=== Ahsoka ===
The Senate apartment corridors were quiet at this hour, the usual shuffle of aides and protocol droids replaced by the distant hum of the city beyond the glass walls. Coruscant's endless lights pulsed, giving her a slight headache. Ahsoka walked slowly, her steps measured, her cloak pulled tighter around her.
Her left arm still ached, a deep, phantom pain where flesh should have been. The prosthetic moved when she willed it, almost naturally now, but it wasn't natural. It didn't feel like her. The smooth metal caught the faint glint of the corridor lighting as she flexed her fingers unconsciously, hearing the faint click of servos.
But that wasn't what truly gnawed at her.
It was the image she couldn't push from her mind, the smell of burned flesh, the cries of dying men, and Anakin, her master, standing over a kneeling Ultramarine. The Space Marine's armor was shattered, his breathing ragged but still defiant, his gaze heavy with grim determination even as his strength waned. He hadn't begged. He hadn't even cursed. He had simply tried to rise, tried to fight again, but Anakin had cut him down. Not in battle. Not in defense. But in fury and hate.
Ahsoka stopped at Padmé Amidala's door and exhaled through her nose. Her chest felt tight, her one good lekku heavy with dread. She raised her mechanical hand and knocked.
From inside came the warm, familiar voice of the Senator. "Come in."
The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Padmé seated gracefully on one of her apartment's velvet chairs. Across from her stood the ever-anxious C-3PO, flanked by R2-D2, who chirped softly as if amused by something. Jar Jar Binks gestured animatedly, clearly in the midst of some rambling anecdote.
Ahsoka hesitated in the doorway. "I… I'm not interrupting something, am I?"
Padmé looked up immediately, her face lighting with a soft smile, though Ahsoka noticed the faint shadow of concern behind her eyes. "No, not at all."
Ahsoka stepped in, offering a polite nod to the others. "Senator, I… I need to speak with you. In private."
Padmé's brow knit slightly. "Of course." She turned to the others. "I'll be just a moment. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
"Very well, Senator," C-3PO said, ever formal, while R2 gave a low, curious whistle. Jar Jar muttered something about "big people talks," but Padmé had already risen and was guiding Ahsoka down a side corridor, into the quieter, more personal rooms of her apartment.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate, softer lighting, quieter hums from the city outside, the faint smell of Nabooian flowers from a vase on a nearby table. It felt like a safe place, private and calm.
Padmé gestured toward a chair. "Sit, Ahsoka."
The Togruta lowered herself into the seat, her mechanical arm resting in her lap, her organic hand absently rubbing at the joint where metal met flesh.
Padmé's eyes followed the motion. "Are you adapting well?" she asked gently, nodding to the prosthetic.
Ahsoka gave a small, humorless chuckle. "It's… tough getting used to it. Every move feels just a little off. But… I'm managing."
Padmé sat across from her, leaning slightly forward, her expression warm yet laced with quiet worry. "What did you need to talk about?"
Her gaze dropping to the polished floor. For a moment, she simply breathed, trying to find the right words.
Finally, she said quietly, "It's about… Anakin."
Padmé's posture shifted almost imperceptibly, straighter, more guarded. But her eyes stayed soft. "Go on."
Ahsoka swallowed hard. "He's changing. Or maybe he's been changing for a while, and I just didn't see it. But this war… it's eating at him, Padmé. He's full of anger, and he doesn't even try to hide it anymore. I can see it in every fight, every mission. It's like… like something broke inside him, and all that's left is the rage."
Padmé stayed quiet, her hands folding in her lap.
"We found a massacre," Ahsoka continued, her voice growing heavier with each word. "A whole squad of Mandalorians. Nine of them, cut down. Only one survivor, a Space Marine, one of those Ultramarines. His armor was broken, his body failing, but he was alive. He wanted to fight, Padmé. Not for his own life, but to keep going, to avenge his squad. I could see it. He wasn't done. He was hurt, yes, dying, maybe, but not defeated."
Her remaining lekku twitched, her fingers curling into fists. "Anakin didn't see that. Or maybe he did, and he didn't care. He just… he just struck him down. Like the Marine's very existence was an insult."
The room was silent save for the distant hum of Coruscant's traffic lanes.
Ahsoka's voice cracked, low and pained. "He didn't even hesitate, Padmé. He didn't ask questions, didn't try to take a prisoner or gather intel or anything. He just… killed him. I couldn't even try to stop him, it was all so… sudden."
Padmé closed her eyes briefly, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.
"I know he blames them," Ahsoka went on, quieter now, almost a whisper. "He blames the Astartes for what happened to his mother. I've heard him mutter about it in the past, about how they killed her. But I thought… I thought he'd found a way to live with it. That maybe his time with me, with the Order, with you… I thought it gave him some balance. But now?"
She shook her head slowly, her montrals tilting low. "Now I'm not sure."
Padmé finally spoke, her voice soft but steady. "Ahsoka… I know Anakin better than most. He's passionate, and sometimes that passion can burn hotter than it should. But I know he loves you. He trusts you. If anyone can reach him, it's… you."
Ahsoka looked up, meeting Padmé's eyes, and for the first time that night, her own eyes shone with grief. "I'm not sure he hears me anymore, Padmé. I'm not sure he even wants to."
Padmé leaned back slightly, her own composure trembling at the edges. She wanted to defend Anakin, Ahsoka could see it in her eyes, but she also saw something else, a flicker of fear. Not for herself. But for him.
Ahsoka also caught Padmé's hand drifting down to her stomach, as if holding something close.
Finally, Padmé said quietly, "Thank you for telling me."
Ahsoka nodded, exhaling shakily. "I didn't know who else to go to."
"You did the right thing," Padmé said, though her voice carried little conviction.
"Ill… I'll see what I can do." Padmé said.
=== Anakin ===
Anakin strode through the Jedi Temple's corridors, cloak swaying behind him, jaw set tight. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the heat of battle, smelled the metallic scent of blood in the air, the dying Ultramarine.
It had infuriated him. It still did. These creatures, these armored giants from another universe, had arrived and turned everything upside down. They killed like machines, they resisted the Force like it was nothing, and worst of all, they conquered unendingly. People now whispered that perhaps the Republic was no longer the strongest power in the galaxy.
Anakin's hands curled into fists as he walked. He despised them, not just for their strength, but for what they represented. They were beyond control, beyond prediction. They fought without hesitation, without weakness.
And Maximus, that cursed Ultramarine, was immune to the Force entirely. An abomination.
He turned a corner and froze. Ahead, a door was half-open, soft light spilling into the dim hallway. Voices drifted through, in conspiratorial whispers.
"…you're certain this is wise?" came the calm, measured voice of Qui-Gon Jinn.
"I do not act on impulse, old friend," Dooku replied. "It is almost time to act. Please, warn the council."
Qui-Gon sighed. "I will do as you ask."
"Thank you. May the Force be with you." Dooku said before the transmission ended.
Anakin stepped into the light, anger clear on his face. "You're still in contact with him?"
Qui-Gon turned, robes moving softly with the motion. His expression did not change, calm as ever. "Anakin."
"Why are you speaking with him? He betrayed the Order. He walked away from everything we are."
Qui-Gon shook his head slowly, his tone level, almost sad. "There is more to this galaxy than what we see from our Temple walls. More than the Order, more than the war. Dooku made choices, yes, but that does not make every word he speaks false."
Anakin scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "You always had an excuse for him. Always. While the rest of us fight and bleed, you sit here talking philosophy with a traitor."
Qui-Gon's gaze was steady, but Anakin could feel the quiet disappointment from his master.
"I didn't come here to debate Dooku," Anakin said, striding closer. "I came here because we have a problem. The Space Marines, and the Imperium."
Qui-Gon inclined his head, gesturing faintly for him to continue.
Anakin leaned on the table between them. "For years now, they've been carving through everything. Republic forces, Separatists, it doesn't matter. Do you realize what that means? They're winning. And no one is stopping them."
"Anakin," Qui-Gon said, motioning for his once apprentice to stop. "We have an alliance with them. It's unsteady, yes, but still."
Anakin pressed on. "It won't last forever!"
He straightened, pacing now, words spilling from him. "They shouldn't even exist. Beings that shrug off the will of the Force? It's… unnatural."
He turned back, eyes burning. "We need to find out why. We need to get one of them, bring them here, study them, tear apart whatever they are until we understand how to destroy them. That's the only way we come out on top."
Qui-Gon's eyes hardened. "What you are suggesting is folly, Anakin. To abduct and dissect a soldier unprovoked? It would ignite war on a scale this galaxy has never seen!"
Anakin's nostrils flared, his fists tightening at his sides. "So we do nothing? We wait until they decide to crush the Republic completely? You're a coward!"
Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly, sadness flickering in his gaze. "Perhaps I am a coward," he said quietly. "I am fearful, Anakin, but not of them. I am fearful of what you are becoming."
Anakin's jaw clenched. His voice dropped, low and venomous. "I'm becoming what I need to be. Someone willing to do what the rest of you won't. Someone willing to end the threat staring us in the face while you sit here and talk with our enemies."
Qui-Gon stepped closer. "Reconsider. Please. I will go to the Council if I must. You are walking a path that leads only to ruin."
Something snapped. The fury boiling beneath Anakin's calm surged free.
"You old fool!" he roared, the words reverberating through the chamber. "Cant you see the danger we're in? Can't you see how threatening they are? What is wrong with you?"
Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed, sorrow heavy in his voice. "Control yourself. I will not tolerate your outburst."
Anakin turned away, throwing his hands in the air, cloak snapping behind him as he stormed toward the door.
"If you refuse to act, then I will!"
He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he might have seen the quiet despair on his old Master's face. He might have heard the words Qui-Gon whispered softly into the empty room.
"The boy I trained is slipping away."
===
Anakin strode down the Temple's steps.
His breathing was uneven. He didn't want to admit it, but he was shaking.
Coward. Old fool.
No one saw it, but once more, his eyes began to turn a molten yellow, but it quickly disappeared.
"Anakin?"
A voice cut through the night, warm, curious, perfectly placed.
From the shadows ahead, the familiar figure of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine emerged, his crimson-robed guards trailing silently behind him. The Chancellor looked genuinely surprised, though his eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"My boy," Palpatine said, stepping closer, his voice calm and light, as though this were nothing more than a chance meeting on a leisurely stroll. "Out at this hour? I thought Jedi kept more disciplined schedules."
Anakin straightened a little, instinctively trying to shake the anger from his expression. "Chancellor. I… I needed some air."
Palpatine's smile was soft, understanding. "As do I. I often walk the streets of our city at night, fewer distractions, a rare peace in the storm of politics. It helps me think."
He didn't wait for Anakin to respond. Instead, he gestured gently with one hand and began to walk, robes gliding over polished stone. "Join me. It's not safe to wander alone at night, even for a Jedi Knight."
Anakin hesitated, but only for a breath, then fell into step beside him, the crimson guards adjusting their pace silently to match.
They walked in near silence for a while, the night air cool but heavy with the ever-present hum of repulsorlifts and distant engines. Palpatine kept his gaze forward, hands clasped in front of him as though strolling through a garden, not a city still at war.
After a while, the Chancellor spoke, low and measured. "Something troubles you. I can see it."
Anakin's jaw tightened once more. "I'm struggling," he admitted at last, his voice tight. "This war… we're losing ground, not gaining it."
Palpatine hummed softly, inviting him to continue.
Anakin glanced away, fists tightening at his sides. "The Imperium, these Space Marines, they're winning. Not just against us. Against everyone. Every battle costs us lives, ships, entire systems, and they barely flinch." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "They're unstoppable. And no one seems to be willing to do what it takes to stop them."
Palpatine tilted his head slightly, eyes still forward. "And what, may I ask, do you believe it will take?"
Anakin stopped for a step, then pushed the words out like a blade sliding from a sheath. "We need to capture one of them. Alive or dead. We need to know what they are, what makes them so resilient, so strong. Find their weakness and exploit it before it's too late."
The Chancellor slowed his pace, hands still clasped, the quiet of the night settling around them like a held breath.
For a long moment, Palpatine said nothing.
Then he turned his head, just enough for Anakin to see the faintest curve of a knowing smile. "Follow me," he said softly.
Before Anakin could ask, Palpatine's guards were already moving, signaling a waiting transport that hummed to life at the edge of the plaza. The ramp lowered with a hiss, cool air spilling out.
Anakin glanced at the Chancellor, confusion knitting his brow.
"I need to show you something," Palpatine said, tone quiet.
Anakin followed, wordless, stepping into the transport with Palpatine and the two crimson guards. The ship lifted smoothly, merging with the night traffic, weaving upward through Coruscant's endless tiers.
No one spoke. The city lights blurred beneath them, becoming rivers of gold and white as they ascended higher and higher, away from the noise, away from the Temple, away from familiar ground.
Soon they came to a far larger and sleek black ship.
Palpatine stood near the viewport, his hands folded behind his back, the posture of a man in complete control of every piece on the board. "Some truths," he said quietly, "are not meant for the daylight."
The transport latched onto the docking bay with a muted clang. The hatch cycled open, revealing a corridor lit in low red strips. The air was cooler as it washed over Anakin.
He stepped off the ramp, boots echoing faintly against the durasteel floor. He glanced at Palpatine, whose expression had shifted, no longer the soft smile of the benevolent Chancellor, but something colder, more precise.
"Come," Palpatine said, his voice even and controlled. "You wish to know the truth of this war. I think you're ready to see what few in this galaxy ever will."
They walked in silence through the sterile corridors, crimson guards lined the walls.
"We're ready." Palpatine said to one of them, who nodded and walked away before the ship came to life before taking to the air.
He then turned to his companion.
"Be warned my young friend. What you will see will shock you. But I'm sure that you will be pleased by what I will show you."
===
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