadn’t.

Padme swallowed hard, the memory sharp and painful.

Padmé was no stranger to death—or the bitter stillness that followed it. The cold reality of violence had long since lost its shock value. Being targeted for opposing the Military Creation Act was unsurprising. It was a cost she’d expected. 

Ten years ago, she had watched Naboo suffer under the Trade Federation’s six-month occupation. The nightmares never truly ended. What twisted her stomach now was how that suffering was used—twisted by opportunists to justify militarization.

“Talk first, fight later.” That had always been her belief. The Confederacy of Independent Systems didn’t need a war. They needed dialogue. These Outer Rim systems had been overlooked and left behind. They deserved a fair shot, not more blasters.

She trusted Count Dooku, the leader of CIS. 

His image surfaced in her mind. Dignified. Calm. Convincing. After the Occupation, he had come to Naboo to express condolences. He had knelt beside her and said with quiet resolve, "This will not happen again under my watch." He was once a Jedi Master, a man of ideals.

She believed him. Still did.

Neither the Republic nor the CIS wanted war. A standing army would only accelerate disaster. Cordé’s death would be meaningless if that act passed.

Her fists curled tight at her sides, knuckles white against her skin. A tremor ran through her body, rage flickering beneath her usually controlled exterior.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders, grounding herself. She had work to do.

Messages flooded her office—concerned constituents, calls for justice. She turned to answer them when the hiss of the door pulled her attention.

Captain Gregar Typho stepped in, followed by two figures.

Two Jedi.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, composed as ever, and a younger woman with striking red hair—his former Padawan, Palis "Red" Athia. The Padawan braid was gone now. She was a Knight now.

"Senator Amidala, it's good to see you safe." Both the Jedi bowed repectfully.

Padmé offered a tired smile as they bowed. “It’s been too long, Master Kenobi. Master Athia—it’s good to see you again.”

"I’m just a Knight. But still Red," Palis said with a quick grin, gesturing at her hair. "Thank the Force. We’re here to keep you in one piece... seems to be our specialty."

Padmé led them to the conference room with a sweep of her hand.

"Sloppy work," Obi-Wan murmured, fingers stroking his beard. "They didn’t know about the decoy. Didn’t even bother with proper intel."

"Explosives in heavy traffic?" Red’s fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the table. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. "That wasn’t just an assassination attempt. That was a statement. Who do you think sent it?"

"The warmongers," Padmé snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip. "Ever since I spoke against the Military Creation Act, bounties have been placed on me. But I won’t be silenced. I’ll rally more Senators to oppose this madness."

"Peace is our goal too," Obi-Wan said gently, "but your safety is why we’re here."

Before anyone could reply, the door flew open with a bang. A young man in a dark blue uniform stormed in.

"Padmé!" His voice trembled with urgency. He reached her in three strides and gripped her shoulders. "I was so worried."

"Anakin," she said, surprised and touched. "Aren’t you supposed to be at the Judiciary building?" She gently pushed him back, her fingers lingering on his sleeves before falling away.

His hands lingered a beat too long on her arms. "Your safety comes first. The rest can wait."

"Well, well," Red drawled, arching an eyebrow. "Trying to compete for my client? Sit down."

Anakin smirked and dragged a chair beside Padmé. He flashed Palis a cheeky grin, then suddenly turned toward the window.

Everything slowed.

The Jedi stood in unison—blades igniting with a hum just as the glass shattered. An explosion rocked the apartment.

Anakin grabbed Padmé and threw her down, his body covering hers as the blast swallowed the room in smoke and fire. Her head hit the floor, and everything went black.

When she awoke, the shrieking alarm grated against her skull. Anakin was still atop her, cloaked in dust and debris. He stirred first, peeling off his ruined jacket. His face was smudged but intact. Relief rushed through her like cool water.

The Jedi were already standing guard—swords of blue and violet slicing through the haze.

"Small missile," Red reported, pointing to the damage. "We Force-pushed it to the wall. You'll need to call maintenance. We got lucky. No casualties."

"Anakin, your reflexes were impressive," Obi-Wan said, helping him up.

"Live through enough explosions, and it becomes second nature," Anakin muttered. He turned and helped Padmé to her feet. She accepted his hand, still dizzy, still shaken.

Security poured in, boots thundering through the apartment as they swept the rooms.

"Temple medical bay. Now," Obi-Wan ordered. "No arguments. We’re going to the Hall of Healing. Both of you need full scans—for internal injuries, if nothing else."

***2***

The visit to the Hall of Healing was short. At first, Anakin crossed his arms stubbornly and argued that he didn’t need a medical scan, saying that if Obi-Wan and Palis didn’t need it, then neither did he.

"We have the Force. You don't," Red said flatly, cutting him off with finality.

Obi-Wan appreciated Red’s no-nonsense efficiency—a trait he’d come to value over the years. Reasoning with headstrong youth was never easy. He had heard that the youngsters of high society shared this common trait. Anakin was the son of Chancellor Palpatine—adopted, to be more accurate—but just as indulged as the rest.

They had met a handful of times since the end of the Occupation of Naboo. None of those encounters had lasted more than a few hours. Obi-Wan didn’t remember the boy being quite this combative before.

He and Palis headed off to brief the Council on the new development, leaving Padmé and Anakin in the library area.

"Those two are definitely involved," Red whispered with a knowing smile as she glanced back at them.

"Since when did you become such a gossip?" Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

"Oh, about ten years ago?" she replied with a grin. "Anakin and I have been friends since he came to Coruscant. He told me he liked Padmé, right in front of the Jedi Temple." She waved at the Temple entrance. "It’s been ten years. The boy’s nothing if not persistent."

"I didn’t know you two were friends," he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Plenty you don’t know about me, Master Jedi," Red teased, her grin mischievous.

Later, the Council ordered Palis to escort the Senator to her homeworld Naboo, where she could find a secure place to hide. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, would track down the assassin. It would be a tough sell—Padmé wanted to stay on Coruscant to sway votes. Palis suggested she speak with Senator Bail Organa to help persuade her to prioritize her safety. Obi-Wan didn’t envy that conversation. Studying bomb fragments would be easier.

"Hiding on Naboo?" Anakin scoffed when they told him and Padmé the Council’s plan. "Why do they think that’s safe? One Jedi and an unarmed civilian halfway across the galaxy? That’s asking for trouble. The moment you leave, you’ll be tracked. High-profile hits always involve coordinated tracking."

"Got a better idea?" Obi-Wan asked. He had to admit, the boy made sense. He vaguely remembered Anakin had attended an elite military school.

"Keep her right here on Coruscant. Put her in the most heavily guarded place in the galaxy." He paused, then added, "The Jedi Temple. What assassin would try anything with that many Force-users around?"

“Not to mention a building full of lightsabers,” Red said, clapping once with mock cheer. "I agree—if the Council does."

"Has anyone asked what I think?" Padmé cut in, drawing all eyes. "I don’t like hiding. I have to speak to my colleagues. Every minute counts."

"What about using your handmaidens as stand-ins?" Obi-Wan suggested.

Padme pressed her lips together, considering. After a few seconds, she relented.

"Time to get back to your real job, Judicial Skywalker?" Obi-Wan gestured toward the Temple entrance.

"I’m staying with Padmé," Anakin said firmly. "I’ll spend some time in the Temple library. It’s open to scholars, researchers, and—"

“But not to love-sick puppies,” Red drawled, tossing him a grin.

Obi-Wan gave her a look.

"We’re not dating," Padmé said quickly, looking away.

"Not yet," Anakin added with a hopeful smile.

Padmé cleared her throat. "Anakin, you need to get back to work. We’ll have lunch. Then you’re going back."

"We’ll present Anakin’s idea to the Council," Red said with a wink. "Have fun on your lunch date. May the Force be with you."

***3***

The Jedi dining hall was a few levels below the library. Padmé asked a youngling for directions. Anakin suggested they walk instead of taking the lift.

Both strolled leisurely, taking in the grandeur of the massive hallways, towering pillars, and solemn statues.

"It's absolutely breathtaking," Padmé murmured, her head tilted back to take in the soaring ceiling.

"Indeed," Anakin said, his voice quiet with appreciation. "I've always found it strange how a reclusive religious Order became the heart of galactic politics. They've been here for four thousand years and somehow became the Republic’s symbol. Makes you think, doesn't it?"

“Since when do you care about history?” she asked, half-amused, half-intrigued.

"Jedi history. The Judicial Forces report to the Order. I’m just a lowly new recruit in the Judiciary Department," he said, adding mock despair to his tone. "I need to understand my overlords better. Last thing I need is another Jedi lecture. I’ve had my fill."

His eyes met Padmé’s. Something passed between them—warm, familiar, private.

“You’re teasing me!” she laughed, blinking as if caught off guard. Then they both laughed, their voices echoing softly off the stone walls.

They arrived at the dining hall—almost as large as the Senate’s but much quieter. The menu was sparse. Anakin got a bantha steak, Padmé chose a vegetarian burger. When they asked about payment, the attendant informed them the Order didn’t use Republic credits. Meals were free to visitors.

Padmé had changed into a simple grey handmaiden-style dress after the explosion—it suited the Jedi ambiance perfectly. Anakin had left his ruined uniform behind and wore only a plain shirt. The Temple’s cool air made him shiver slightly—not from cold, but from how out of place he felt.

Carrying both trays, he found them a quiet table near a window where sunlight spilled across the floor, away from others.

He wanted a moment—just one—where she wasn’t a senator and he wasn’t pretending to be someone else.

Over the years, they had met at formal events. He’d greet her, she’d comment on how tall he’d grown. He would smile awkwardly, shuffling his feet. Then some dignitary would sweep her away. Always the same.

He could only watch her from afar - interacting with dignitaries, first as Queen and later as Senator. He’d memorized every word of her coronation speech, every trembling syllable in her broadcast during the Occupation.

It had stung to see her date others. It had burned to know he couldn’t compete. To her, he was just a boy. Being away from Coruscant had been torture.

Now, he was back.

A friend of Palpatine’s had thrown him a quiet graduation party after Carida Academy. Padmé had come—but not stayed long. They’d chatted, had a drink. She’d asked his opinion on galactic security. He’d surprised her—with insights on the rising crime syndicates, pirate raids, and the separatist tide. He had seen the respect in her eyes—for the first time.

They’d started messaging regularly. What began professionally had turned personal. She shared stories of planets she’d visited, foods she liked, cultures she found fascinating.

There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings to share, but these words and memories had to be buried. The galaxy was on the brink. The decay of centuries was ending. Something greater would rise. His Master had seen it, and Anakin believed.

To the world, he was Palpatine’s adopted son. In truth, they were master and apprentice. Anakin had pledged himself to Sidious and learned powers others called unnatural.

The lawless Outer Rim worlds were his training ground. He had battled warlords, assassinated slavers, burned out dens of corruption where the Jedi looked away. He had fought brutal adversaries, sustained grave injuries, and prevailed. 

When Palpatine called him back to Coruscant, he had come running. It surprised many that he had landed himself a job in the Judicial Force, a law enforcement team doing the work under the command of the mighty Jedi Order. Now he worked under the Jedi’s nose—ironically, doing the kind of justice they had forsaken.

And here he was, in the heart of the Jedi Temple—with her. The danger of it made it feel almost... sacred.

"So, your graduation is in a month," Padmé said as she cut her burger. "Tell me more about your time at the Academy. Did you make many friends?"

"Just a few," he shrugged. "I'm not exactly the social type."

Carida Academy had reintroduced him to Core World society. Though once prestigious, dating back to the Republic's formation, the Academy had lost stature after the Republic disbanded its military and the Jedi Order ascended to power.

Most classmates were privileged, chasing career ladders. He kept quiet, unnoticed. No one guessed he was Palpatine’s son. ‘Skywalker’ was a common Outer Rim name, and his Tatooine accent lingered despite his tutors’ efforts. Just another welfare case from some backwater planet. Officials knew, of course—but said nothing.

He passed time sketching fighters, designing weapons. Drawing schematics helped him connect to the Force.

Near the end, as the Military Creation Act gained steam. Some of his classmates openly lobbied for it, hoping the Academy could regain the prestige it once held. The nostalgia was something he felt familar. He considered joining. But Palpatine warned him: stay low.

After they ate, he showed Padmé a starfighter design. She likely didn’t care for ship specs, but she humored him. Her interest—real or not—made his heart stutter.

“How do you like your new job?” she asked.

“Want the honest answer?” he smiled.

“Always.”

“Mind-numbingly boring desk job,” he sighed dramatically. “But I get to spend time with you—so there’s that.”

The Force shifted—sharp and sudden.

“Senator Amidala, the High Council has approved the plan for you to remain in the Jedi Temple during the investigation,” said a firm voice.

Mace Windu stood in the entrance—calm, towering, and unreadable. He was one of the most powerful Jedi on the High Council, the Swordmaster.

Anakin felt chills. 

“A private quarter is being prepared. Your assigned assistant will meet you shortly.” Windu turned to Anakin. “Judicial Skywalker, return to your duty.”

Arguing would be foolish. “Yes, sir.” Anakin rose slowly, clearly reluctant.

He offered Padmé a sad smile, surprised when she stood and wrapped her arms around him.

Anakin walked out of the hall with Windu striding purposefully beside him.

“You seem ill at ease,” Windu said, his voice like stone.

“Well, Master Windu,” Anakin muttered before he could stop himself, “you’re not exactly relaxing company.”

The last time he had dealt closely with the Jedi was a decade ago—before everything had changed.

Now, he walked among them—a stranger with secrets.

***4***

After a long walk through the lower levels of Coruscant, Rackeli Loo finally arrived home. The air conditioning in her room had stopped working, and she didn’t have the credits to fix it. She wiped the sticky sweat from her forehead, grateful the hot, humid season would soon be over.

Rackeli was a Twi'lek from a small world called Tethla, perched on the boundary between the Mid and Outer Rim. Her world had joined the Republic twenty years ago—the same year she was born. She liked to think of it as fate.

Today, she had an important task: find a way into the Jedi Temple.

A week ago, she’d made a promise to her old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Sha. They had surrendered their Force-sensitive youngling to the Jedi. After hearing rumors that the Jedi “emotionally abused” their trainees, they were in a panic. They wanted to check in with their daughter, make sure she was safe.

Rackeli had a reputation for being helpful. As one of the handful of Tethlans living on Coruscant, the Shas had turned to her without hesitation. They agreed a Holonet call with their child would be enough to set their minds at ease.

She remembered Ludi well—a sweet little girl. When the Jedi came to take her, the entire town had thrown a celebration. Rackeli still had pictures from that day, posing with Ludi, smiling.

“‘There is no emotion,’” Mr. Sha had quoted nervously. “That’s what the Jedi say! How is that not abusive?”

Rackeli hadn’t found it alarming. The idea of the Jedi being abusive seemed absurd. Still, she understood why they were concerned. Parents wanted to protect their kids. Even a whisper of danger was enough to send them spiraling.

She’d toured the Temple district before, but never entered the Jedi Temple. Visitors weren’t allowed in without an appointment. Still, checking in on a youngling seemed like a reasonable reason to visit.

With confidence, she approached the gates.

The Temple guard had been polite but firm. “There is no emotion” was a core Jedi philosophy, he explained. The Order had raised younglings this way for millennia. No, they weren’t open to visitors.

Rackeli didn’t give up easily. The next day, she went back, hoping to catch a different guard. Maybe she’d get lucky—maybe a Jedi who knew Ludi would happen to be there.

No such luck. Same response.

Back home, she opened the Sha family’s latest message. She typed a quick reply:

“I visited the Temple again today. No luck yet. I understand your worry—my parents are always anxious about me too. I’ll keep trying and let you know if anything changes.”

She finished her message with a smiley face emoji. Then she closed her messenger and returned to her research.

For an organization tasked with galactic peacekeeping, the Jedi left surprisingly few digital footprints. The Senate’s site had a brief mention about them answering to the Republic. The Judicial Department said they oversaw judicial business. Most other info was public chatter—fawning admiration from admirers. It was oddly comforting.

She glanced down and realized she still wore her business suit. It was tight, plain gray, perhaps overly formal for an entry-level lawyer, but she'd learned early on that appearances mattered at a prestigious law firm.

She had always dreamed of visiting Coruscant to see the amazing things she'd seen on the Holonet. Her working-class family hadn’t had the means to visit Coruscant, but they gave her a good education. She'd carved her own way to Coruscant.

Now she was the first Twi’lek employee in her firm’s hundred-year history. Her parents and little brother were proud. Sometimes, that was enough to keep her going.

She changed out of her suit and hung it carefully in her narrow closet, next to identical outfits.

When she first started, some coworkers mistook her for a janitor. Since then, she always wore full business formal and pinned her name badge front and center. Finding professional clothes that matched her green skin wasn’t easy—and they were expensive. But it worked. No more mistakes.

To save credits, she shared the apartment with two roommates so she could send money home. Someday, she'd move aboveground. She had a plan. She wanted to be a judge on the Republic High Court—people laughed, but she believed.

She closed her closet, sat back at her desk, and began idly browsing.

Then her screen pinged. A news alert flashed: Senator Amidala to reside in Jedi Temple following assassination attempt—deemed safest location on Coruscant.

Rackeli leaned back in her chair and exhaled. Safe, indeed. And now, she had to find a way in.

Chapter Text

***1***

Obi-Wan and Palis thoroughly examined the two explosion sites. On a jagged piece of shrapnel recovered from Padmé's apartment, they noticed deep grooves—etched deliberately into the metal. Symbols, perhaps.

They exchanged a glance. They had a ritual for situations like this.

Whenever a mystery eluded them, they went to Dexter Jettster’s diner. They’d pay for the meal; the intel came as a bonus.

Dex wiped his massive hands on his grease-stained apron and squinted at the fragment. After a moment, he grunted. The markings were connected to a remote world called Kamino—a water planet known for its cloning industry.

Things seemed to be going smoothly. But when they returned to the Temple and searched the archives, Kamino didn’t show up on the Jedi library’s star map.

"I’ll run a search on cloning in the database," Palis said, dropping into a seat. "Might be a spelling issue."

Obi-Wan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just watched her working. 

Their partnership had never been conventional. She was only a few years younger than him. After Master Qui-Gon Jinn was murdered by the Zabrak Sith, he lived in anguish - knighted before he was ready, carrying a legacy he hadn't wanted.  Slaying a Sith Lord made him a Knight, but he would have rather been a Padawan under Qui-Gon. He often went to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Meditation helped, though not in the way the Council intended. He did not find peace, but he found Palis.

Their relationship began with a clash. Palis’s former master had been expelled for killing unarmed prisoners—ruthless criminals, yes, but defenseless. She had argued the decision bitterly. There had been no functioning justice system in that world. Her master acted in the people's best interest.

The High Council's final decision gravely disappointed Palis. Finding this deeply unfair, she had contemplated leaving with her master. 

She’d challenged Obi-Wan directly: had he been knighted for killing a Sith, or would he have been expelled if the Sith had surrendered?

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she had crossed the line. She apologized right after.

There was a bond already forming—two Jedi haunted by loss, trying to find footing. He became her master, so the Council could assign them off-world together, where they could process their grief.

Obi-wan carefully observed all the proper formalities, but Palis did not. She never called him “Master,” not even in public. “You are not her,” she once said. And yet, they worked seamlessly, long after she became a Knight.

The computer chimed.

“Got it!” she said, eyes lighting up. “I found Kamino’s coordinates. Triple-verified. It's halfway across the galaxy—we should leave now.”

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said. “We need to speak to Master Jocasta Nu first. A missing system in the Jedi Archives? That’s not an accident.”

Jocasta confirmed their suspicions: the system hadn’t just been omitted—it had been erased, along with any record of the deletion.

“Only a Jedi could’ve done this,” Jocasta said grimly.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “Someone didn’t want Kamino to be found.”

“Let’s go,” Palis said. “Answers are out there, not here.”

When they reached Kamino, what they discovered was even more disturbing.

The Kaminoans were expecting the Jedi. A clone army—commissioned by Master Sifo-Dyas—had been under development for nearly a decade. The genetic template? Jango Fett, a Mandalorian bounty hunter. He had a son—an unaltered clone. According to Fett, he’d been recruited by a man called Lord Tyranus.

Obi-Wan found records on Fett. The man had a brutal reputation. But Tyranus? Nothing.

Palis paced, agitated. “So let me get this straight. A Jedi commissions a secret army. A dead Jedi. Then some guy named Tyranus hires a killer with a kid. And someone deletes Kamino from our Archives? This reeks of conspiracy.”

She raked a hand through her hair. “I can’t even follow the logic anymore. My brain’s fried.”

“I don’t have answers either,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Sifo-Dyas was radical. Qui-Gon respected him, though. He might’ve supported the Military Creation Act. But we can’t assume anything.”

“I’ll press Fett for more,” Palis said, already halfway to the door.

Obi-Wan reported to the Council. They were stunned. No one knew about the army. His heart sank.

Then Palis returned, breathless. Fett and his son were gone. She’d found explosive residue in their quarters—it matched the compound used in the bombing at Padmé’s apartment.

They scrambled for their ships and located Fett’s on the scanner.

“Can you believe it?” Palis said over the comlink. “We stumbled onto the assassin. Total accident.”

“I don’t believe in luck anymore,” Obi-Wan replied. “Could be the Force… or something else we don’t understand.”

"We're heading towards Geonosis. That place is as brutal as they come."

“We’re heading to Geonosis. Listen, Obi-Wan, I've heard stories. Place gives me the creeps.”

Obi-Wan’s gut twisted. A thought struck him. Padme had to be warned about the army. Her opposition against militarization was a lost cause. He quickly punched in Padme's comlink number.

***2***

There is no emotion; there is peace.

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

There is no passion; there is serenity.

There is no chaos; there is harmony.

There is no death; there is the Force.

After hours of digging through the Holonet, Rackeli finally traced the source of the phrase “There is no emotion” and uncovered other intriguing aspects of the Jedi. The Jedi Code was eloquent—promising peace, knowledge, serenity, and harmony. Who wouldn’t want that? And with the Force woven in, it sounded even more compelling. It didn’t read like a doctrine of emotional suppression.

And yet, the Shas were still upset. When they gave their daughter Ludi to the Jedi Order, they had said they wanted her to be happy and free.

Rackeli understood their concerns. On her homeworld, Tethla, the culture celebrated intense emotional experiences—passion and righteous anger weren’t flaws, but  virtues. “If you never loved with your whole heart, you never truly lived,” was a common saying. The Jedi’s strict rules against attachment, romantic relationships, and family ties clashed sharply with those values.

Still, Force-sensitives were different from ordinary beings. Jedi training required discipline and separation from conventional life. That was the understanding when parents consented to give up their children—Rackeli had agreed with it too, once.

But something gnawed at her. A subtle, persistent itch in her thoughts she couldn’t quite name. Writing often helped her sort through such unease. She flexed her fingers and began typing.

Do Jedi Have Freedom?

What is freedom? At its core, freedom is the ability to exercise free will—to choose between different paths. Without options, or without the ability to choose, freedom becomes an illusion.

Where does free will come from? Some argue it’s inalienable, even in bondage. But is that true? Free will cannot exist without at least two choices. If there’s only one path, how can one choose?

The Jedi Order values peace, serenity, and detachment. These are noble goals, shared by many spiritual traditions. But most followers choose their path after exploring others. They enter voluntarily.

The Jedi are different. They recruit infants—long before those children can decide for themselves. The parents consent, yes. But in doing so, they also surrender the child’s right to choose another life. In a different world, that same child might have pursued ambition, passion, or love—each path just as valid.

When recruitment happens so early, children are not only denied the opportunity to choose, but perhaps even the capacity to imagine alternate ways of living.

Do parents fully understand what life in the Jedi Order entails? Or are they pressured into decisions they can’t fully grasp?

So I ask—do Force-sensitive children truly enjoy freedom?

She exhaled and leaned back in her chair. It felt good to write again. Helping the Shas had rekindled something she’d buried since moving to Coruscant—her habit of using abstract reflection to process the world. She published the post on her blog, A Lawyer from the Outer Rim , then powered down for the night with a quiet smile.

The next morning, she scanned the comment section over her caf.

Comment 1: Wordy. You’re basically saying Jedi have no freedom. That’s not true. They’re free to do whatever they want—just not hurt others. Most seem content. Very few leave.

Comment 2: Your definition of freedom is flawed. No one is truly free. Obsession with “freedom” leads to chaos.

Comment 3: The Jedi have preserved peace for a thousand years. Their recruitment isn’t perfect, but your critique is harsh.

Rackeli frowned. The comments were shallow—none scratched beneath the surface. She sighed, tapping her mug in thought.

Then she saw something new in her blog inbox.

I appreciate your very thoughtful writing. The Jedi Order is not a religion—it’s a governmental institution. The Senate sponsors their recruitment. Every infant undergoes a blood test. If they are Force-sensitive, the Jedi visit the family and persuade them to relinquish the child. How easily can an ordinary parent refuse the Galactic Republic? That power imbalance should be part of your analysis.

I’m curious—why are you interested in this topic?
—Skywalker

Her eyes widened. Skywalker? That name sounded important—and this person clearly knew more than most.

She replied quickly.

Dear Skywalker,
Thank you for your message. You’re right—the Republic’s influence can weigh heavily on families. I’ll revise the post to reflect that.

A friend’s daughter was taken into the Jedi Order. They’re worried about her emotional wellbeing. I’m trying to help them reconnect.

You seem well-informed. Do you know how I might contact the Order?
—Rackeli

The reply arrived within minutes.

The Jedi define emotional wellbeing differently. They call it “the Jedi way.” If the parents are concerned, they should file a complaint with their senator. The senator can forward it to the Sentient Being Rights Committee. The Jedi only answer to the Senate.

—Skywalker

Rackeli stared at the message. File a complaint... against the Jedi? That felt impossible. And yet—what other option was there?

Maybe not a complaint, she thought. Maybe a respectful letter—a formal request for information.

"Okay," she whispered. "It’s worth a try."

She turned off her datapad and headed out the door, her mind already shaping the next draft.

***3***

Anakin stared at the screen, still processing the blog post. “Jedi Freedom” was more than thoughtful—it hit like a gut punch. It wasn’t speculation. It was a mirror. A hypothetical parallel to the life he might’ve lived.

In that version of reality, he’d have been taken by the Jedi as an infant. Still enslaved—just in a more dignified cage. The post captured it all: the illusion of choice, the quiet suffocation of a path chosen for you, the indoctrination that passed for destiny. 

The words rekindled the old scars—the deep, slow-burning anguish inflicted by the Jedi Order. Their supremacy over Force users. Their unrelenting persecution of the Sith for a thousand years.

Who was this writer? Her insight was unnerving. She hadn’t been inside the Temple, yet her questions cut deeper than most Jedi ever dared.

The chirp of his commlink snapped him back.

Padmé.

He answered instantly. “Padmé, I just read this incredible post analyzing the Jedi—”

“Anakin, not now.” Her voice was tense, clipped. Her face on the tiny projector screen was tight with urgency. “Something urgent’s come up. I need your help.”

His body stiffened. “Is the assassin back?”

“No—worse, maybe. Obi-Wan just called. He and Palis tracked the assassin to Geonosis. They found a clone army. Fully formed. Ready for combat. Commissioned in secret. We need intel, fast.”

He blinked. “Clone army?”

“It’s all irregular. The Senate Bureau of Intelligence must have something on Geonosis, but I don’t have clearance. It’d take days to request—time we don’t have.”

She hesitated, then added quietly, “Your father does.”

Anakin’s mouth flattened. “You want me to use Palpatine’s clearance?”

“I know it’s not ideal. But I trust him. And I trust you.”

His jaw tensed. “You're doing this... because you're worried about Obi-Wan?”

Her answer came without pause. “Of course I’m worried about him and Palis—but this is bigger than them. Think about it, Anakin. Someone built a secret army. What’s the next move?”

His jealousy flared, sharp and uninvited. “I’ll contact his aides,” he said, voice flat.

Then he saw it—another vision. Padmé. In danger. Alone. Vulnerable.

He moved without thinking. Tossing the datapad aside, he grabbed his windbreaker and tore out of his office.

The Jedi Temple loomed like a fortress of light. At the gates, guards blocked him with crossed electrostaffs.

“Access restricted,” one said. “Appointment, work permit, Jedi escort, or—”

“I’m Judiciary,” Anakin snapped. “I have urgent business with Senator Amidala.”

The guard studied him. Then, with a frown, scanned his coded rank cylinder, then waved him through.

Inside, the Temple’s corridors echoed under his hurried steps. The Force pulled at him like a compass needle.

Padmé emerged from the library, her commlink projector raised. Palpatine’s image hovered above it, mid-conversation.

"Aha, Anakin. What a surprise. You have entered  the Jedi Temple unaccompanied..." The Chancellor’s voice was smooth, his smile tight, eyes glittered.

“I didn’t use your name,” Anakin said, a touch defensive. “Just told the guards I had important business.”

“And so you do.” Palpatine’s voice turned grave. “I’ve just briefed Senator Amidala. Count Dooku and his allies are gathering on Geonosis. A summit is underway. Padmé has offered to attend as a diplomatic envoy. The Jedi’s involvement in this army is already public knowledge. We must show we still seek peace.”

Anakin stepped forward. “You’re sending her into a nest of enemies.”

Palpatine's voice softened. “Your concern is valid. That’s why I’m sending you with her. You’ve had more than enough training to protect her. Are we clear?”

Then, turning to Padmé, he added somberly, “Your opposition to the Military Creation Act was noble. But you were ten years too late. We’ve all been kept in the dark.”

The hologram blinked out.

Padmé lowered the projector, her grip finding Anakin’s hand. Her fingers were fierce, eyes blazing. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

Anakin nodded. The heat in her voice ignited something in him. “Let’s gear up. Dealing with Dooku is never simple.”

***4***

They set out for Geonosis aboard her Senatorial yacht. Anakin sat at the controls, hands steady, posture rigid. He hadn't spoken in nearly an hour. The silence felt too sharp, too deliberate.

Padmé scrolled through the dense intelligence cache forwarded by the Chancellor’s office—briefings, dossiers, CIS diplomatic communiqués. It took her a couple of hours to finish. She organized her notes, mentally constructing a diplomatic address.

"Ani," she said, turning to him, "could you help me with my speech? I'm going to read through my talking points. Would you mind pretending to be Count Dooku?"

Anakin spun in his seat, sudden anger flashing across his face. "No. Absolutely not," he said, the words hard and fast. "This whole mission is a mistake. It’s too dangerous. You can’t trust Dooku. Not for a second."

Padmé held her ground. "We’re here as official envoys of the Republic. The CIS has declared independence—they’ve earned sovereignty, at least in name. All we’re doing is talking. If they aren’t interested in peace, then we leave."

Their eyes locked. Behind his fury, she saw it—something raw, almost frightened. She reached out, took his hands in hers, and squeezed.

"You’re never afraid of anything," she said gently. "So what is it? What’s really bothering you?"

He turned back to the front viewport. The swirling blur of hyperspace lit his face in cold blue tones. His hands were icy in hers.

"Something just feels… wrong. That’s all," he murmured. "But go on, practice your speech. I will listen.”

She stood and began to rehearse—outlining a vision of shared peace, emphasizing common values, coexistence, mutual benefit. Her voice was strong, unwavering.

Anakin didn’t interrupt. He didn’t move. He stared out at the stars streaking by.

He offered a few vague comments when she finished, and clapped—softly, politely, like he was somewhere else.

She walked toward him, a line of concern etched in her brow. "I get it. You don’t trust Dooku. You think the Separatists are dangerous. And maybe you're right."

She paused, looking him over.

"But I believe in trying. Every sentient being deserves peace and dignity. When I spoke with Dooku years ago—after the Naboo Occupation—what he said made sense. The Republic has failed many. Even your homeworld. That failure drove some to leave."

She gave him a long look. "If we don’t at least try, what’s left?"

Anakin exhaled. His shoulders sagged slightly.

"It’s just not that simple," he muttered. "The Jedi have a new army. Dooku was once one of them. This isn’t diplomacy anymore—it’s... strategy. Power. Lines in the sand."

He turned away again, words trailing off. “I just don’t want you to—”

But he didn’t finish the thought.

He left the cockpit.

When he returned, he carried a tray—two plates of food, a bottle of Nubian champagne, and two fluted glasses. His mood was different now. Quieter. Tense, but not bristling.

“Sorry,” he said without meeting her eyes. “Didn’t sleep well. Not in the best mood today.” He offered a crooked smile. “We should eat. Have a drink. Rest up. Big day tomorrow.”

Padmé accepted the glass he poured. The champagne shimmered in the ambient light, fine bubbles rising like silver dust.

She raised her glass. “We will succeed,” she said firmly. “Let’s have faith in that.”

They touched glasses, and for a moment, all the chaos receded.

***5***

It wasn’t just a bad feeling. It was a vision—sharp, brutal, and unmistakable.

He saw it unfold in terrifying clarity: a Mandalorian raised his blaster and fired. Padmé crumpled, her body striking the ground with lifeless finality. Crimson spread across her dress like ink in water, silk transforming into a funeral shroud.

The image ended there. But it was enough.

His Master had taught him that Force visions could offer glimpses—fractured possibilities shaped by fear or fate. But Anakin’s visions? They were always soaked in blood. Always final. Always death.

He shut his eyes, reaching for calm, for the clarity the Jedi so revered.

All he found was desperation.

This had Dooku’s stench. His manipulations. His poison.

Part of Anakin longed to hunt him down, end his treachery, and finally make him pay. But not now. Not with Padmé by his side. Not on this mission.

After Sidious had revealed the Force’s true nature to Dooku, the man had betrayed them, catalyzing the Separatist movement and shattering the Republic. Now the Jedi had raised a secret army. The shadows grew thicker, more dangerous.

Anakin knew he was angry. But large-scale conflicts belonged to his Master. He had one focus now.

Protect Padmé.

What was she thinking—walking into a death trap like a diplomat heading to a tea party?

He wrapped himself in the Force like armor and lay back, eyes open in the dark. Sleep remained elusive.

Not until he heard the fresher door open.

"Ani, I hope you slept well. Time to get ready."

Padmé stepped into the room in a shimmering nightdress that caught the soft cabin light. The sight of her dissolved the last vestiges of sleep.

"I’m fine," he muttered, sitting up slowly, still wrapped in his blanket.

"Still cold in space after all these years?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. The truth? He’d never felt colder—not since he'd learned to reach deeper into the Force. Sometimes it crept into his bones like frostbite. Pain that sharpened focus.

"Take your blaster with you," he said firmly. "Just in case."

He dressed quickly—black jacket, gray cloak edged with subtle Naboo embroidery. A quiet declaration of the noble line he rarely acknowledged.

Padmé returned wearing a senatorial gown, regal and composed.

"I chose one lined with armor mesh," she said, smoothing the fabric. "It can stop a blaster shot. See? I do take your expert advice."

Padme started to do her hair. She tried to tie up all her hair into a single bun on the top, but a few threads kept falling down.  "I wish Dormé were here to help with this mess."

"I can help,"  Anakin stepped forward, gently lifting a few hairpins from her case.

"You know how to do hair?" she asked, surprised.

"I used to help my mother," he said quietly.

Her smile faltered. "Oh. I didn’t mean to—"

"It’s okay," he said, brushing it off.

In the mirror, he caught his reflection—pale, haunted. A boy carrying ghosts. He had searched the Outer Rim for years. When he finally found Shmi, she was broken and dying. That pain never dulled. It lived behind his eyes, in every shadow of silence.

But this time would be different.

This time, he was ready.

He wouldn’t lose someone he loved. Not again.

He guided the yacht out of hyperspace, eyes narrowed, senses sharpened. Minutes later, they touched down on Geonosis.

Waiting in the hangar was Count Dooku.

A phalanx of skeletal battle droids stood at attention—eerily reminiscent of the ones that had ravaged Naboo.

"Welcome, Senator Amidala," Dooku said, his voice a smooth blade. He bowed—elegant, insincere. He did not so much as glance at Anakin.

"We’ve come to express the Republic’s sincere desire for peace," Padmé replied, returning the bow. "We still believe there’s a future—together."

She extended her hand.

Dooku did not take it.

Instead, the droids raised their blasters in perfect mechanical unison.

Padmé’s face turned to stone. "So we came in vain."

She turned sharply. "Anakin, we’re leaving."

Dooku's expression shifted into cruel amusement. "No, not at all, my lady. You've already set forces in motion."

He chuckled, low and cold.

"Take them down."

Chapter Text

***1***

Anakin lunged between Padmé and the attack. His hand flew to the modified Mandalorian ray shield—a bitter compromise when revealing his true nature meant death. The device hummed to life.

"Dooku!" Padmé's voice cut sharp behind him. "You are inviting a war!"

The Count's lips curved without warmth. "Yes, Senator. With pleasure."

A blaster whined. Anakin spun, every instinct screaming. Through the chaos—a flash of blue armor. Jango Fett, weapon raised.

Time fractured.

The bounty hunter fired. Anakin reached into the Force, grasping for power he dared not unleash. But Dooku pressed against his defenses, unraveling his barrier with surgical precision.

The bolt sliced through.

It caught Padmé across the neck, spinning her backward.

"NOOO!"

The scream erupted from his core. The Force exploded outward—battle droids collapsed in sparking heaps, circuits fried by unleashed anguish. Fett staggered, dropping to one knee.

Anakin caught Padmé before she hit the floor. She felt impossibly fragile, lighter than his mother had been in those final moments. The stench of cauterized flesh filled his nostrils.

"Ani..." Her lips shaped his name soundlessly, breath rattling through the ruin of her throat. Her life force flickered against his senses—a candle guttering in wind. She lifted her hand toward his face, but it fell away. Her mouth moved again, forming words he couldn't hear.

No. Not again. Not like his mother.

"Skywalker."

Anakin's head snapped up, yellow fire in his eyes.

Dooku stood relaxed. "You can drop your pathetic disguise." His crimson blade ignited.

Rage coursed through Anakin's veins like molten metal. He lowered Padmé gently and rose. His hand moved to his back, drawing his lightsaber in one fluid motion. The blade burned red as his fury.

He struck without warning, covering the distance in a heartbeat. His blow should have taken Dooku's head, but the Count's parry was already there.

Steel sang against steel. Dooku fought with textbook precision—every movement calculated. But Anakin brought something else: the terrible strength of a man with nothing left to lose. He caught Dooku's blade in a crushing bind.

"Ah," Dooku observed with infuriating calm, glancing at the crimson blade. "No longer white, I see. Finally, your lightsaber displays its proper color." He disengaged, using the Force to shove Anakin back. "Not that it will save you."

Lightning erupted from his fingertips.

Mistake.

Anakin caught the energy on his blade, feeling it build. This was what he'd waited for. He channeled his own lightning down the saber's length—twin bolts meeting in catastrophic collision.

Energy danced between them, amplifying. Dooku's confidence cracked. Anakin pressed his advantage, driving more distance between them. As Dooku raised his blade, Anakin thrust skyward, redirecting the chaos into the hangar's ceiling.

The explosion was deafening. Half the roof collapsed in twisted metal and stone. Anakin didn't hesitate. He scooped Padmé into his arms and ran for their ship.

She was alive. Barely breathing, but alive.

Every heartbeat was precious.

He could still save her.

***2***

Harsh wind scoured the Geonosian desert as Obi-Wan and Palis landed. Sand whipped their faces, explaining why the natives preferred their underground hives. Within minutes, they'd lost Fett's trail.

"We need intel," Palis murmured, scanning the barren landscape.

Their reconnaissance revealed a droid factory running at full capacity—conveyor belts churning out battle droids with relentless efficiency. Then blaster muzzles pressed against their backs.

"Well," Obi-Wan sighed. "That could have gone better."

--

The ray shield hummed around them in the interrogation chamber. Their lightsabers were gone. Charges of espionage hung in the recycled air like a death sentence.

Count Dooku entered with practiced elegance.

"Gentlemen. My lady," he said, bowing slightly. "I thought we might have a conversation."

"Conversation?" Palis's voice cut sharp. "From behind a ray shield?"

Dooku's smile was winter-cold. "Precautions, I'm afraid."

What followed wasn't conversation—it was sermon. Dooku spoke of corruption, of a Republic rotting from within. The bureaucracy was a cancer. The only cure was exodus—every world abandoning the dying system to join the Confederacy.

"The Jedi are part of the problem," he continued, pacing before them like a caged predator. "Passive. Stagnant. Bound by dogma while the galaxy burns."

He paused, studying them with calculating eyes. "You are both of my lineage through Qui-Gon. I offer you a place at my side."

"You're insane," Palis spat. "I share nothing with you."

The words hit Obi-Wan like a physical blow. He'd never replaced her first master—he knew that. But he'd thought they'd built something together.

"Tell me, Master Kenobi," Dooku said, savoring the moment. "Who is truly mad? The Republic you serve is already compromised. Hundreds of senators bow to a Sith Lord—Darth Sidious."

The claim struck like lightning. Obi-Wan steadied himself. "Preposterous. The Jedi would have sensed such corruption."

"Would you?" Dooku's laugh was bitter. "Arrogance blinds you to what happens under your very noses." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Consider this—who arranged for the Senate to suddenly acquire an army no one requested? The pieces are in place, Kenobi. You simply cannot see the board."

He left them in silence.

--

Minutes later, darkness flooded the Force like a tidal wave. Thunder shook the chamber walls. Obi-Wan and Palis exchanged horrified glances.

When Dooku returned, his pristine cape was dust-stained, his face cut and bleeding. Yet he laughed with manic satisfaction.

"Lost something, Count?" Palis taunted. "What happened to your fancy clothes?"

"Senator Amidala came as an ambassador," Dooku declared triumphantly. "She brought the Chancellor's pet assassin—Skywalker. He used some crude explosive against me. Pathetic, really." His eyes gleamed. "But their little scheme failed. An assassination attempt on a sovereign head of state is an act of war."

"I felt it," Palis hissed. "You used the Dark Side. You're no former Jedi—you're Sith."

"Insightful, young one." Dooku's composure cracked, revealing something hungrier beneath. "I learned new powers to build this alliance. To restore order. The Jedi are limited by their dogmatic ideology—as rotten as the system they serve."

He extended a hand. "Reconsider my offer."

"Never."

"So be it."

Lightning erupted from his fingers. It struck Palis full in the chest, sending her writhing to the floor. Her red hair spilled free of its ponytail as she gasped for breath.

There was no redemption left in him. Only Sith.

"Stop," Obi-Wan pleaded. "This is an important decision. Give us time to—"

"Who taught you those powers?" Palis hauled herself upright, eyes haunted but defiant. "Was it the Zabrak who killed Obi-Wan’s Master?"

Dooku's smile was poisonous. "Join me, and all your questions will be answered."

"Perhaps we could discuss this more comfortably?" Obi-Wan suggested carefully. "The ray shield is rather cramped—"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Dooku's civility shattered completely. "Your pathetic manipulation disgusts me. Guards!"

Geonosian soldiers flooded the chamber.

"Prepare the execution! Today Jedi blood will write a new chapter for the Confederacy!"

Energy cuffs bound their wrists as they were escorted out.

"You scared me," Palis whispered. "I'd rather die than join him."

Obi-Wan managed a wry smile. "Then your wishes will be fulfilled shortly."

***3***

Anakin ignited the engines and slammed the autopilot. R2 rolled into the cockpit, circuits whirring with concern.

"Coruscant," he barked. "Now."

He carried Padmé to her quarters, laying her gently on the bed. Her dress tore under his frantic hands. Her lips had turned purple. No heartbeat. Her Force signature flickered like a dying ember.

Anakin closed his eyes and dove deep. He poured his strength into hers, blending their signatures until he couldn't tell where he ended and she began. Healing required finesse—he had none. Raw power flooded through him, willing her heart to beat, her cells to mend.

She remained cold. Still.

He stared at her lifeless form. She looked so much like his mother in those final moments. Past and present collided. For a dizzying instant, he was back to the fateful day, holding Shmi as she died. He hadn't been strong enough then. Death had claimed her despite everything.

But he was stronger now.

Grief had forged him into something harder. He pushed away his mother's ghost. Padmé would live because he willed it.

The texts spoke of Force users channeling galactic energy through their midichlorians to heal. The problem? Padmé had no midichlorians.

Fortunately, he had plenty to spare.

His blade drew across his wrist in one swift motion. He pressed the bleeding cut to the wound on her neck. The laws of nature would bend to his power. He guided his blood, his midichlorians into her until his vision blurred. The wound began to close.

Her heart still wouldn't beat.

Panic seized him. What was he missing?

Life Force.

She had almost none left. He could give her his.

Anakin pulled her up, cradling her head against his chest. He poured himself into her—energy flowing like water through a broken dam. Exhaustion crashed over him. Would he die if he gave her everything?

He didn't care.

Padmé gasped—a shuddering breath that filled the room.

She lived.

Relief flooded through him as darkness claimed him.

***4***

Padmé walked through cold mist, following a path that felt hauntingly familiar. Voices drifted from the gray—her own voice, echoing across time.

"Mom, I was admitted to the Legislative Youth Program. One day, I'll run for the highest office in Naboo."

"As Princess of Theed, I promise the corruption ends here."

"Naboo will survive the invasion. We will thrive!"

"The Republic has problems, but I choose to believe in it."

"Supporting the Military Creation Act will cost us peace and liberty."

"My fault... Sorry... I..."

The last whisper hung in the mist like a ghost. She couldn't remember who she'd been speaking to, or why.

Ahead, a river flowed in silence. Beyond it stretched a meadow of white and yellow flowers—like the fields of her childhood. Sunshine blazed overhead, the sky crystal clear. Something pulled at her soul, urging her to cross, to leave this cold place for eternal brightness.

"No." A strong hand seized hers. "This isn't your time. I won't allow it."

A tall figure pulled her back—familiar voice, shadowed face. They began to dance, hands entwined, foreheads touching. The mist dissolved. They spun among the stars.

His face came into focus. Anakin—but his eyes burned gold instead of blue.

She cupped his face and smiled. "I meant to tell you. I love you."

They danced until suddenly he was gone.

--

Padmé woke with a gasp. Pain stabbed through her head and chest. Her throat burned with each breath. She lay in her quarters, formal dress replaced by an undershirt. The last thing she remembered was shouting at Dooku.

Anakin lay on the floor, fully clothed, body trembling.

"Master, please," he mumbled in delirium. "Don't sell my mother. She's all I have. I'll work harder."

"Anakin!" She pushed herself up, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up!"

Blue eyes—not gold—blinked open. He gasped, sweat beading his forehead. For a long moment, he stared up at her.

"Padmé!" He threw his arms around her, tears streaming. "You were shot."

"I feel sore. Tired." She studied his face. "You had a nightmare. You were shouting."

His smile froze. "What did I say?"

"You begged someone not to sell your mother."

"That's all?" His eyes searched hers. " Anything unusual?"

She shook her head. Relief flooded his features.

"Ani, there's more about your mother than you told me, isn't there?" She tried to help him up, but her strength failed. They both tumbled to the floor.

Anakin lay back, absently playing with her fingers. "I told you about growing up poor. About my mother being kidnapped. About Palpatine adopting me." His eyes stayed downcast. "Except... I was a slave. We both were." He shook his head sharply. "I can't talk about it. Don't tell anyone. And don't pity me."

The revelation pierced her heart. She wept.

"I said don't pity me." He bit his lip, turning away.

"I'm not pitying you. I hate that I know so little about you. I'm a failure." She wiped her tears with shaking hands. "I had a strange dream. I think... I was dead. I heard myself speaking—all political speeches, eloquent and inspiring. But I realized I have nothing outside politics. Nothing for myself." She hesitated. "I was so close to death. I want you to know—I love you."

His lips found hers in desperate hunger. They kissed cheeks, nose, forehead—anything they could reach.

"Stay with me?" She patted the space beside her on the bed.

Anakin slipped off his jacket. They wrapped themselves in blankets, fingers intertwined. She felt connected to him in ways she couldn't understand—bonded by something deeper than words.

"I want to know everything about you," she whispered. "Even your name—does it have special meaning?"

"In Tatooine Basic, Anakin means hope." He pulled her closer. "Something my mother said we all needed, especially in the slave quarters."

***5***

The Acklay's massive jaws snapped inches from Palis's fingers. She reached out through the Force, touching its presence gently. Something resonated between them—connected. Hope sparked within her.

Under her guidance, the beast sliced through her binders, freeing her from the execution pillar. With a thought, she directed it toward the Nexu attacking Obi-Wan.

Battle droids marched in thunderous waves. Gunships roared overhead. Behind them, green and blue lightsabers flashed among mechanical hordes. The Jedi had arrived—and they'd brought the Clone Army.

The battle was swift but costly. More than a dozen Jedi fell. Both she and Obi-Wan survived, though barely. A few days in the Halls of Healing would set them right.

She'd lost her lightsaber—unique, light purple, unlike Master Windu's deeper hue. Masters Windu and Yoda had tried to capture Dooku. He'd escaped. Perhaps Obi-Wan should have fought him instead. Sith were his specialty, after all.

--

A week later, they sat in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, side by side.

"What if Dooku was telling the truth?" She gazed into the rippling water. "A Sith working inside the Republic. Maybe they're allies. Maybe rivals."

"The Sith are masters of deception. Their specialty is sowing doubt." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Palis, you're one of the most talented Jedi I know. I'm proud of you. But meditation is your weakness. You need to work on it—especially with the Dark Side clouding everything."

"That's exactly my point. If the Force is clouded, how can we rely on it? I've never heard it clearly like you do. All I have is my mind and my eyes." Her voice carried sadness. "We only just discovered Dooku was Sith, and he's already leading thousands of systems against us. How did we miss something so huge?"

"The Council knew the Dark Side was strong in the CIS movement. They suspected Sith involvement but didn't think it was Dooku."

"He was a Jedi Master," she said bitterly. "Now he's twisted and mad."

"You have a point. The Council didn't know about Dooku. A Sith could influence the Senate from afar—under our radar." He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking weary.

"Maybe they're working in the Senate? Lobbyists? Corporate interests?" She leaned forward, eyes intense. "Consider the possibility."

"I'll inform the Council of your concerns," Obi-Wan said seriously.

"About another issue." She took a deep breath. "I'm thinking of leaving the Order."

"What?" Shock and hurt mingled in his expression. "You can't be serious. What brings this up? Dooku's speech?"

"Of course not! I want nothing to do with that madman." She shot back. "This is my own idea. I started thinking about it ten years ago. Aren't we peacekeepers? Why are Jedi serving as generals? I thought we were against violence. Why are we leading a war when others are so eager to lead?"

"It's the Senate's decision. The Jedi answer to the Senate." Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "We created the Clone Army. We have an obligation to end the atrocities committed by a fallen Jedi."

" We created an army?" She jumped to her feet. "Some long-dead Master we barely remember supposedly ordered it years ago without Council approval, and suddenly it's our responsibility? How do you not see how suspicious that is? We should refuse! We're supposed to be an organization of faith, not the Republic's military command."

She paced, agitated. "And if a Sith Lord controls hundreds of Senators, they have enough power to push through anything they want."

Obi-Wan remained silent.

"I snuck out to watch the Military Academy graduation ceremony. Graduates from across the galaxy gathered. They spoke passionately—all committed to the Republic. Anakin Skywalker spoke. Brief but powerful, though he didn't look well."

She continued pacing. "He talked about training on Carida, then the mission to Geonosis. How Dooku's man attacked Padmé unprovoked. He and his fellow officers will fight any enemy until justice is restored. He and Padmé survived facing a Sith Lord! These military officers can handle it."

"It was more than that," Obi-Wan said. "The Chancellor told me directly—Anakin will rest to regain his health before any battle." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "About your leaving... I'm disappointed. You can't walk away from duty, from who you are. We've all sworn allegiance to the Order, to the Republic."

"Why can't you see what's happening?" She threw her hands up, then collected herself, speaking softer. "We both know I'm a misfit here. I'm not strong in the Force like others. I'm constantly finding workarounds to keep up. Outside the Temple, everything feels right. People see me for who I am. Even dying my hair red—the Masters treated it like transgression. Who cares what color my hair is?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Obi-Wan's eyes softened. "No one's a perfect fit. We all struggle, but this is our family. We endure tough times together."

"I don't want to be part of this war. Senate, Council, Will of the Force... which is which? How was the decision made? The logic is muddy. I'm confused."

"If it's your final decision, I respect that. I'll miss you." Obi-Wan's voice grew earnest. "Please give this more thought. You can't turn back once you leave. There's a Sith Lord out there. He may be interested in you."

"I've had enough of the Force. No appetite to learn anything new." She smiled, weight lifting from her shoulders. "The galaxy is vast. I'll help the Republic in other ways."

***6***

The war had begun. The cadets' graduation felt like a ceremony for a new era—grand displays of loyalty and patriotism marking the Republic's transformation.

Rackeli found it odd that the Chancellor's son was also named Skywalker. Curious coincidence. She pulled up Senator Amidala's profile—Sentient Being Rights Committee, minor role. Rackeli had already sent her "Concerned Parents" letter to her system's senator. Still waiting for a response, though the war probably pushed requests about Jedi younglings to the bottom of the priority list.

But it was top priority for Shas. The Jedi were sending children to war alongside adult teachers, calling it "training." Shas called it child soldiers—textbook abuse. Their baby hadn't signed up for this.

To her own surprise, Rackeli agreed completely.

She decided to reach out to Skywalker. He seemed to understand Senate politics.

A week later, he replied:

"Someone from the Committee will contact you soon. AS."

She stared at the initials. Her breath caught. Was she actually talking to Palpatine's son?

"Wait—are you Anakin Skywalker? The Chancellor's son?"

Her comm-link beeped moments later:

"Yes."

Chapter Text

***1***

Anakin stared at the ceiling of Padmé's guest room, his mind drifting through the haze of the past week. Everything since their return to Coruscant felt surreal—stepping off their ship's ramp directly into the chaos of the cadet graduation ceremony, where "Operation Freedom" had already been called the "Clone War" on every newsnet.

He'd been thrust to the podium as the first speaker. The attention made his skin crawl, but exposing Dooku's atrocities—what the fallen Jedi had done to Padmé—that had been necessary. The speech flowed easily enough; Padmé had written most of it. But the moment he stepped away from the microphone, his legs nearly buckled.

The Force, usually his constant companion, felt distant. Unreachable.

For seven days, he'd been little more than a ghost haunting Padmé's apartment. She'd insisted he stay where her staff could watch over him, and since Palpatine hadn't summoned him, Anakin took the silence as permission. Food turned to ash in his mouth. Fever burned through him in waves, leaving him shivering one moment and drenched in sweat the next. Sleep became an enemy—his body exhausted but his mind churning with restless energy that he had to mask behind carefully constructed calm.

The worst part was the emptiness inside, like someone had carved out his chest with a vibroblade. He'd wake gasping, tasting bile, his stomach rejecting even water.

But Padmé was alive. She was healing faster than him, and that knowledge was the only thing that kept him anchored.

He could see the worry etched in the fine lines around her eyes whenever she looked at him. Yesterday, she'd suggested—carefully, diplomatically—that perhaps a Jedi healer might help. "Dooku used some kind of dark technique," she'd said, her fingers tracing patterns on his arm. "The Jedi have experience with this sort of thing."

The suggestion had sent ice through his veins. He'd managed to deflect it with a weak smile and a promise that he was improving, but the fear lingered. He had to get better. Fast.

Life Force, he'd learned from his studies, could regenerate if the person retained their will to live and avoided mortal injury. Lose too much too quickly, though, and it was like bleeding to death—no amount of willpower could save you. Fortunately, he wasn't quite that far gone. Not yet.

Today, finally, he could focus long enough to read his datapad without the words swimming across the screen. Rackeli's message waited in his inbox—something about Jedi younglings. Normally, anything involving the Order would have his immediate attention, but his thoughts moved like ships through thick nebula.

A soft knock interrupted his brooding. "Ani?" Padmé's voice carried through the door before she slipped inside, carrying a steaming cup of something that smelled like Naboo jasmine tea.

"You're looking better," she said, settling on the edge of the bed. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows. "Some color's back in your cheeks."

She reached out, her palm cool against his forehead. The simple contact sent warmth spreading through him, and for the first time in days, the hollow ache in his chest eased slightly.

"I've been thinking," she continued, her fingers moving to trace the line of his jaw. "About us. About this." She gestured around the room, but her meaning was clear.

Their relationship had shifted since Geonosis, deepened in ways that went beyond the physical. Though that had been... significant too. The memory of her taking his hand, leading him from tentative kisses to something far more intimate, still made his pulse quicken. It had been his first time—though not hers, a fact that stirred something uncomfortably possessive in his chest—but the connection they'd forged went deeper than flesh.

He could feel her in the Force now, a constant warm presence at the edge of his awareness. Part of his life energy flowed through her and always would. The bond was permanent, unbreakable.

"I want you to stay," she said quietly. "Not just until you're better. Stay."

Anakin caught her hand in his, pressing her palm against his chest where his heart was finally beating steadily again. "What about your reputation? What about Palpatine?"

"Let me worry about Naboo society." Her smile was soft but determined. "As for the Chancellor... you're his son. Surely he wants you happy."

Son. The word still felt strange, even after all these years. Anakin had learned to play the role well enough, but something about it had never quite fit. Especially now, with this new understanding of power flowing through him, of capabilities that went far beyond what any ordinary person—even the Chancellor's adopted son—should possess.

His datapad chimed again. Rackeli's message, still waiting.

"I should probably deal with this," he said, though he made no move to reach for the device. The Jedi Order could wait a few more hours. Right now, with Padmé's hand warm in his and strength slowly returning to his limbs, the rest of the galaxy felt very far away.

But it wouldn't stay that way. It never did.

***2***

Palis ran her fingers over the rough fabric of her Jedi tunic one last time before folding it away. The vibrant yellow dress she pulled on felt strange against her skin—silk where she was used to coarse weave, bright color where she'd worn earth tones for years. She added a delicate necklace and white sun hat, catching her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back looked like a stranger.

A stranger who was free.

The rumors about Anakin moving in with Senator Amidala had reached even the Temple corridors. Perfect timing—she could visit both survivors of Geonosis at once.

Halfway to Padmé's building, movement caught her eye. A silver Loth-cat crouched beneath a flowering bush, watching her with intelligent blue eyes.

"Well, hello there." Palis knelt, extending her hand. "If you're here to see the lovebirds too, you might as well follow me."

To her surprise, the creature padded out and fell into step beside her. It followed her into the building, into the lift, right to Padmé's door—as if it belonged there.

The security guards scrutinized her civilian clothes with obvious suspicion. It took several minutes of explanation—yes, she was the Jedi who'd protected the Senator on Geonosis; no, she didn't have her lightsaber because she was transitioning out of the Order—before they finally let her pass.

"Come in," Padmé called from the living room. "Just finishing this letter."

The Senator sat cross-legged on a plush sofa, fingers dancing over a datapad. Anakin hunched over a golden protocol droid at a nearby workbench, tools scattered around him. Both wore casual clothes that somehow matched—as if they'd unconsciously begun dressing like a couple.

The Loth-cat shot straight to Anakin, flopping dramatically at his feet and rolling onto its back.

"Well," Palis laughed, "looks like I found your cat."

Anakin's face lit up with the first genuine smile she'd seen from him. He scooped up the creature, letting it drape across his shoulder like living jewelry. "What a gift. Thanks, Master Red."

"Actually, I came to check on you both. Obi-Wan sends his regards—he's buried in Council duties." She settled into an armchair, watching how naturally they gravitated toward each other. "Our protection mission didn't exactly go according to plan."

"That's putting it mildly," Padmé said dryly.

"There's something else. I'm submitting my resignation to the Order. I'm leaving."

Padmé's datapad clattered to the floor. "You're what? But I'm fine now. If someone's pressuring you—"

"It's not about pressure." Palis waved away the concern. "I want something different. A new life."

Anakin leaned forward, his eyes sharp with sudden interest. "They actually let you just... walk away? No consequences?"

"The Council of Reconciliation wasn't thrilled, but ultimately it's my choice. Even Obi-Wan gave his blessing—reluctantly." She nodded toward the cat, now purring thunderously in Anakin's lap. "What will you name her?"

"She looks regal. Independent." His fingers stroked the silver fur. "Princess Imperius."

"Perfect! You two have matching attitudes," Palis grinned, then sobered. "But let's talk seriously. How are you both recovering?"

Padmé touched her neck unconsciously. "Better each day."

Anakin nodded, though shadows still lingered under his eyes. The pallor, the careful way he moved—he was healing, but slowly.

"There's something you need to know. On Geonosis, Dooku told us that hundreds of Republic senators are being controlled by a Sith Lord—Darth Sidious." Both of them went very still. "The Council's keeping it quiet, but the threat could be real."

Padmé's face drained of color. "Another Sith? Controlling my colleagues? Do the Jedi believe him?"

"Their official position is that Sith are liars by nature. But I can't shake it." Palis leaned forward. "After I leave the Order, I'm becoming a journalist covering the war. The Jedi are terrible at public relations—all that mystical silence while the Holonet spreads garbage about them. As an insider, I can set things straight."

She met Padmé's eyes directly. "And I'm going to investigate this Sidious claim. I have to know if it's true."

"Where would you even start?" Anakin's voice carried a new edge. "The Temple? The banking sector? Follow the credits, find your puppet master?"

His reaction was sharper than she'd expected, but understandable. Dooku's betrayal had shaken everyone's faith in the Order.

"I thought I'd start with you two. You faced Dooku directly. Did he say anything specific about Sidious?"

Anakin's jaw tightened. "We were on that planet for five minutes. Attacked by some Mandalorian assassin. Barely escaped with our lives." His voice rose. "Dooku tried to murder us both. Why would he share conspiracy theories with his victims?"

He shot to his feet, Princess Imperius leaping away with an indignant hiss. "This conversation is making me very uncomfortable. Excuse me."

The door to the balcony slid shut behind him with more force than necessary.

Padmé winced. "I'm sorry, Palis. This is hard for both of us. If what Dooku said is true—if a Sith is manipulating hundreds of senators, possibly even influencing the Chancellor..." She shook her head. "I can't imagine how that would feel for Anakin."

"I'm an idiot." Palis rubbed her forehead. "I wanted to warn you, keep you safe. Instead I brought up your worst nightmare."

"Your heart's in the right place." Padmé crossed to embrace her warmly. "What you're planning is important work. If you need anything—resources, contacts, a friend—I'm here."

Palis returned the hug fiercely. "Thank you. That means everything." She pulled back, studying Padmé's face. "Just... be careful. If there really is a Sith manipulating the Senate, watch for anything unusual. Especially around the politicians closest to you."

Through the transparisteel doors, she could see Anakin on the balcony, Princess Imperius wound around his ankles like a silver shadow. His shoulders were tense, his gaze fixed on the endless cityscape.

Something about his reaction nagged at her, but she couldn't place what.

***3***

Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine sat behind his imposing desk as pre-dawn starlight filtered through the windows of his private residence. The boy was coming—he could sense Anakin's approach through the Force, fear and anger radiating like heat from a forge.

"Master, I have returned." Anakin entered with a precise bow, though tension coiled in his shoulders. "I bring intelligence."

"Do you now?" Palpatine's lips curved in paternal amusement. "I assumed you were enjoying restful evenings with Senator Amidala."

Color crept up Anakin's neck as he settled into the chair across the desk. "We... yes. But there's a pressing matter." His foot began a nervous rhythm against the floor. "Obi-Wan's partner—the redhead, Palis Athia. Dooku told her about you. About Darth Sidious influencing hundreds of senators. And she's leaving the Order."

"Ah, to join our wayward Count?" Palpatine arched an eyebrow. "Were you perhaps fond of her?"

"No. She's weak in the Force—leaving to become some sort of Jedi propagandist."

"You're concerned about a mere journalist?" The Chancellor's tone carried gentle mockery.

Anakin's expression hardened. "She plans to investigate Dooku's claims. Publicly." His hands clenched. "Say the word, and I'll silence her."

"Silence her?" Palpatine chuckled, the sound warm and indulgent. "My boy, her investigation belongs on the front page of every news publication in the Core."

"Master, I don't understand." Anakin leaned forward, confusion creasing his brow. "What if she discovers—"

"Think, apprentice. With wisdom, everything serves our purpose. In time, you'll understand."

Palpatine studied the young man before him. Even suppressed, Anakin blazed in the Force like a captive star—raw power barely contained beneath that earnest exterior. Yet for all his strength, he lacked a Sith's most crucial quality: cunning. Where Maul had been savage and Dooku calculating, Anakin was direct to a fault. He sought power, yes, but always looked to others for guidance.

The perfect weapon. The perfect servant.

But something was different today. The boy's life essence flickered dimly, as if a flame burned low on fuel.

"Son." Palpatine's voice softened with concern. "You're diminished. What reckless thing have you done? And where is your lightsaber?"

Anakin's gaze dropped. "Destroyed. On Geonosis—I channeled lightning through it fighting Dooku." His voice roughened. "Padmé was dying. I gave her my life force to save her. I couldn't lose her. Not her."

"Impressive." Genuine pride colored Palpatine's words. "The Sith path opens doorways others consider impossible. You've learned well, though much remains." He leaned back, fingers steepled. "Draw strength from the Force. Command it to serve you, and you'll recover swiftly."

Better than he'd hoped. Amidala's death would have pushed Anakin deeper into darkness, but this—this willing sacrifice of self—would claim him from within. The Dark Side would feast on such devotion twisted into possessiveness.

The moment had come for the final step. Darth Plagueis would scold him for breaking the Rule of Two, but Darth Tyranus was already a dead man—his failure to kill Amidala had sealed that fate. It would be only a matter of time before that reality manifested.

"My boy, come closer." Palpatine gestured, his gaze piercing those familiar blue eyes. He saw surprise, confusion, excitement—and finally, conviction. "Tell me again: what is your dream?"

"The galaxy is riven with injustice. I won't forget my origins." Anakin's voice grew stronger. "I owe everything to you. I'll repay your generosity through dedication to your teachings, my Master."

"Kneel."

Anakin hesitated only a moment before dropping to one knee, head bowed.

"Your service as Sith Acolyte ends today." The words rang with finality. Anakin's head snapped up, shock and hunger warring in his expression. "You've proven worthy of true apprenticeship."

Palpatine rose, the Force swirling around them like gathering storm clouds. "The Force is strong with you, Anakin Skywalker. Henceforth, you are bound to me by the ancient Covenant of the Sith, until death claims us both." Power crackled between them, sealing the bond. "You shall be known as Darth... Vader."

The name settled over the young man like a mantle, and Palpatine felt the shift—the final transformation from conflicted young man to something altogether more useful.

"Thank you, Master." Vader's voice trembled with reverence.

Palpatine stepped closer, placing a gentle hand against his apprentice's cheek. The skin was warm, smooth—the boy shivered at the contact, breath catching. Beautiful and deadly, like the finest blade. He straightened Vader's collar, revealing the Palpatine family crest embroidered in scarlet thread—veermok, aiwha, and zalaaca intertwined.

"Lord Vader." He smiled. "Rise. And perhaps next time, let the Senator take care of her own lover"

Vader stood quickly, smoothing his clothes with endearing self-consciousness before resuming his seat.

"Tell me about you and Senator Amidala."

"Padmé." The name transformed Vader's features, softening them with an almost dreamy quality. "I love her."

"Love?" Palpatine scoffed. "You're certain of this?"

"Yes. She's confessed the same to me."

"Oh, my naive apprentice. What you call love is merely alliance—mutual benefit wrapped in pleasant fiction. You've enjoyed each other's company, tasted physical pleasure. Nothing more."

"That's not—" Vader protested, leaning forward.

"Then answer this: have you told her what you are? That you serve the Sith?"

The young man's gaze shifted away. "No."

"And why not?"

"I... I can't—"

"Because you know her reaction. You don't trust her, which means you already understand the truth." Palpatine's voice remained gentle, almost sympathetic. "The champion of democracy and Republic values—how do you imagine she'd respond to learning she's been intimate with a Sith Lord?"

Vader's hands twisted together until his knuckles whitened. "You're right. I can't tell her."

"You cannot even bring yourself to reveal your true nature. What does that suggest about this supposed love?" Palpatine reached out, covering those clenched hands with surprising gentleness. "Love is illusion, my boy—a pleasant fantasy the weak use to delude themselves."

Vader nodded silently, staring at the floor. The sadness radiating from him was exquisite.

"But there's no need for sorrow. You make an attractive couple—I've seen this possibility since you were children. I even arranged your reunion through that diplomatic mission." He paused, letting the implications settle. "By all means, marry her if her company continues to please you."

"But you just said there's no love—"

"You'll need an heir eventually." Palpatine waved dismissively. "I refuse to pollute Sith bloodlines with inferior genetics. And despite the Rule of Two, your loyalty to me matters more than ancient traditions."

"I'll never betray you." Fear flickered across Vader's features.

"We shall see."

Palpatine moved toward the door, gesturing for his apprentice to follow. "Your new military uniform arrived—the GAR has reassigned all Judicial officers to naval positions. Rest as needed, but remember: the Jedi lead an army they created in secret. We must remain vigilant."

"What's my assignment?"

"Master Kenobi commands a Star Destroyer bound for Christophsis. With his former apprentice departing, he'll need capable assistance. And you're already acquainted."

"Me? Assisting a Jedi?" Indignation sharpened Vader's voice. "I'm worth more than that."

"Patience, Lord Vader. Their downfall accelerates even now. Soon you'll be able to share all your secrets with Padmé—after the Jedi fall from grace." He placed a hand on his apprentice's shoulder. "I'll monitor this Sidious investigation personally. Go now, and bring me glory."

Vader bowed deeply and departed. Palpatine returned to his windows, watching dawn break over Coruscant's endless cityscape. All his pieces were positioned perfectly: Jedi and Senate, Tyranus and Vader, Separatists and Republic. Soon they would all kneel before him.

He breathed deeply, savoring the crisp morning air as sunlight crested the horizon. Today marked the dawn of his Empire.

Chapter Text

***1***

Palis's last night in the Temple had arrived. She'd officially resigned that morning after days of coming and going—networking, job hunting, interviewing across Coruscant, she'd told him.

Her messages had grown fewer over the past week. Sometimes Obi-Wan responded with terse replies, sometimes not at all. He'd been avoiding her because he didn't know what to say. Disappointment was only part of it—there were other emotions he couldn't name, didn't want to examine too closely.

Tonight felt like his last chance. He hadn't spoken his heart to Satine when he'd left Mandalore with Qui-Gon, following protocol. He'd never contacted her again. Jedi didn't allow attachments, after all.

He'd chosen to reaffirm his commitment to the Order—a decision he didn't regret. But in the quiet moments between missions, he sometimes wondered how things might have ended differently if he'd found the courage to say something that day.

Palis was different. No romantic feelings complicated this, but he refused to spend the rest of his life wondering if he could have been a better mentor.

"What could I have done better as your master?" he asked the moment she opened her door.

"Oh, Obi-Wan, no!" Her face crumpled with concern as she stepped aside, motioning him in. Pink pajamas replaced her usual tunics. "You were a wonderful master. I've been thinking about leaving for ten years—since before we even met. Don't look at me like that—like you've failed somehow. Let's celebrate instead!"

"I thought after you were knighted, with all that independence, you'd move past these doubts." He searched her green eyes.

"It's impossible to just get over who I am." Her smile turned wistful. "Call it an accident of birth. I've never understood what it means to 'release emotions into the Force' or 'let the Force guide you through meditation.' Sure, I can sense incoming blaster fire and hold my own in a fight, but visions? That mystical connection others describe?" She shook her head. "I'm surprised I was even knighted. Speaking of which, can you help me pack?"

"Of course." He forced cheer into his voice. If Palis wanted celebration, not mourning, he'd give her that.

Her quarters stood in stark contrast to typical Jedi simplicity. Boxes scattered across the floor contained wine glasses, picture frames, decorative pillows—personal touches that made him raise an eyebrow.

"I know it's not the Jedi way," she said with an unapologetic shrug, "but they make me happy." She began emptying her wardrobe with practiced efficiency, movements betraying years of planning. "If you could pack the official robes and bedding—things I need to return—that would help."

He worked in silence for a moment, fingers lingering on the familiar fabric. He sorted through traditional tunics and cloaks issued by the quartermaster, separating them from more civilian attire. Her robes had been subtly tailored, he noticed, and some bore nearly invisible embroidery along the hems. How had he never seen these small rebellions before?

Uncomfortable silence stretched between them until he broke it. "The decision to knight you was unanimous. You're a rare case—the Council meditated and agreed it was the Force's will. Jedi pursue peace, serenity, harmony, knowledge. You embodied all these principles. Your methods were different, but your connection to the Force was secondary to your character."

Palis paused, hands stilling over a half-packed box, shoulders tensing. She kept her back turned. "Friends outside the Order say I have good temperament—funny, peaceful. I know other Jedi found me aloof, arrogant. Not many liked me."

"Arrogant?" He abandoned his folding entirely, turning to face her fully. "You have a tender soul. You care about everyone you meet. Want to see arrogance? Look at the young elites from Core families."

"Speaking of young elites," she turned, expression troubled, "I upset Anakin a few days ago. I told him and Padmé about Dooku's claims regarding Darth Sidious."

"Why would you tell them that?" Obi-Wan pressed his palm to his forehead. "We can't confirm Dooku's claims. Most likely he was lying to discredit Republic leadership. You cannot trust a Sith's word!" He shook his head. "They didn't need that burden—fear without the tools to process it. Dealing with Sith is our responsibility."

"I realized my mistake and apologized. But I still think they should be warned, especially since Dooku already targeted them."

"They'll be safe. Anakin's skilled, Padmé's upgraded her security, and Palpatine has guards trained specifically to combat Force users." He waved dismissively. "Let's discuss something else. No more Sith talk. Where are you staying tomorrow? Please tell me you're not sleeping on the street."

"I'm renting an apartment near the Senate District. Friends are helping me move." Her expression brightened.

"The Senate District's expensive. How can you afford it?"

"A trustworthy friend helped me open a bank account. I took freelance work between missions." Pride colored her voice. "I already have job offers from several news outlets. I chose The Republic Chronicle—I'm all set."

"You've been preparing for years." His brow furrowed. "I'd heard rumors. Is it true about the boyfriend? The miscarriage?"

She nodded, expression unchanged. "We broke up. Nothing scandalous by civilian standards."

"You risked expulsion. You should have spent that time strengthening your Force connection, not forming attachments with outsiders." He sighed heavily. "No wonder other Jedi kept their distance."

Palis raised an eyebrow—a silent warning that his lecture had gone far enough. "I don't blame anyone. Not the Order, not you."

"How about that drink?" She reached for glasses and wine. "Let me enjoy my peaceful departure. Something more interesting—Anakin has a fascinating Loth-cat. She followed me to Padmé's apartment and bonded with him instantly. I think he's Force-sensitive. Amazing reflexes, connects with animals. We did some podracing before he left for Carida. He always won."

"Qui-Gon suspected the same during the Trade Federation crisis. My master was curious about everything." Obi-Wan lifted his glass, then set it down with a soft clink. "Sometimes I see him in you. When Anakin became a Naboo citizen, he had blood work done. I checked the results—his midi-chlorian level was below our recruitment threshold but close. Many Force-sensitives are born in the Outer Rim. We can't test them, and when we finally find them, they're usually too old for training. Without Jedi guidance, their talents go to waste."

"That attitude wouldn't be well received outside the Order." Palis shook her head, then seemed to reconsider saying more. "Never mind." She took a sip of wine.

The conversation had grown too heavy. "Anakin's strange cat and illegal podracing aside, he's not your concern anymore. He'll be my headache."

"Actually, he had a personal blog—Podracer. I saw an article criticizing Jedi recruitment, implying we lack freedom of choice. It invalidated everything I believed about my path." She met his eyes. "That's partly why I'm becoming a reporter. Jedi deserve accurate coverage as you fight this war."

Obi-Wan's throat tightened. Maybe he was getting emotional or maybe it was the alcohol. She wasn’t entirely abandoning them after all. 

"I have a parting gift." He retrieved a lightsaber from his robes, setting it on the table with reverent care. "Take this. I want you safe."

Palis stared at the weapon for a long moment. Then she closed her eyes in concentration. Using the Force, she opened the handle and extracted a green kyber crystal. Her movements were graceful, precise—a final demonstration of skills that had never quite fit the Jedi mold. She reassembled the weapon and ignited it—brilliant green light casting shadows across her face.

He'd always marveled at her sophisticated Force manipulation, even as she remained nearly deaf to the Cosmic Force—as if something had always stood between her and the mystical connection others took for granted.

"The crystal is the heart of the blade," she recited, voice soft and reverent. "The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. The Force is the blade of the heart. All are intertwined: The crystal, the blade, the Jedi. You are one."

Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks as the lightsaber's hum filled the space between them. "Tomorrow I won't be a Jedi anymore. I can't take the blade, but I'll keep the crystal. I'll remember the Order. I'll remember you."

"May the Force be with you, Red." The words came out rougher than he intended.

"And also with you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the weapon's gentle thrum.

***2***

The battalion of clone soldiers and Navy personnel stood at attention, ready to board the Star Destroyer Resolute . Sunlight gleamed off their pristine white armor, creating an almost ceremonial atmosphere in the hangar.

A crowd of family members had gathered to bid farewell to their loved ones. Padmé and Anakin stood hand in hand, waiting for reporters to capture images of the "First Family"—a designation that made Padmé's stomach twist with discomfort.

She shifted her weight. They were in a relationship, yes, but not engaged or married. More importantly, as someone who'd opposed the Military Creation Act, being photographed with the military might felt hypocritical.

Chancellor Palpatine had insisted, though.

"This is a time for unity. We're fighting ruthless evil," he'd said, his voice gentle yet persuasive. "I understand your reluctance, but we all have a duty to support the Republic. Our citizens need to see our officers as humans, not war machines. People must remember their sacrifice—that loved ones are waiting for their return." His expression had softened then, almost paternal. "You've always been like a daughter to me, Padmé. Now with you and Anakin... it feels official. We don't know how long the Christophsis campaign will take. We all need good memories in these dark days."

She had to admit he had a point. Victory required unity, and the Separatist droid armies were already devastating the Outer Rim. They'd been better prepared for war than the Republic. Without negotiating from strength, there could be no peace.

But watching Anakin prepare to leave felt like a wound opening in her chest.

Anakin cupped her face gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She ran her fingers through his wavy blond hair, trying to memorize its texture. They looked at each other, as if trying to burn each other's image into their souls.

"Anakin, you have to come back to me."

"I will. I promise." His smile carried that characteristic confidence that both reassured and worried her.

"You just graduated from the academy. There's so much danger—"

"I've seen worse things, my love." He bent to kiss her hair, his breath warm against her temple.

Camera flashes erupted around them. Padmé felt heat rise in her cheeks—she usually preferred maintaining dignity for the holonet, but today she didn't care. She wanted these moments with him.

The formal session began. Palpatine delivered a speech that became background noise as Padmé focused on Anakin beside her. They posed before the assembled clones, their white armor creating a stark backdrop. Padmé wondered if she looked as stiff as she felt.

When Palpatine embraced his son, tears glistening in his eyes, Anakin froze for a heartbeat—as if unsure how to respond to such public affection. After a moment, he pulled away and offered a crisp salute.

Padmé had prepared a care package: a holo of them playing with Princess Imperius, a thick coat with fur collar, and several blankets. He always complained about the cold in space—one of his few vulnerabilities.

"Anakin!" A familiar voice called. Palis approached wearing a light blue dress, her red hair swept into an elegant crown of braids. A GAR press pass hung from her wrist. It was remarkable how quickly she'd established herself in her new career.

Obi-Wan appeared at the boarding ramp's top, white armor pieces over his traditional robes. He moved with military precision as he directed the clone battalion.

"Closer!" Palis called professionally. "I want to show the Republic that Jedi, naval officers, and clone soldiers work as one team. Obi-Wan, ignite your lightsaber—both hands. Anakin, relax!"

Anakin moved reluctantly, taking position beside Obi-Wan with hands clasped behind his back. His expression was serious, distant—almost brooding.

Padmé couldn't suppress a laugh. She moved beside Palis and blew a kiss toward him. His expression softened immediately, a genuine smile breaking through his professional mask. Palis captured the moment perfectly.

"I hope they can get along," Palis muttered with an eye roll, waving them away.

Finally, departure arrived. The two women stood side by side, hands raised in farewell as their men disappeared into the ship's bright interior.

"Ms. Athia, congratulations on your smooth transition." Palpatine approached, his presence somehow diminishing the crowd around them. "Ladies, I need to speak with you privately."

They followed him away from the crowd, his guards maintaining respectful distance but watchful eyes.

"Anakin told me that Count Dooku claimed a Sith Lord is influencing hundreds of Republic senators. This concerns me deeply," Palpatine said, his smile failing to mask the weariness in his eyes.

"Your Excellency, Dooku could be lying. The Council hasn't confirmed anything. I wasn't thinking clearly when I told Anakin and Padmé about this," Palis replied, her tone apologetic.

"My dear, you did the right thing. If his claim is true, our democracy is in grave danger. More people need to know," Palpatine's voice grew firmer.

"It's not that simple. Except for the Jedi, almost nobody knows what the Sith are or what they can do. They disappeared a thousand years ago and only resurfaced recently. A public announcement could cause panic. People don't understand the Force." She paused, meeting his gaze directly. "The Senate should proceed with caution. I'd advise consulting the Jedi Council—they're the experts."

"Yet they didn't inform my office in the first place. I hope they can trust the Senate." Palpatine's expression grew sorrowful. "We need more information, not less. We need a free press to keep people informed. What do you think, Padmé?"

The question caught Padmé off guard. "This is troubling. If not handled properly, it could cause chaos."

"Precisely why I need help." Palpatine's voice carried the quiet authority. "As Chancellor, I bear ultimate responsibility. I cannot do this alone. Can I count on both of you?"

Padmé nodded firmly.  A Sith had invaded her homeworld; another had nearly killed her. She wanted to act—but how?

"Your Excellency, I'm honored, but I should consult the Council first." Palis bowed respectfully..

"Of course. I'll assist you however I can," Palpatine replied with a satisfied smile. 

***3***

After a long day at work, Rackeli collapsed into her worn desk chair, the weight of bureaucratic frustration settling on her shoulders. She pulled up the evening news. Almost every major outlet featured the same image: a naval officer saluting a tearful Chancellor Palpatine. In the background, clone soldiers boarded a Star Destroyer under the watchful eye of an armored Jedi.

The images stirred something deep in her chest—a mixture of pride and dread. The war in the Outer Rim raged on, and her family on Tethla worried it might reach their door. Her younger brother's voice echoed in her mind from their last call, full of nervous excitement about joining the planetary defense force.

Though most humans in uniform looked alike to her, she recognized Anakin Skywalker easily. They'd spoken briefly the day before his departure. Things had moved fast since then—too fast.

A staff member from the Sentient Being Rights Committee had called her. The conversation was polite, professional, and utterly disappointing. The way the Jedi recruited and raised younglings was perfectly legal. Whether the Order allowed biological parents to visit their children was entirely their decision. The staff member assured her that Jedi would never abuse children.

It felt like hitting an invisible wall. The case went nowhere.

The Sha family grew more distressed after seeing images of a young Twi'lek Jedi student wielding a lightsaber on the battlefront. It hit too close to home for all of them.

The Shas had had enough. They'd rallied other families with the same nightmare—parents whose Force-sensitive children were only a few years younger than the students in those battle images. The thought of finding their own child reported dead among casualty lists terrified them.

They wanted to hire a lawyer, sue the Order if that's what it took to bring their children home. Unfortunately, they had little legal ground and would likely lose. Jedi younglings had fought alongside their teachers for thousands of years. It hadn't changed then—it wouldn't change now.

She forwarded the development to Skywalker.

"Make it illegal," came his terse reply.

Though her thoughts had been moving in that direction, the blunt statement still surprised her.

The parents wanted to save their children from war. As a practioner of the law, changing the law to protect these families seemed like the obvious answer. But the idea of attacking the Jedi Order—which she respected—was frightening.

Someone had to do something, though. She took a deep breath and made her decision. Maybe enough pressure would convince the Order to return these children and avoid a fight entirely.

She'd requested a comm call with Skywalker before his departure. To her surprise, he'd agreed.

"You've completely lost your mind," her roommate had exclaimed. "You made a request to the Chancellor's son. Who do you think you are?"

"He's from the Outer Rim. He gained prestige through adoption." Rackeli had squared her shoulders. "I'm nobody, but I made my own way here."

After reading everything she could find on the topic, Rackeli put on her finest suit—a deep blue that gave her confidence—and waited nervously for the call. A blue holographic figure materialized on her comm.

Skywalker wore a sharp black uniform, seated at a dining table with a spacious kitchen behind him. About her age, there was an intensity to him that seemed to fill the holographic space—something that made her straighten in her chair despite the distance between them.

"So, you know how legislation works?" He launched straight into business. "Call me Anakin."

She recounted her internship experience in her Representative's home office.

"Then you know the drill—organizing, drafting bills, backroom dealing. You're more of an expert than me." His eyes studied her intently before he shook his head. "But you don't have connections on Coruscant. I'll help with that."

"Why do you want to help these parents? You don't know them. Why take on the Jedi Order?" The direct questions left her mouth before she could reconsider. "What's your motivation?"

His eyes narrowed. Several moments passed before he answered. "The Jedi are holding these children without parental consent. How can a tax-funded organization justify that?" His lips pressed into a thin line. "These mothers have every right to be with their children whenever they want. The Jedi way goes against everything I believe about liberty. This is very personal for me."

She sensed there was more to his story but decided this wasn't the time to push.

"I'll file a lawsuit. I need media coverage," she ventured cautiously.

Anakin's sudden laugh caught her off guard. "I know someone—Palis Athia. She goes by Red. Former Jedi turned journalist. You'll have to contact her yourself—I can't help with that."

"She left the Order. Does she have a grievance against her former employer?"

"No. She's very much a Jedi, just in fancier clothes." He fought to compose his expression, amusement still dancing in his eyes. "I have to go. Don't know when I'll be back on Coruscant. Good luck with your case."

The connection ended abruptly.

Rackeli spent hours researching Palis. The former Jedi's most recent work was a photograph featuring Anakin and a Jedi, titled "Comrades in Arms." Fine print below read: "Jedi General Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his deputy, Lieutenant Commander Anakin Skywalker."

Of all the departure photos, Palis's was the only one featuring a Jedi as the central figure. Looking through more of her work, Rackeli found a photo of Padmé Amidala and Anakin kissing, titled "Across the Stars." This one had the most hits. Reviewers called them "gorgeous together" and the "Prince and Princess of the Republic." Some commented that they wanted to marry Anakin, which amused her. She'd never had romantic or sexual interests in anyone. People were so different.

As she contemplated the best approach to contact Palis, Count Dooku's holoimage suddenly seized control of her browser.

"Republic Citizens, your attention please."

Rackeli's hands flew to her keyboard, frantically trying to close the hijacked feed, but her commands were useless.

"The democracy you believed in is dead. I have grave news—a Sith Lord, Darth Sidious, an ancient force of evil, has a stranglehold on your Senate. Ask the Jedi High Council—they know it's true. The Confederacy of Independent Systems will deliver you from this evil."

Dooku's image flickered and vanished, leaving Rackeli staring at her screen in stunned silence.