=== Anakin ===
The Council chamber was hushed, the air heavy with tension. Anakin sat in one of the council chairs, shoulders squared but hands trembling faintly in his lap. His breathing was steady now, but the memory of what had happened only hours ago was carved into his mind as if branded.
The power had come without warning, sweeping through him like a storm of fire and lightning. He could still feel the echo of it, like molten glass running through his veins. He remembered collapsing, the stones of the Temple shattering under his scream, Jedi dying around him, turned to ash by the wave of Force energy that had erupted out of him.
And now, he was here. Seated among the Masters as though he belonged. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw their faces, the Jedi Knights and Padawans, reduced to dust at his feet.
Murmurs filled the chamber as the Masters spoke of their experiences.
"I felt… a surge," Ki-Adi-Mundi was saying, his eyes blinking slowly, his voice tinged with awe and unease. "It was as if the Force itself doubled within me. For a moment, I thought myself invincible."
Plo Koon leaned forward, having come for his meeting with the masters, his rasping breath audible beneath his mask. "And yet with that surge came chaos. My power slipped free of my discipline. Some ships in the hangar bay were crushed under my power. I could not control it."
Others spoke in turn, each describing their convulsions, the wild flaring of their powers, the visions that had passed through their minds.
But none of them looked at Anakin with blame. Instead, every gaze that flicked toward him was sympathetic.
"Your reaction," Qui-Gon said carefully, his brow furrowed, "was the most extreme of us all. But do not burden yourself with guilt, Anakin. The intensity you felt is not a failure. It is a reflection of your connection to the Force."
Anakin's jaw tightened. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to hear it as absolution. But the screams of the dying still echoed in his head.
"I couldn't hold it back. I couldn't stop." The young Knight said.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly and saw his master beside him. The older man's expression was calm, yet lined with sorrow.
"Anakin," Qui-Gon said gently, "you have always had a deeper connection to the Force than most. What happened today was not of your making. It was the consequence of something greater.
Anakin searched his master's face, looking for doubt, for disappointment. But he found none of it.
"Do not linger in the past," Qui-Gon continued, his hand still steady on Anakin's shoulder. "We must focus on the future."
Anakin exhaled slowly, lowering his head. His throat was tight. He wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck.
It was Yoda who finally broke the silence, his gnarled hands resting on the edge of his chair. His ears drooped slightly, the lines of his face deep with weariness, but his voice was steady.
"Grave this matter is." Yoda said. "Felt it, we all have. A shift, vast and terrible. Death rippled through the Force… prepare, we must."
All eyes turned to him. The little green master, once sidelined after Mace Windu's ascension, was again the Grandmaster of their order.
"Trace it, we have," Yoda continued, his gaze sweeping across each of them. "To a world, hidden deep in our archives. Mortis, it is called."
At the name, a ripple of unease passed through the chamber. Some of the Masters shifted in their seats. Others exchanged wary glances. Anakin frowned.
"Mortis?" he repeated. "I've never heard of it."
"Few have," Yoda said gravely. "A nexus, it is. Corruption, bleeding from it, I feel."
"It must be the cause of what happened to us," Ki-Adi-Mundi said, his voice firm but tinged with unease. "The surges, the convulsions. Even now, I can feel echoes of it. If that corruption grows stronger, the consequences…"
He did not finish. He didn't have to.
"Then we go there," Anakin said quickly, his voice sharper than he intended. "If Mortis is the source, then that's where we are needed. We cut this corruption out before it spreads any further."
The Masters looked at him, and Anakin felt their doubt. Felt the silent judgment. His jaw tightened, and he looked back at them defiantly.
"We can't just sit here and wait for it to get worse," he pressed. "That's what we always do, we wait, talk, and debate. While the galaxy burns around us."
"Patience, Anakin," Obi-Wan said quietly from across the circle. "First we must know what's happening there."
Anakin's fists clenched, but before he could speak, Qui-Gon's hand tightened briefly on his shoulder.
"There is wisdom in caution," Qui-Gon said, his voice calm but firm. "But Anakin is not wrong. We cannot ignore this. Perhaps we should reach out to the Imperium. See if they know anything." He finished, looking at Plo Koon who was slowly nodding his head.
Yoda's eyes opened again, their ancient depths shadowed with worry. He leaned heavily on his cane as he spoke.
"Prepare, we must. Ready ourselves. A great danger, I sense. Greater than any we have faced. Not alone, will we go. Allies, we will need."
Anakin leaned forward in his chair, the fire in his eyes burning brighter.
"Not the Imperium," he said, his voice rising. "They are probably part of the cause!"
"Anakin," Qui-Gon said, squeezing his old Padawan's shoulder before looking at Yoda. "I will contact Dooku."
Yoda studied him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, at last, the little Master nodded.
"The Imperium, we will contact. But careful, we must be. For rest on Mortis, our Galaxy's fate may lay."
Anakin sat back slowly, Qui-Gon's hand still resting steady on his shoulder.
But deep down, a whisper gnawed at him.
They never listened to him but now…
If he was this strong now… if the power was this great… Who could stand against him?
=== Nira ===
Her eyelids fluttered. At first, the world was a blur, shapes and colors smeared into one another, a haze of bright sand-colored light bleeding through the tall windows. The air was hot, dry, and smelled faintly of herbs and sterilizing oils. Slowly, her vision sharpened, and she realized she was lying in a bed, the sheets tucked neatly around her.
She was in the medical wing on Tatooine.
Nira blinked again, squinting against the brightness, and then turned her head to the side.
A figure was seated in the chair next to her bed. Tall, composed, but not untouched. His robes were clean but his face was pale, sharp features drawn with fatigue. Bandages wound around one shoulder and across his chest, peeking out from beneath his tunic. In his hands he held a data-slate, its blue-white glow reflecting against his eyes.
Her chest relaxed in relief as she looked at Dooku. She must have made a sound, a shift of the sheets or a faint breath, because his gaze flicked up instantly, the sharpness of his eyes softening as they landed on her. Without hesitation, he powered down the slate and set it aside.
"You're awake," he said, his deep voice low.
She tried to sit up, pushing her elbows against the mattress, but her limbs were weak, trembling under her own weight. Before she could rise further, he was at her side. His hand, surprisingly gentle for a man of his bearing, pressed against her forehead and guided her back onto the pillow.
"Rest," he instructed, his tone more paternal than commanding. "You've been through quite an ordeal. Don't strain yourself."
Nira let herself sink into the bedding, though her brows furrowed in confusion. Her lips were dry as she spoke.
"What… what happened?"
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Dooku's eyes searched her face, as though measuring how much truth she was ready to bear. He exhaled slowly, and his shoulders, usually held with pride, slumped the faintest degree.
"I do not know," he admitted. "Something… vast swept through the Force. It struck all of us. I cannot explain it."
Her mind flickered with fragments, fire, screams, the echo of a power so immense it seemed it might split the galaxy in half. She shivered and clenched the sheets tighter in her fingers.
"You said it hit all of us? Anakin, is he alright?" She asked, chest tightening for her once brother.
Dooku nodded. "Yes. He is fine, though his outburst was particularly bad." He continued. "The Jedi contacted us while you slept. They sought answers, desperate to understand what transpired. I told them the truth, that we didn't know. But they claim to have traced the source."
"Mortis." She said, to which he nodded.
She turned her head toward him, studying his face. The years lined his features, but now they seemed carved deeper by worry.
"So… it's beginning then?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze met hers. There was no avoidance, no gentle lie. Only the grim reality of the truth.
"Yes," Dooku said. "It has begun."
"Why so soon? I thought we had more time." She said.
For a moment, she simply lay there, staring at him. The galaxy had shifted. The balance of everything was tilting toward beings vast and terrifying.
And yet, she pushed the fear aside. Slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cool beneath her bare feet. Dooku moved as if to stop her, but she raised a hand.
"I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice was faint. She stood, swayed slightly, then steadied herself. Her eyes lifted to his, clear despite her exhaustion.
She stepped forward and, before he could react, she wrapped her arms around him.
It wasn't a warrior's embrace, nor one driven by passion or desperation. It was the embrace of a daughter clinging to her father, simple and sincere. For a heartbeat, Dooku stood frozen. Then, slowly, he returned the hug. His arms encircled her.
"I'm glad you're safe," she murmured into his chest.
Something softened in his eyes. He held her for a long moment, then pulled back slightly, one hand lingering on her shoulder as if reluctant to let go.
"Im glad you are as well." he said quietly.
When he finally released her, he drew himself upright again, dignity returning. He adjusted his robes, gave her a long look, a mixture of pride, relief, and something unspoken, and then inclined his head.
"Rest. You will need your strength. The days ahead will test us both."
With that, he turned and strode from the room, leaving her standing in the middle of the sterile medical wing. The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss.
Nira stood for a long time, staring at the closed door, her heart still warmed by the simple embrace even as dread coiled in her stomach. She moved back to the bed and sat down slowly, pressing her hands to her face.
At last, she drew in a breath, steadied herself, and whispered into the stillness.
"Sanguinius… I need you."
The air shimmered, the light bending as though it recognized his presence before he appeared. Radiance bloomed in the room, golden and soft, and there he was, the great Angel of Baal. His form was spectral yet solid, seated now upon the edge of her bed. His great wings folded close. His eyes, always filled with both sorrow and hope, met hers.
"You called, little one," Sanguinius said, his voice like a balm, gentle but edged with the resonance of eternity.
Nira exhaled shakily, almost collapsing into relief at the sight of him. "Everything's changed," she said. "I… I saw visions. Visions of the war on Mortis. But why does everything feel like it's changing?"
Her voice cracked, the pressure of dread and exhaustion bleeding through.
"The gods of Chaos are not like us, Nira," he said. "They are unknowable. Unreadable. Their motives bend in ways mortals and even I cannot always predict. If they are accelerating their hand, then it can only mean one thing." His voice dropped, solemn, grave. "They are preparing something wicked. Something beyond what we've yet seen."
Nira's hands curled into fists in her lap. Her fear hardened into resolve. "We cannot wait for them to strike at their leisure. If they're focusing their power on Mortis, then we must act now. Every soldier, every weapon, every ship. We cannot afford to be caught unready. I just didn't expect things to happen so soon."
Sanguinius watched her, pride flickering faintly across his features. He reached out and laid a hand over hers, his touch warm though ethereal. "You speak with wisdom," he said. "And your courage is greater than you know. But, Nira—" he leaned closer, his golden hair brushing falling around his face. "you must be careful. You do not yet know how cunning the Ruinous Powers can be. They twist truth into lies, hope into despair. Their greatest victories come not on the battlefield, but in the heart."
She looked up at him, her expression softening despite the steel in her tone. Slowly, she smiled, a quiet, genuine smile. "That's why I have you."
For a moment, even the angel seemed caught off guard. Then his lips curved, and from deep within his chest came a low, melodic laugh. It was a warm, human laugh of a man who had found, even in the shadow of eternity, a fragment of light.
His gaze grew distant for a moment, and then he leaned back slightly, wings unfurling in a lazy stretch. "Since your outburst, something has shifted within me as well. My essence… my very being is mending faster than I imagined possible. I can feel the old strength returning, the wounds of my end knitting together." His eyes glowed faintly as he studied his own hand, opening and closing it as though testing the sensation.
Nira's brows furrowed in wonder. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Sanguinius said slowly, reverently, "that your power has accelerated my healing to a pace I could scarcely dream of. If it continues… I may once more be able to reclaim my body when it gets here."
Her breath caught in her throat. "You… you could come back? Truly?"
Sanguinius nodded, though his smile was tempered with caution. "Perhaps. The path is not yet clear, and the fates of gods and mortals alike weave into it. But yes… it is no longer just a dream. It is possible."
Her heart swelled with a fierce joy, though she swallowed it quickly, her expression sobering. "Then we'll see it through. Together."
"For now," he said, his voice rich with both patience and longing, "I will wait. I will guide you, protect you. But when the time comes… perhaps we shall walk the same ground once more."
===
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