#sith anakin

You are a Force-sensitive diplomat and former Padawan who left the Jedi Order years ago due to ideological differences, but you’ve maintained deep connections to both Anakin and Obi-Wan. You're now a neutral mediator between the Republic and outer-rim systems, respected by both the Senate and the Jedi, but distrusted for your independence. You share a long, unresolved romantic history with Anakin, and a deep emotional bond with Obi-Wan—as a former mentor, perhaps even something more complicated. Your presence becomes a catalyst for their divergence.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The Jedi Temple hadn't changed—but I had.

My boots echoed down the marbled halls like a ghost returning to a place I once called home. Golden light filtered in through the high windows, catching the motes of dust and ash that never seemed to settle anymore. The air smelled of incense and scorched metal. I paused at the threshold of the briefing chamber, my hand resting lightly on my belt. The door hissed open with a soft hydraulic sigh.

And there he was.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood with his back to me, hands folded behind him, eyes fixed on the Coruscant skyline. The fading sun outlined him in pale fire, but his silhouette was sharp—too sharp.

"You came," he said softly, not turning.

"I always do," I replied, voice steady. I wasn’t sure if it was a lie.

He finally turned to face me. There were new lines around his eyes. Older. Tired. But deeper than that—a weight. Something heavy sat on his shoulders that the Jedi robes couldn’t hide. He took a step forward, then stopped, as if unsure whether to approach or retreat. I didn’t move.

"The Council trusts your neutrality," he said. "They believe you'll give me a chance to explain myself before they condemn me."

"I’m not here on the Council’s behalf." I held his gaze. "I’m here for you."

That got to him. His composure cracked just slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that might’ve been relief—or regret.

"They fear what I’ve become, Y/N. But the truth is—they made me this."

I studied him carefully. The way his voice lowered when he said it. Like it was sacred. Or dangerous.

"You're not here to explain yourself," I said. "You're here to see if I believe you."

"Do you?"

I didn’t answer. Because the door behind me opened again—and the Force shivered like lightning on water.

"Y/N?"

I turned, heart seizing. Anakin Skywalker stood in the doorway. His presence filled the room instantly—burning, unfiltered, alive. His golden saber hilt glinted at his hip, and his expression—when he saw me—softened like dawn breaking across a battlefield.

"You didn’t tell me she was here," he said, eyes narrowing at Obi-Wan.

"I wanted to speak with her before your emotions clouded the moment," Obi-Wan replied coolly. The tension between them was electric. The sun outside had turned blood-orange, casting shadows like battle scars across the floor. I stepped between them.

"Is this what it’s come to? You call me back, and I walk into a storm?"

"You're the only one left who sees both sides," Anakin said, jaw tight. "That makes you the most dangerous person in this Temple."

"Or the only one who can stop this before it starts."

Silence fell. The war hadn't reached the Temple walls yet. But in that moment, I realized: The real war was already here. And I was standing at its heart.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I needed air.

The Temple was suffocating—so full of ghosts I hadn’t made peace with. I slipped away to the high garden terrace, a place I used to escape to during training sessions I hated, lessons I questioned, dreams I couldn't share.

Now the garden was quiet, lit only by the glow of distant city lights and the soft hum of security fields. Somewhere in the lower levels, speeders buzzed like insects. Above, stars blinked cold and unfeeling.

I leaned against the stone railing, arms folded, trying to breathe.

"I thought I'd find you here," said a voice behind me.

I turned slowly. Anakin stood just inside the archway, his robes rustling in the breeze. His gaze was intense—not angry, but charged. Like everything he wasn’t saying was pressing against the back of his throat.

"I used to think this place was peaceful," I said, forcing a small smile. "Now it just feels... far away from everything that matters."

He stepped forward, slowly.

"You always did run to the highest places when things got complicated," he said. "I guess I hoped you'd run to me this time."

I looked away.

"That was a long time ago, Anakin."

"But not long enough that I forgot," he said quietly.

Silence stretched between us. I could hear his breath—shaky, barely restrained.

"You left," he said, finally. "And I tried to understand why. The Order, the rules, the way they looked at you like you were dangerous just for feeling something—"

"I left because it was killing me to stay," I interrupted. "Because if I stayed, I would’ve ended up like Obi-Wan. Drowning in loyalty to something that no longer believed in its own values."

He closed the distance between us in two steps. "And yet you're here again."

"Because you’re still here." That stopped him. I felt his hand brush mine—hesitant at first. Testing if I would pull away. I didn’t.

"I don’t know what’s happening to him," Anakin whispered. "Obi-Wan’s not just doubting the Council anymore. He’s... angry. Secretive. He talks like the Jedi are the problem, not the solution."

"And you’re afraid he’s right?"

He looked at me then, and it hit me—how exhausted he was. How much of his light he’d burned trying to hold everything together. "No," he said. "I’m afraid I’ll lose him before I can bring him back."

I nodded slowly, heart aching. "You won’t. Not if he still remembers what it means to care."

He was quiet for a long time. Then—his voice barely above a whisper—"Do you still remember?"

I turned toward him, really looking at him now. The scars. The wear in his voice. The man shaped by war, by love denied, by choices he was never allowed to make freely.

"Every day," I said.

And when he kissed me—it wasn’t rushed or reckless

It was like he’d been waiting. Like every emotion he couldn’t name during the war, every lingering glance across a battlefield, every moment of silence between us had been leading here. His hand slid to the side of my face, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me in like I was the only thing anchoring him to the present. And for that one impossible second, I let myself believe that maybe... maybe it was enough. That we were enough.

But then he pulled back. Breathless. Brow furrowed. Like he’d just stepped over a line he wasn’t sure he could ever uncross.

"I shouldn’t have done that," he said, voice raw.

"But you did," I whispered, still too close.

The shadows danced across his face, flickering with the distant lights of the city. He looked haunted.

"I've made too many choices lately that weren't mine," he said. "Letting myself feel this... it’s dangerous."

"Maybe the danger isn’t in feeling it," I said. "Maybe it’s in pretending we don’t."

He searched my eyes like he was looking for a reason not to believe me. But then the comm clipped to his belt beeped—sharp, insistent.

His jaw clenched as he checked it.

"It's the Temple guard," he muttered. "Obi-Wan just left his quarters. Alone. No record of where he’s going."

My stomach twisted.

"Is he running?"

"Or setting something in motion," Anakin said. "Either way—we can’t wait for the Council."

I nodded. "Let’s go."

He started toward the exit—then paused. Looked back at me.

"When this is over," he said, softer now, "when all of this ends... I don’t want to pretend anymore."

"Then don’t," I said. "But you have to survive it first."

A flicker of a smile. Sad. Steady. "Then stay close."

And with that, we slipped into the night. Together.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I’d forgotten how cold Coruscant could get this deep down.

The industrial levels were always in twilight. Streetlamps flickered overhead, casting long shadows against duracrete walls stained with smoke and time. The people down here didn’t look at Jedi—they barely looked up at all. This was where the Republic ended and the real galaxy began.

Anakin moved beside me in silence, cloak pulled close, hood half-lowered. Even here, even now, his presence was impossible to ignore. The Force wrapped around him like a storm held just beneath the skin.

"Anything?" I asked, watching him scan the crowd with a soldier’s precision.

He shook his head. "No... but he’s close. I can feel him."

"Then why does it feel like he’s letting us find him?"

Anakin didn’t answer. We slipped down a narrow alley, steam hissing from rusted vents. Somewhere far above, sirens echoed faintly—too far to mean anything to us. Finally, he stopped. His hand went out to halt me.

"Here," he whispered. "This is it."

I followed his gaze—and felt it too. The Force rippled like heat off the durasteel ahead. Subtle. Familiar. Controlled.

Obi-Wan.

There was a figure waiting near an old droid foundry, partially cloaked in shadow. Hood up. Posture unmistakable. I stepped forward, but Anakin grabbed my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to remind me: we didn’t know who he was anymore. Obi-Wan turned as if he’d heard that thought.

"You took your time," he said calmly. "I expected the Council, not the two of you."

"You knew we’d come," I said, stepping ahead of Anakin now. "Don’t pretend this wasn’t part of the plan."

Obi-Wan pushed back his hood. I expected anger. Defensiveness. But what I saw was worse. Conviction.

"I hoped you would come," he said, eyes locking on mine. "You’re the only one who might understand."

"You’ve been sabotaging Republic campaigns. Disrupting supply lines. Lying to the Council. I want to understand, but you’re making it harder by the second."

Obi-Wan looked past me—at Anakin.

"And what about you, Anakin? Still clinging to the idea that the Jedi are saving anyone?" Anakin didn’t speak. His jaw was locked, fists clenched at his sides. Obi-Wan took a slow step forward.

"You think I’ve fallen. But maybe I’ve woken up. The war isn’t just killing us on the battlefield—it’s rotting us from the inside. We were never meant to be generals. We were meant to be guardians. Guides. Not weapons of the Senate."

"And what would you become instead?" I asked. "A blade in the dark? A shadow behind Palpatine’s throne?"

"I’d tear down the throne," he said, his voice sharp now. "The Republic is a lie. And I refuse to die for it."

My heart sank. "Then what do you want from us, Obi-Wan?"

He looked at me. "I want you to choose. I want you to see what’s coming. The Jedi won’t survive what’s next. But we might—if we let go of what we were." For a moment, everything fell quiet. No blasters. No politics. Just three people, standing on the edge of something enormous. Then Anakin stepped beside me, voice quiet but steady.

"We’re not here to choose sides."

I nodded. "We’re here to stop you before you burn everything down."

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked between us. "So be it." And in a blur of motion, he ignited his saber—not blue.

Crimson.

My blood went cold. And the Force exploded around us.

The red glow from Obi-Wan’s saber bathed his face in bloodlight, but his eyes were clear. Steady. Certain. It wasn’t rage driving him. It was belief. And somehow, that made it worse.

“Step aside,” Obi-Wan said—low and even, like he wasn’t about to start a war. “I don’t want to fight you.”

"You ignited that saber," Anakin said coldly. “You made it a fight.”

“I did what I had to.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked to me. “The Jedi serve a corrupt Senate. I serve the will of the Force, not bureaucracy.”

"The Force doesn’t ask for obedience through fear," Anakin snapped, stepping in front of me now. “You sound like Dooku.”

“I sound like Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said sharply, voice cracking. “He saw the cracks before any of us did. He died for his clarity. And now you're both making the same mistake I did—trusting an institution that feeds the machine of war.”

“You think we don’t see it?” I said quietly, stepping around Anakin. “We’ve lived the cost. But if the Jedi are flawed, let’s fix them. Not burn them to ash.”

Obi-Wan turned to me fully, and there was something in his gaze I hadn’t seen before.

Hope.

“You still understand,” he said. “You’ve always been different. That’s why they never trusted you. You feel more than they’re willing to. That’s not weakness—it’s what the Jedi were meant to be.”

He held out a hand to me. His saber stayed lit.

“You don’t belong in their council chambers and committees. You belong with me. Help me rebuild something better. Something true.”

My chest tightened. And for a second—just a second—I remembered being his Padawan. The first time I disobeyed the Code and he didn’t reprimand me, just smiled like he was proud. The night he told me I didn’t need to be perfect—only present.

I remembered safety. But I also remembered him walking away. The coldness that had grown where warmth used to be. The silence.

I looked at his hand. Then at Anakin.

“Is this what you meant to do?” I asked. “Bring us here to choose? Is this a battle or a recruitment pitch?”

Obi-Wan’s hand lowered. “Maybe both.”

I didn’t move.

And neither did Anakin. “I asked the Council to appoint you,” he said suddenly, without looking at me. “Before this.”

I turned, stunned. “You—what?”

“I wanted you on the Council. To have a voice. A vote. I thought if anyone could keep us honest, it was you.”

“Anakin—”

“But now you’re standing between us. And I don’t know if you’re the one who keeps us from falling apart—” his voice broke slightly, “—or the one we’ll shatter against.”

My breath caught. The air vibrated. The Force was screaming now—pulling in every direction. And then Obi-Wan moved.

His blade swung in a precise arc—not at me, not at Anakin, but between us. A warning. A line drawn.

Anakin ignited his saber instantly—blue clashing with red in a sudden burst of light and fury. Sparks flew. Metal groaned. The ground beneath us shuddered as Force waves collided in invisible shockwaves.

I staggered back—watching them move. And for a moment... I couldn’t tell who was winning.

They knew each other’s styles too well. Obi-Wan’s discipline against Anakin’s raw power. Fluidity against fire. Flash. A strike aimed at the heart—deflected. Flash. A kick, a leap, a force push that sent Anakin into a broken pillar.

Obi-Wan turned to me. “You can still walk away,” he said, breathing hard. “Before this war consumes both of us.”

“I already chose,” I said.

And I drew my saber.

Not for politics.

Not for the Council.

But for the truth they were both too blinded to see alone.

I stepped forward, blade raised— But before I could strike, a column buckled nearby. The catwalk overhead groaned. An unseen push—maybe from Obi-Wan, maybe from the Force itself—crashed into me like a wave.

My feet left the ground. For a second, all I saw was light and flame—Then the sound: a concussive boom as the ceiling above ruptured. Debris collapsed between us. Dust swallowed the air. I hit the ground hard, my saber skidding out of reach, my ribs burning. When the smoke cleared, I was alone on the lower level.

Cut off.

And he was there.

Obi-Wan.

Closer than I thought. Too close.

He didn’t strike. He just stood there, breathing hard, cloak torn, eyes rimmed with pain and fury and something far, far sadder. "You shouldn’t be here," he said.

"I’m exactly where I need to be."

He didn’t raise his weapon. Instead, he lowered it. Powered it down. The red hissed out like dying breath. And in that sudden quiet, my heart thudded loud in my chest. He looked at me—not like an enemy. Like a memory.

“You don’t have to follow him,” he said, voice hoarse. “He’s changing, and you know it.”

"So are you," I whispered.

"I changed because I had to. Because I saw what the Jedi were becoming—what they were making us become. Soldiers. Enforcers. Blind." He stepped closer, slow. “The Council never saw you. Not the way I did. Not the way I do. You were always too passionate, too bold. They feared that.”

I swallowed hard. “They didn’t fear me. They feared losing control.”

He smiled faintly. “Exactly. And now you have a choice.”

He reached for me—not for my weapon, not to attack. Just reached. Open palm. “I’m not asking you to betray him. I’m asking you to save yourself. Before the Council drags you down with them. Before he does.”

I should’ve stepped back.

But I didn’t.

Because I remembered the way he used to stand in the rain after missions, eyes to the sky like he was waiting for the Force to speak. I remembered how gently he corrected me, how deeply he listened when I doubted myself. How he believed I was destined for something more.

And maybe that was the worst part.

He still believed it.

“I know you feel it,” he said softly. “The weight. The rot inside the Republic. You were never meant to fight their wars.”

"And what were we meant for, Obi-Wan?" I whispered.

He held my gaze.

“To guide. To protect. To become something new. With me.”

The tears stung before I even realized they were there. My fingers curled tight around my saber. "You want me to walk away from him."

"I want you to walk toward yourself."

For a moment—I almost did.

Almost.

But then I felt it.

A flicker in the Force—Anakin. Hurt. Distant. Calling for me. And it hit me all at once—like oxygen flooding back into starving lungs. Not just the sound of him. The feeling of him. Fire and loyalty and heartbreak and hope—hope that I would choose us.

I looked at Obi-Wan.

And I stepped back. “I’m sorry,” I said. My voice cracked. “But I already have.”

His expression shattered. Just for a second.

Then—

A whisper of wind as his saber reignited. Crimson, glowing, blinding in the dark. “I won’t hold back next time,” he said quietly.

"I’m not asking you to."

And I turned—

And ran.

Back toward the fire.

Back toward Anakin.

The corridors were half-collapsed. Lights flickered. Metal hissed where fire still licked at broken beams. My boots slipped on ash.

“Anakin—” I shouted, voice cracking. No answer.

I pushed deeper into the wreckage, coughing against the smoke. The Force swirled around me in waves—grief, rage, desperation. And then—

I felt him. I didn’t see him first. I heard him—breathing. Shallow. Labored. I turned a corner.

And there he was.

Slumped against a fractured pillar, saber extinguished, eyes closed. Blood on his brow. Smoke curling around him like ghosts. His chest rose and fell in jagged pulls.

I ran to him, dropped to my knees. “Anakin—” My hands hovered uselessly over his chest, his shoulder, his face. “Hey. Hey.”

His eyes opened. And when they locked on mine—god, I nearly shattered.

“You came back,” he rasped.

“Of course I did.” My voice broke into a whisper. “You idiot.”

A shaky smile curved his lips. “Didn’t think you would.”

I stared at him. “Why?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me like he wasn’t sure I was real. And then—

“I felt you hesitate,” he said, quiet. “When he offered you a way out.”

My heart stung. “I almost took it.”

“I know.”

I didn’t look away. I let him see the guilt in my face, the fracture lines that hadn’t healed. “But I didn’t. I chose you.” Silence stretched between us—thick, pulsing, raw. And then Anakin leaned forward, forehead resting against mine.

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered. “Not after everything I’ve done.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” I said. “I do.”

He laughed—soft, broken. “We’re both a mess.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “But we’re still here.”

His hand found mine.

Fingers laced.

And in that moment, surrounded by fire and failure and everything we couldn’t fix—I felt something like peace.

Not because it was over.

But because we hadn’t given up.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

The Temple gardens were quiet. Too quiet.

It was late. The war should’ve made everything feel sharper—louder—but somehow silence had become the most dangerous sound of all. Like something waiting to fall apart.

I found him there, sitting in the dark beneath the same tree we used to sneak off to as young Padawans. Legs drawn up, hands tangled in his own hair.

“Anakin?”

He didn’t look up. I sat beside him anyway.

He was shaking. “You don’t have to say anything,” I murmured.

And he didn’t. Not for a long time. Until he finally said—voice hollow—“They bombed the refugee convoy. I wasn’t fast enough.”

My stomach turned. I remembered that mission. Dozens dead. All civilian. No Republic forces nearby. No real reason.

“You weren’t the one who did it,” I whispered.

His jaw clenched. “No. But I could’ve stopped it. I sensed it. I knew. But I stayed. I followed orders. I waited for the Council’s confirmation instead of—” His voice cracked. “I waited. And they died.”

My breath caught. “That’s not on you.”

He turned then. Finally.

And his eyes—They weren’t angry. Not like I expected. They were numb.

“You don’t get it,” he said. “I’m done watching innocent people die while we debate ethics. While the Jedi twiddle their thumbs and hide behind codes that only make sense in a perfect galaxy. Which this isn’t.”

“Anakin—”

“I killed a senator last week.”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

His voice was ice. Detached. “A Separatist envoy. Caught him boarding a cruiser. He was unarmed. I could’ve arrested him. Turned him in. But I knew—if I did that, he’d be back out by morning. Hundreds more would die because of him. So I didn’t hesitate.”

I stared at him. Frozen.

“I just did what had to be done.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

“You should say something,” he murmured, almost like a prayer.

But I couldn’t. Because I saw the cracks forming in him. The places the war had hollowed out. The fire curling where there used to be light. And I didn’t know how to fix it.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ end flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

He’s staring at the floor now. Silent.

My fingers are still wrapped around his.

“You don’t get to decide if you deserve me,” I say softly. “You’re not perfect. You make mistakes.” A beat. “But you stopped when I asked you to.”

His eyes flick to mine.

“You looked me in the face, and you chose restraint, even when everything in you wanted to burn the galaxy down.”

His breath shudders out.

“You made the hardest choice,” I whisper. “You didn’t fall.” And maybe that’s why I’m still here. Maybe that’s why I ran through fire to get back to him.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The chamber felt colder than I remembered.

I stood in the center of the Council floor, wrapped in soot and smoke and someone else’s dried blood. The walls hummed softly. The city below blinked through the tall windows like stars too tired to shine.

Anakin was behind me—on his feet, but barely. A bandage at his temple, arm still stiff from the wreckage. I could feel him through the Force, like heat behind a wall. Simmering. Protective. Dangerous.

Mace Windu’s gaze was sharp as a blade. “You disobeyed orders,” he said flatly. “You interfered with a classified pursuit. And you endangered the life of a Council Master.”

“He wasn’t trying to arrest anyone,” I snapped, before I could stop myself. “He was trying to turn us against each other.”

Murmurs stirred. Ki-Adi’s brow furrowed. Plo Koon tilted his head.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi has always been a loyal servant of the Jedi Order,” Windu said. “He deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“He’s not a servant anymore,” Anakin muttered behind me. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

Windu turned his gaze to him. “You’re lucky to be standing here at all.”

Anakin’s jaw tensed. I stepped closer to him—barely noticeable, but enough that he felt it. Enough that the Council saw. Yoda’s voice came quiet, grave. “Much emotion. Much fear. Around you both, it swirls.”

I swallowed hard. My voice didn’t shake.

“We didn’t ignite this war. But we’re the ones fighting it. Every day. Bleeding for it. Watching the people we care about slip away—because you want to pretend the system still works.”

“The system is all that stands between us and chaos,” Windu replied.

Anakin laughed. Soft. Bitter. “Chaos’s already here. You just can’t see it from your chairs.”

The silence that followed was heavy. That was when he said it. Low. Almost too low to hear. “I’ll leave.”

My head whipped toward him. “What?”

Anakin didn’t look at me. He stared straight ahead. “If you think it’s me that’s the problem… if you think the only way to keep her safe is for me to walk away—then fine. I’ll do it.”

My stomach dropped.

“You think that’s what I want?” I asked, breathless.

“I think it’s the only way they’ll stop coming after you.”

He turned to me then—and his eyes, Force, his eyes—

“I don’t care if they take my rank, my saber, my name. Just not you.”

I shook my head. “You’re not thinking clearly—”

“I am.” He stepped forward. Closer than he should’ve in front of the Council. “I’ve never been more clear.”

“I don’t want to be protected, Anakin. I want you. All of you. Even the part that makes bad choices.”

He reached for my hand. I let him.

Windu looked between us like he was deciding whether to draw his saber or deliver a sentence.

And then Yoda said, quietly, “Both of you. Time… you must take. Before judgment is passed.”

Reluctantly, Windu gave a tight nod. “Dismissed. For now.”

Outside the Council Chamber, I caught Anakin’s arm as soon as the doors sealed shut. “What the hell was that?”

“I meant it.”

“I don’t want you to leave the Order,” I hissed. “That’s not what this is about.”

“No,” he said. “It’s about what they’ll do to you next. If I’m gone, they’ll stop watching. You’ll be free.”

“I don’t want to be free from you.”

We stared at each other, hearts pounding like sabers clashing in our chests.

“I need you,” I said. “But not at the cost of who you are.”

He exhaled slowly. Like the weight of the galaxy was bleeding out of him.

Then—softly, with a crooked, tired smile:

“You’re stuck with me, then.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The air was heavy with incense. The room glowed in soft amber, filtered through the skylight above. I sat cross-legged across from Master Yoda. He hadn’t spoken in minutes. Just breathed. So I waited.

Finally—his eyes opened. “Conflicted, you are,” he said.

My throat tightened. The words came slow. “I chose the Republic.”

A beat.

Then softer—almost to myself: “I chose Anakin.”

Yoda nodded, as if that was never in question. “But your heart does not rest.”

My fingers curled into the fabric of my robe. “I keep wondering… what if Obi-Wan was right?”

“Right, he may be,” Yoda said, eyes half-lidded. “In what he fights for.”

“But not how he fights for it.”

I looked up. “He said he serves the will of the Force. That the Jedi only serve bureaucracy.”

“Hard words. Painful truths, perhaps.” Yoda’s ears drooped slightly. “But twisted, they have become. Shadows of ideals. Shaped by grief. War.”

I swallowed hard.

“You still feel him,” he said.

I nodded. “Every time I reach for the Force, it’s like… there’s this thread. Tense. Pulling. I don’t know if he’s trying to save me—or if he thinks I need saving.”

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

Rain fell hard on the scorched stone.

Obi-Wan stood at the edge of a ruined balcony, cloak soaked, hood down. His eyes were closed. Hands behind his back. The Force pulsed around him—chaotic, loud.

He felt it.

That flicker in the bond. The moment she chose. His eyes snapped open. “They still think I’m lost,” he murmured. Behind him, a figure stepped out of the shadows—hooded. Calm.

“You are,” said Count Dooku, voice like gravel over fire. “But that’s what makes you dangerous to them.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look away from the storm. “She chose Skywalker.”

“For now.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw tensed. “She doesn’t see what I see. What he’s becoming.”

“Then show her,” Dooku said simply. “You don’t need to fight them. Just… open her eyes.”

Obi-Wan said nothing for a long time.

Then—

“I won’t hurt her.”

“You won’t have to.”

Lightning cracked above. Obi-Wan turned away from the sky, from the storm. And vanished back into the dark.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ back at the temple .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

“Still loves you, he does,” Yoda said gently.

I closed my eyes.

“That’s what scares me.”

Yoda tilted his head. “Afraid for yourself, are you?”

I shook my head. “Afraid for him.”

A long silence.

Then Yoda whispered, “When love becomes fear, dangerous it is. But when it becomes hope… mm. Stronger than any saber.”

I exhaled slowly. The words didn’t fix anything.

But for the first time since Mustafar, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The emotional aftershocks from the Temple still haven’t settled. But time waits for no one—

I found Anakin in the Temple’s north courtyard, staring up at the sky like it might split open and offer answers. His arm was still in a sling. His lightsaber lay across his lap—silent, but not resting. He didn’t look at me as I approached.

“He’s going to reach out again,” he said.

I sat beside him. “You felt it too?”

Anakin nodded. “Not directly. But... I know him.”

His fingers traced the emitter of his saber. “If Obi-Wan thinks he’s lost you, he’ll push harder. Not because he’s angry—because he still believes he can save you.”

“I don’t need saving.”

He finally looked at me. “I know.”

I reached for his hand and held it between both of mine. “Then trust me.”

His voice dropped. “It’s not you I don’t trust.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“Her connection to Kenobi is... not severed,” Windu said, pacing. “If he makes contact again, she could be compromised.”

“She is loyal,” Plo Koon offered, calm but firm.

“So was Dooku, once,” Ki-Adi replied darkly.

“She’s more than loyal,” Yoda said, his eyes closed. “She’s centered. Even in conflict, clarity she finds.”

“Or deception,” Windu said sharply. “We should bring her in. Question her.”

“No,” Yoda said. Everyone turned. Yoda’s eyes opened—sharp, certain. “Let her come to us.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The holotable flickered.

Rex stood with dust still on his armor, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Got something you’ll want to see,” he said, nodding toward the console.

A blue-tinted hologram of a devastated outpost blinked to life. Republic insignias—burned. Bodies—clones. Some of them his.

“We found this two clicks from Carida system,” Rex said. “Intel said it was a droid trap.”

Anakin stepped forward. “It wasn’t?”

“No droids,” Rex said. “But one Jedi signature, confirmed by the medtechs.”

He looked at me.

“Kenobi.”

My stomach dropped. “Sabotage?” I asked.

“More like... persuasion. The officers in command didn’t die from lightsaber wounds. They surrendered.”

Rex tapped the console. A new file opened—encrypted, but partially recovered.

A message. Only a few seconds of audio.

“You don’t have to die for a system that doesn’t see you. The Jedi aren’t your masters. You have a choice.”

Obi-Wan’s voice.

Calm. Steady.

Familiar.

Anakin didn’t move. But I felt his anger like a storm surge in the Force. “He’s turning the clones,” he whispered.

Rex didn’t deny it. “They’re listening, sir. Some of them... they’re starting to question orders.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I couldn’t sleep.

Not with Obi-Wan’s voice still ringing in my ears. Not with the Council watching me like a shadow waiting to fall. Anakin hadn’t spoken since the report. He stood at the edge of the balcony, overlooking the sleeping city. When I joined him, he didn’t flinch.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I whispered.

“I’m thinking if he reaches out to you, I won’t stop you from answering.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I won’t stop you. But I’ll be there when you do.”

His hand brushed mine.

“Because if he takes you… I’ll burn every planet he hides on.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The message came through just past midnight.

Encrypted. Buried in the Temple’s archives under a false file name: "Orbit Shift—Coruscant Agricultural Zones.”

A routine maintenance ping. Except… the metadata held a signature code. And I recognized it. Not because it was current.

Because it was old. Because Obi-Wan taught it to me.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

I couldn’t have been more than nine.

Too old, the Temple Masters said. But Qui-Gon Jinn had argued. Said the Force moved differently in some children. Said attachment was not always a weakness.

Obi-Wan was the first to meet me.

He was younger then. Still figuring out how to teach without sounding like he was quoting a textbook.

He’d handed me a broken communicator. Told me to fix it.

I crossed my arms. “Is this some Jedi test?”

His smile had been small, wry. “No. I just don’t have the parts. But if you want to talk to someone… sometimes the Force listens better when the lines are open.”

I remember turning the device over. Something etched inside, shallow but deliberate.

O.K. → Y/N If you’re ever lost, reverse the signal.

I didn’t know what he meant then.

But I do now.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ end flashback .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

The hidden audio burst to life—only thirty seconds. Static. A familiar rhythm behind it. Not words—a pattern. My old comm code. Reversed.

Obi-Wan’s voice filtered through, faint but deliberate.

“You’re not the only one who remembers. They’ll say you’ve chosen your side. But the Force doesn’t take sides. It only waits for balance.”

Silence. Then, softer:

“Come to Carida. Alone.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The message hadn’t stayed secret long.

I stood in the center of the room, flanked by two temple guards. I hadn’t been arrested—but I hadn’t been invited, either.

Mace Windu was the first to speak.

“This is a direct contact from an enemy of the Republic. It cannot be ignored.”

“It was sent in code,” I said. “He knew I’d find it.”

“Which means it was for you,” he snapped. “Not for the Order.”

“She has history with him,” Ki-Adi said. “Emotional attachment.”

Yoda was quiet. Watching me.

Mace continued. “We can’t afford to assume her loyalty is stable. Not anymore.”

“Then say it,” I said coldly. “You think I’m a liability.”

“We think you’re the only one he’ll come near,” Plo Koon said. “Which makes you valuable.”

Which makes me bait, I thought. No one denied it.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Anakin stood beside the ship they assigned me. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

“I do.”

“If he hurts you—”

“He won’t.”

Anakin grabbed my arm gently, his voice low and breaking.

“You think I’m scared of Obi-Wan?” he said. “I’m scared of losing you to him.”

I reached up, touching his face. “You won’t.” But I didn’t add as long as you don’t try to stop me. We were both keeping things back now. The space between us had never felt so wide.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

Obi-Wan waited.

Alone.

No army. No fortress. Just a ruined garden, grown over with moss and silence.

He looked up at the stars. Felt the shift in the Force. She’s coming. And for the first time in days... He let himself hope.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The ship touched down on cracked stone.

Vines had overtaken what must’ve once been a training temple—a Jedi outpost from before the war, when the Order still sent knights to the Outer Rim to build things instead of break them.

Now, it looked like the ruins of something sacred. Or maybe something abandoned.

I stepped out. The air was thick with green and silence. And then—movement. He was already waiting.

Cloak draped over one shoulder, lightsaber at his hip. His hair was longer than I remembered. He looked older, but not fragile. Not dark.

Just... tired.

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan said, and it wasn’t a warning.

It was a memory. My name in a voice I hadn’t heard in months, and never like that.

I didn’t answer.

She’s come alone. But she didn’t come unarmed.

He gestured to a broken column. “Walk with me.”

I did. Not a duel yet. Not a battle. Just two people who used to know each other better than anyone else, now walking on opposite sides of a crumbling world.

We moved slowly through the ruins, the Force humming between us like tension in a drawn bow. Not hostile. Not yet.

“Why here?” I asked.

“It used to be a place of peace,” he said quietly. “I thought you’d remember it.”

I did. A training camp I visited once as a Padawan. He’d been instructing a small group then. I remembered watching him from a balcony. Even then, he'd looked alone. We stopped at a fallen archway where moss grew over stone carvings of ancient Jedi.

Obi-Wan turned to face me. “You got the message,” he said. “I wasn’t sure they’d let you.”

“They didn’t,” I said.

He nodded like he expected that. Then looked at me—really looked at me. “You’ve changed.”

“So have you.”

He didn’t smile. “I was hoping you’d see it for yourself. What the Council’s become. What the Jedi have become.”

My heart ached. “I have seen it.”

“Then come with me,” he said. No hesitation. No anger.

Just that same unbearable calm he always carried, even when the galaxy burned.

“You think it’s that simple?” I asked.

“I think it has to be.”

He stepped closer.

“I’m not building an empire. I’m not bowing to Sidious. I’ve seen what that leads to.”

He didn’t say Anakin’s name—but the silence screamed it.

“I want to rebuild something better. Something outside of the Republic’s chains. But I need people who still believe in something.”

I looked at him, torn in a thousand ways.

And he saw it.

“You still believe in me,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Don’t you?”

I opened my mouth but I didn’t answer.

Not yet.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ meanwhile, across the galaxy .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

The Council watched the tracker blink slowly across the holomap.

“She’s with him,” Windu said.

“Not detained,” Ki-Adi added.

“By choice,” Plo Koon murmured.

Anakin stood at the edge of the room, eyes locked on that blinking dot.

“I told you,” he said. “If anything happens to her…”

His voice didn’t finish the sentence.

It didn’t need to.

───── ❝.𖥔 ݁ ˖ back in carida.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❞ ─────

Obi-Wan led me to the center of the ruins.

What I saw stopped me cold.

Stone columns had been reshaped—some by the Force, some by hand—into a circle. A ring of old Jedi symbols. The center held a tree, half-dead, half-blooming. Roots tangled around shattered armor. Clone helmets. Jedi hilts.

A memorial.

Or a warning.

“This is what we’re building,” he said. “Not a rebellion. A refuge.” He turned to me again—closer now, face etched with conviction. “You don’t have to go back to them. You don’t have to choose him.”

The words hit harder than anything else. But I didn’t flinch.

“I came to hear you,” I said. “To see for myself.”

“And?”

I looked at the tree. At the wreckage. At everything he’d kept buried in this garden of ghosts. Then back to him. “I chose the Republic,” I said first. And I saw hope flicker—just for a second—in his eyes. But then I finished. Quieter. Unshakable. “…I chose Anakin.”

Obi-Wan exhaled like he’d taken a hit to the ribs. His expression didn’t break—he was too disciplined for that. But the Force rippled with grief.

“I never wanted to lose you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” I whispered. “But I’m not yours to keep.”

He didn’t follow me as I turned to leave. He didn’t call after me.

But I felt it.

The moment it changed.

Like a thread severing. A bond splintering.

And somewhere, I knew—

He wouldn’t ask again.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Anakin was waiting as I stepped off the ship.

He looked like hell—bruised, limping, tired—but alive. And the second he saw me, something in his shoulders dropped. The storm in him stilled.

“You came back,” he said, voice hoarse.

I stepped into him. “I never left.”

He pulled me close. Held on like he’d die if he didn’t. Above us, the skyline burned gold with sunrise. But peace still felt a galaxy away.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

TO BE CONTINUED ?? IN PART TWO:

Conviction (2) | Anakin Skywalker